Chapter 1
STEFAN
The shrill blare of the alarm shattered the silence of the early morning, followed almost instantly by a loud crash and the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. Stefan groaned, his body jerking upright in bed as he blinked blearily against the dim light filtering through the curtains. His head pounded in protest at the sudden wake-up call, and he barely stifled a curse as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
One glance over the edge of the bed told him exactly what had happened. His phone lay face-down on the hardwood floor, a small spiderweb of cracks spreading across the screen. Letting out another, more colorful curse under his breath, Stefan sighed heavily. Another one bites the dust.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and scooped up the damaged device as he made his way to the bathroom, his relief palpable when he saw the screen still flickered to life. At least it was still functional; he was already running late for work, and a trip to replace his phone was the last thing he needed.
A notification flashed across the screen: a missed call from his mother. He stared at it for a second, then promptly dismissed it, tossing the phone next to the sink. She was an early riser; always had been, waking up before dawn as if sleep were a luxury she couldn’t afford. He never understood that. And yet, no matter how much he tried to avoid these early-morning calls, he knew he’d have to return it eventually. If he didn’t, there would be hell to pay.
The hot water pounded against his skin as he stood in the shower, eyes closed, willing away the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin. He didn’t have time for this. He had work to do.
An hour and a much-needed stop at the coffee shop later, Stefan strode into his office building, his polished shoes clicking against the tiled floor with practiced confidence. The space that should have been occupied by his assistant sat empty, a glaring reminder of yet another problem he’d been putting off. He barely held back a wince as the phone on the unoccupied desk rang incessantly, its shrill tone setting his teeth on edge. It was going to be a long day.
Shutting the door behind him, he crossed the room and sank into the plush leather chair behind his desk. The towering stack of paperwork waiting for him made his stomach twist with irritation. Two hours in, and he’d barely made a dent in his actual work. Instead, he found himself juggling calls, scheduling meetings, and handling the tedious minutiae that should have been his assistant’s responsibility. He needed to hire someone, immediately.
He exhaled sharply and pulled up his laptop, typing out an ad for the position. He should have done this two weeks ago when his last assistant had quit, but the thought of sitting through another round of interviews was enough to make him want to pull his hair out. He hated them with a passion, especially since they seemed to be happening every few months.
The truth was, Stefan had a problem with assistants, or maybe, they had a problem with him. He wasn’t oblivious to it. He was demanding, meticulous, and had a work ethic that left little room for inefficiency. Some would call him a ’Devil Wears Prada’ type, and he wouldn’t necessarily argue. It wasn’t that he was a terrible boss, though a few disgruntled ex-employees might disagree, but he needed someone who could keep up, someone who wouldn’t crumble under the weight of long hours and high expectations. So far, that had proven to be an impossible task.
He hadn’t come from money. He hadn’t been handed success on a silver platter. Stefan had clawed his way up from nothing, had built his business from the ground up through sheer determination and sleepless nights. People had doubted him, told him he was foolish to think he could make it, but he had. Now, he was at the top of the food chain, exactly where he had always envisioned himself. And he would be damned if he let it all fall apart; if he had to do it alone, so be it.
Stefan nodded at the bouncer as he strode past him, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips as he stepped into Whip. The club was alive with flashing lights and deep bass thrumming through the air, but the familiar atmosphere did little to soothe the tension coiled in his muscles. The past week had been relentless, work pressing down on him harder than usual. With no assistant to lighten the load, he had been shouldering everything himself; something he hoped would soon change, as he had interviews scheduled for Monday.
Moving through the crowd, he made his way toward the closed-off section, offering nods of acknowledgment to the regulars as he passed. His destination was the bar, where he intended to order a simple soda; he never drank when he planned to play, preferring to keep his head clear. But as he neared, his eyes landed on the man standing there, engaged in quiet conversation with Dean, the club’s ever-watchful bartender. Stefan slowed his steps, his attention caught by a snippet of their exchange.
“I can’t wait to marry him, D.,” Misha’s voice carried over the pulsating music, louder than usual in order to be heard.
Stefan felt his stomach drop, an ache blooming deep in his chest as he stopped in his tracks. He debated leaving before Misha noticed him, but just as the thought formed, the redhead turned, his hazel eyes widening in slight surprise.
“Oh,” Misha murmured, a faint blush dusting his freckled cheeks as his gaze met Stefan’s.
“Good evening, Misha,” Stefan greeted smoothly as he approached the bar, his voice devoid of the emotions now raging inside him. “I hear congratulations are in order.” His gaze flickered briefly to the gleaming ring on Misha’s finger before returning to the young man’s face.
Misha hesitated, his expression unreadable, before offering a small, slightly melancholic smile. “Yeah, yeah it is.”
“Well... Congratulations then. I’m glad to see everything worked out for you. Happiness suits you, Misha.”
Misha ducked his head, the blush creeping to the tips of his ears. He stepped forward, embracing Stefan for just a fleeting moment; too brief yet far too long. Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Stefan stood still, his expression blank while his heart waged war within him, his skin still tingling where Misha had touched him. He exhaled sharply and turned back to the bar, only to find Dean watching him with a knowing glint in his eyes. Thankfully, the bartender chose silence, merely asking if he wanted a drink.
“Whiskey, on the rocks,” Stefan muttered, his earlier plans for the night dissolving into nothing along with Misha’s presence.
Drink in hand, he made his way toward an empty table, sinking into the seat with a weary sigh. His fingers tightened around the glass as memories clawed their way to the surface.
He could still recall the first time he had noticed Misha; new to Whip, young and heartbreakingly beautiful. The boy had been skittish in those early days, wary of the club’s Doms, keeping a protective barrier around himself. Stefan had watched, waiting patiently for the right moment. But then Jack Robins had returned after months away, and Misha’s attention had been stolen.
Stefan had seen it, just as everyone else had. Jack, drowning in grief over his late husband, had been oblivious, indifferent even, but Misha had been persistent. And yet, when the redhead finally approached Stefan for a play, he had said yes without hesitation.
That first night had been electric, Misha surrendering to the mix of pain and pleasure with wide-eyed wonder. Stefan had expected it to be a one-time thing. He wasn’t naive; he knew Misha still carried feelings for Jack. But as the weeks turned into months, Stefan had let himself believe, against all better judgment, that there was something real between them.
They had never gone beyond play. Misha had refused to sleep with him, and Stefan had respected that. He hadn’t needed sex to fall for the man; he already had. And when Misha had opened up about his past, sharing wounds both seen and unseen, Stefan had admired his strength, had loved him even more for it.
Then, without warning, it had all unraveled. Misha left, choosing Jack despite the man’s cold treatment, leaving Stefan behind with nothing but broken pieces.
The weeks that followed were a blur of anger and self-pity, drowning in whiskey and resentment. In one drunken, reckless moment, Stefan had made the worst mistake of his life, he had revealed Misha’s secret to David, oblivious to the fact that others had overheard. The gossip spread like wildfire, reaching Misha and Jack, igniting chaos.
Jack and Misha had broken up. Stefan had paid the price, quite literally, when Misha confronted him; fists flying, eyes blazing with betrayal. And yet, somehow, they had found their way back to each other, and now, they were getting married.
Stefan knew he should be happy for them. In a way, he was. But as he lifted his gaze from his glass, his eyes found Misha once more, that unmistakable red hair standing out in the dim light.
He told himself it was getting easier. He told himself he was moving on.
But the truth was, it was all just a lie.
