In my third year in New York, I became Mrs. Connor Harrison, an object of envy. Inside the private room at Per Se, Connor was holding court, laughing with his friends while gesturing for me to refill their glasses. He didn't know that under the table, the one man in this city everyone deferred to, Caleb Winter, was pressing his thigh against mine, a searing heat bleeding through the fabric of my dress. A friend clapped Connor on the back, slurring his admiration. "You really hit the jackpot with Ava. A real class act." Connor took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips as he answered in that old-money Manhattan drawl he affected. "She was born to serve." Caleb Winter, who normally loathed these kinds of dinners, suddenly spoke, his voice a low, deliberate murmur that cut through the noise. "If you don't know how to appreciate what you have, Harrison… some of us would kill for the chance." 1 The party was a constellation of clinking champagne flutes and forced laughter. I wore a designer gown but moved like a ghost among the staff, for one reason and one reason only: Connor was hosting. Everyone was here to toast his latest acquisition, another jewel in his burgeoning empire. “To Connor Harrison, the boy wonder of Wall Street!” Connor offered a dismissive smile, tipping his glass in acknowledgement. His eyes, however, kept flicking to the door, waiting for someone. He must have caught me watching him. He crooked a finger, summoning me to his side. "Go down to the cellar," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "Bring up the '99 Romanée-Conti." One of his friends grinned. "You trained her well, Harrison. She’s beautiful, she’s loyal, she keeps that new Tribeca place perfect." Connor laughed, a hollow sound. "She's no Chloe Summers, though. Did you hear Chloe just got into the architecture program at Cambridge?" My jaw tightened. I said nothing, just moved to pour him more wine. The next words I heard were, "Beauty and obedience only get you so far. Some people are just born to be of service." My hand trembled. A drop of red wine splashed onto the cuff of his pristine white shirt. He shot me a look of pure disgust and hissed for me to get a napkin. I waved over a waiter to handle it and slipped away to the balcony for a breath of air. My crimson-painted lips closed around a slim cigarette, but my lighter refused to spark. A wave of frustration washed over me. "Mrs. Harrison?" I turned. It was Caleb Winter, the CEO of the Morpheus Group. In this world of sharks and titans, he was the apex predator. His presence here tonight was a king granting an audience to a prince. "Mr. Winter," I said, my voice respectful. His gaze dropped to the unlit cigarette between my fingers. He pulled a heavy, silver Zippo from his pocket and stepped closer. The metallic click echoed in the quiet. It felt too intimate, a breach of etiquette. I started to pull back, but his posture was resolute. He was already leaning in, shielding the flame with his hand. I had no choice but to lean forward to meet it. The New York night air was sharp and cold. For a moment, the flame wavered, casting our profiles in a flickering glow, creating the illusion of a kiss. The tip of my cigarette finally glowed red. I straightened up. "Thank you, Mr. Winter." He smiled, a warm, genuine thing that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Call me Caleb." I took a long drag, the mint capsule popping in my mouth, the sharp flavor a welcome shock to my system. A maid appeared at the doorway, calling my name. I nodded my farewell to him. "Mr. Winter. It was a pleasure." 2 "What is it?" I asked the flustered maid. She wrung her hands. "Mrs. Harrison… Ms. Summers is here." My heart gave a painful lurch. She's back. I heard her before I saw her, her bright, tinkling laugh injecting a false energy into the stuffy room. Chloe Summers stood there in a butter-yellow dress, her cheeks flushed as if she'd been holding court for hours. She was joking with Connor’s friends, telling them how she just couldn't get used to life abroad, how she missed the soul of New York. Every gesture was pure Upper East Side princess. And Connor—my husband—watched her with an undisguised hunger, his arm draped possessively over the back of her chair. The chair that was supposed to be mine. My eyes scanned the table and landed on the one empty seat, right next to Caleb Winter. I walked over and sat down, turning to him. "Mr. Winter. We meet again." He was toying with his black lighter, a faint smile playing on his lips as if he'd been expecting me. "It seems fate has a plan for us, Mrs. Harrison." A ripple of laughter went through the table. The notoriously stoic Caleb Winter rarely engaged in banter. It was a moment. Connor’s eyes narrowed. He pushed a glass of scotch toward me. "Caleb, it's an honor to have you. My wife, Ava, would like to propose a toast." A lump formed in my throat. The familiar sting of humiliation. My hand reached for the glass. But a different hand, long-fingered and steady, got there first. Caleb picked