My fingers trembled as I held the photo—Daniel, my perfect boyfriend, tangled in bed with some woman at a hotel we were supposed to check into together. I stormed to his apartment, ready to scream, to throw his things, to break something. But he wasn’t there. Instead, I found him—Alexander—standing in the doorway of his study, tie loose, eyes dark with something unreadable.\n\n‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ he said, voice low, like velvet over steel. I should’ve left. But then he handed me a glass of whiskey, no ice, just like I liked it. ‘Or maybe,’ he added, ‘you’re about to become one.’\n\nNow I’m sitting across from him, pulse racing, revenge simmering—and the most dangerous thought slips in: What if I make him pay by taking what matters most?