Chapter 1: The Worst Day of My Life
The rain in the city didn’t just fall; it punished.
I stood on the curb, watching my cheap umbrella collapse under a sudden gust of wind. Water soaked through my thin coat within seconds, plastering my dress to my skin and making my canvas shoes feel like lead weights.
It was eight in the evening, and my life was completely ruined.
First came the phone call at noon. My boss at the gallery didn't even have the decency to pull me into his office. He fired me over a thirty-second voice message, citing "budget restructuring." Translate: his niece needed a job.
Then came the text from my landlord at four. The rent was two weeks late, and he wasn't waiting anymore. My bags were already sitting on the front porch of my building, wrapped in garbage bags to keep the rain off.
And finally, my bank account. I had checked it ten minutes ago under the flickering fluorescent lights of an ATM. Balance: $14.32.
I dragged my suitcase behind me, the small plastic wheels squeaking loudly against the flooded pavement. The wind whipped rain straight into my eyes, blinding me. I wiped my face with a wet sleeve, took three fast steps forward, and slammed straight into a brick wall.
Except it wasn't a wall.
The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs. My heels slipped on the wet concrete, and I started falling backward toward the filthy street.
Two broad, solid hands shot out and caught me by the waist.
The grip was instantly firm, steadying me with effortless strength. I gasped, grabbing hold of wet wool and expensive fabric to keep my balance. The heat coming off the man's hands burned straight through my thin dress, shocking my frozen skin.
"Careful," a deep, dark voice rasped above me.
I looked up, wiping wet strands of black hair from my eyes.
The man holding me was tall—so tall I had to tilt my neck all the way back just to see his face. He looked like he had stepped out of a luxury magazine, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that cost more than my entire life was worth. His sharp jawline was covered in dark stubble, and his wet, pitch-black hair was slicked back from a high forehead.
But it was his eyes that made my heart violently slam against my ribs.
They were a pale, piercing gray. And right now, those eyes were dragging slowly down my body.
He didn't look away. He didn't offer a polite smile. He looked at me with open, heavy hunger. His gaze tracked down my face, over my trembling lips, down my wet neck, and over the thin fabric of my dress that was clinging tightly to my chest. Every spot his eyes touched felt like it was catching fire.
The rain kept pouring over us, but I suddenly couldn't breathe. The air between us felt thick, hot, and electric.
"I... I'm sorry," I managed to stammer, my teeth chattering from a sudden mix of cold and intense panic. "I didn't see you."
His hands didn't leave my waist. In fact, his fingers tightened slightly, pulling me half an inch closer. The front of his hard chest pressed against mine. I could feel the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat, strong and slow.
"You're shivering," he said. His voice was a low gravelly purr that vibrated right through my skin.
"I'm fine," I lied, trying to pull back.
He didn't let me go immediately. His thumb stroked once over the wet fabric covering my hip, a slow, possessive slide that sent a shockwave of heat straight down between my thighs. My breath hitched loudly.
His pale gray eyes snapped back up to mine, locking me in place. A slow, dangerous smirk touched the corner of his lips. He knew exactly what that simple touch had done to me.
"Avira Cross," he murmured.
My whole body went rigid. "How do you know my name?"
Instead of answering, he finally let his hands slide off my waist, though he stayed standing far too close. The loss of his warmth hit me like a physical punch. He gestured with his chin toward the black luxury car idling at the curb, its tinted windows slick with rain. A uniformed driver had already stepped out, holding a large black umbrella over our heads to block the storm.
"You're soaked, Avira," the man said, taking a step toward the open car door. "And you have nowhere to go."
"Who are you?" I demanded, my hand tightening on the handle of my soaked suitcase.
The man paused, turning his head slightly. The streetlights caught the sharp angle of his cheekbones, throwing dark shadows across his face.
"Vincent Matthew," he replied simply.
My heart dropped. *Vincent Matthew.*
The CEO of Matthew Global. The billionaire real estate mogul who owned half the city's skyline. A man known in every news outlet as cold, ruthless, and entirely unreachable.
"What do you want with me, Mr. Matthew?" my voice trembled, but I stood my ground.
Vincent turned his full body back toward me. He didn't look like a businessman right now. He looked like a predator that had finally backed its prey into a corner. His gray eyes tracked down my wet body one more time, slow and deliberately, before settling back on my face.
"Get in the car," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I'll tell you."