up the bottle and poured a measure for himself. He inclined his head toward me. "Mrs. Harrison has been working hard all night. It's I who should be toasting her." He downed the scotch in one smooth motion, his expression unchanged. The mood at the table shifted instantly. Everyone knew Caleb Winter didn't toast anyone. And tonight, he had just toasted another man's wife. Speculative glances darted between us. Connor’s face was a mask of thunder. "I should go check on dessert," I said, rising to escape. "Sit down," Connor snapped. "The staff will handle it." He was angry, though at what, I couldn't be sure. Defeated, I sank back into the chair beside Caleb. Unlike the other men, who reeked of cigars and cologne, Caleb carried a subtle, clean scent of sandalwood. It suited him. The extra chair meant we were pressed close. Every time one of us reached for a dish or a glass, our arms brushed. Beneath the table, the heat from his leg was a constant, undeniable presence. I was wearing a dress with a high slit, and my bare skin kept grazing the fine wool of his trousers. I didn't know if it was intentional, but he seemed to be leaning closer, the solid muscle of his thigh a warm, firm line against mine. My mouth went dry. I took several sips of water, trying to quell the rising heat inside me. From the corner of my eye, I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Intentional or not, it was happening. Connor's party was a small affair, and no one had expected the CEO of Morpheus to show. Now, their curious gazes were burning holes in me. I distractedly picked up a slice of apple. Before it reached my lips, it was intercepted. Caleb took it from my fingers and placed it on my plate, his voice a low murmur. "Aren't you allergic to apples?" I shot him a warning look, but he seemed unfazed. Under the table, the toe of his leather shoe nudged the hem of my dress. I forced a laugh. "Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Winter." Connor scoffed, switching to a rapid-fire business jargon I only half-understood, clearly meant to exclude me. "Can't even eat an apple. So high-maintenance." Caleb, who had been silent for most of the meal, spoke again, his words dropping into the conversation like stones into a still pond. "If you don't know how to appreciate what you have, Harrison… some of us would." The entire room fell silent. The unspoken questions hung in the air between us. I pretended I hadn't heard, deliberately knocking over my water glass. "Oh, clumsy me. I'll go get this cleaned up." As I left, I saw Caleb pick up the slice of apple he'd taken from me. He brought it to his lips and took a deliberate bite, his eyes never leaving mine. The juice glistened on his lips, an impossibly seductive sight. His gaze was a mixture of challenge and amusement, a silent reminder of something I had tried for years to forget. Coming out of the restroom, I ran right into Connor and Chloe's private rendezvous in the hallway. "Connor, darling," Chloe was whining. "When is your sham of a marriage finally going to be over? I want to be with you for real." "Soon, Chloe. Soon…" I heard a low groan from Connor and stumbled backward, colliding with a chest as hard as marble. A deep, husky voice vibrated against my ear. "I didn't take you for a voyeur, Mrs. Harrison." "Who's there?" Connor called out. In a panic, I grabbed Caleb's arm and pulled him into an empty storage closet. The door clicked shut behind us. I looked up and realized a strand of my hair was caught on one of his shirt buttons. The small space was immediately charged with heat, thick with unspoken things. We were too close. I tried to step back, but a large hand clamped onto my waist, pulling me back against him. "Don't move," he rasped, his voice thick. "Caleb." "I'm sorry." He was so near, his striking eyes just inches from mine. He lowered his head, his focus entirely on the tangled strand of hair. His warm breath ghosted over the exposed skin of my chest, and every second felt like an eternity. "Is it… is it free yet?" I stammered. He suddenly looked up. Our noses brushed. Startled, I jerked my head back, a sharp pain shooting through my scalp as the hair pulled tighter. Caleb moved with me, his hand still firm on my lower back, effectively pinning me against the wall. His powerful arms wrapped around my waist. In the struggle, several buttons on his shirt had come undone, revealing a glimpse of the hard, sculpted muscle beneath. From the hallway, we could hear Chloe's soft, breathless moans. I swallowed hard, my fingers tracing the line of his throat, feeling the pulse thrumming there. "Caleb," I whispered, my voice shaking. "You started this." I rose onto my toes, and our lips met. The clean, sweet taste of apple filled my mouth, a ghost of a memory. The last time we'd kissed, it had tasted of apples, too. But that time, I was the one who had eaten the apple. In an instant, he took control, his mouth claiming mine, kissing me again and again until I was breathless and dizzy. We were lost in a haze of passion and