The opulent hotel suite, usually pristine, bore the disarray of a tempestuous night. Nina Walker stirred, a pervasive ache rippling through her body. She rubbed her temples, the dull throb mirroring the exhaustion in her soul. Beside her, Nash York lay in a deep, undisturbed slumber, his strikingly handsome features softened in repose.

Nina sat up, the silk sheets pooling around her, revealing faint, telling marks on her skin. A sharp pang of bitterness twisted in her gut as her gaze fell upon the bloodstains on the pristine white linen. She glanced at the clock; she was already running late for work. Quickly, she gathered her scattered professional attire from the floor, dressing with practiced efficiency. Her stockings, torn beyond repair, were balled up and tossed into the trash.

A soft knock echoed through the suite. Nina, already composed and holding her purse, moved towards the door. A young woman, seemingly plucked from Nash's preferences—pure and innocent—entered. "You just need to wait for Mr. York to wake up in bed, nothing needs to be said," Nina instructed, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

One last look at the sleeping figure, a bitter taste rising in her mouth, and Nina exited the room. She needed to leave before he woke, before he realized they had shared a bed. Their agreement was clear: three years of secret marriage, then divorce. No love, no intimacy. Yet, last night…