memory. When we finally emerged, I felt transformed. I had reapplied my lipstick, a defiant, blood-red shade, and changed into a wine-colored gown I’d kept in my car for emergencies. Caleb looked slightly more disheveled; his hair was mussed and his shirt was still undone, though he wore a mask of calm. "You should probably fix yourself up in here, Mr. Winter," I said coolly. "I'll see you back at the table." An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back. Caleb cupped my neck and kissed me again, a hard, possessive kiss that smeared my fresh lipstick. "Go on," he said, finally satisfied. He released me and began calmly straightening his tie, as if nothing had happened. I ran my tongue over my lips. Three years. His technique had definitely improved. Back in the dining room, Connor and Chloe were practically fused together, whispering intimately. Chloe's lipstick was smudged, a deliberate signal meant for me. As I walked past, she grabbed my hand. "Oh, Ava, honey," she cooed, her eyes wide and innocent. "I forgot my lipstick. Could I borrow yours?" "No." "Ava, don't be so stingy. It's just lipstick," Connor chided, siding with her instantly. I smiled, a sharp, cold thing. "This shade is a little too much for a little girl." Chloe's face fell, but she recovered quickly, turning to wrap her arms around Connor. "Connor, baby, will you take me shopping for a new one tomorrow?" "Of course," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Anything you want." Tomorrow was our third wedding anniversary. She had a real talent for timing. After the party, Connor drove Chloe home. He didn't even bother to hide it anymore. I stood at the entrance of the restaurant, the cold wind whipping at my silk dress. The red-soled heels were beautiful but cruel; my feet were rubbed raw. The chill of the New York night was a welcome distraction, a way to numb the chaos in my mind. I lit a cigarette, the white smoke curling into the darkness. I took one drag, then another, feeling the knot in my chest loosen slightly. A heavy weight settled on my shoulders. A familiar scent of sandalwood enveloped me. I looked up slowly. Caleb was standing in front of me, his suit jacket now draped over me. "Care for a ride, Ava?" he asked, his voice low. He called me Ava. Not Mrs. Harrison. I met his gaze, my eyes narrowing. "I'd love one." His black Rolls-Royce Cullinan was a shadow in the night. He opened the passenger door for me. When I was seated, he knelt down and, to my astonishment, produced a pair of soft hotel slippers. His long fingers gently lifted my foot, sliding off the painful heel and replacing it with the slipper. The heat from his touch seared my skin. I flinched, and he simply tightened his grip on my ankle, holding me steady. The sight of his strong, veined hand wrapped around my ankle was strangely, intensely erotic. "A man of your stature, Mr. Winter," I teased, trying to regain my composure as he got into the driver's seat. "No chauffeur tonight?" "I gave him the night off." The drive was silent. We were heading toward his place, an address I hadn't realized I still remembered. The silence was heavy, so I turned on the classical station. The mournful notes of a violin filled the car as we drove through the sleeping city. When we arrived, I glanced over. Caleb's eyes were closed, his breathing even. He was either asleep or pretending to be. I watched him for a moment. He hadn't changed. Still the same impossibly handsome man in a perfectly tailored suit. "Mr. Winter." No response. I tried a few more times before my voice turned to ice. "Caleb." His eyes snapped open. Those intoxicating, dangerous eyes focused on me. His Adam's apple moved. "Thank you for the ride home, Ava," he said, his voice thick with sleep. He got out of the car and disappeared into the shadows of his townhouse. "Caleb, your keys!" I called, jumping out of the car. The moment my fingers touched his wrist, he spun around, pressing me back against the car door. His voice was a raw whisper, charged with a desire he was no longer hiding. He cupped the back of my head with one hand, the other resting on the small of my back, his body flush against mine. "Ava," he breathed, his forehead resting against mine. "How long are you going to keep this up?" I pushed against his chest, my voice colder than I felt. "I don't know what you're talking about." "My name," he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. "You always hated calling me Mr. Winter." He kissed my cheek, his lips tracing a path to my ear. My body betrayed me, melting against him. My hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him for support. "Caleb… I'm married," I whispered, the words tasting like a lie. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He traced the outline of my lips with his thumb. "Has he kissed you here?" Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine, as fierce and possessive as it had always been, stealing my breath and my will. His hands began to roam, setting my skin on fire everywhere they touched. The sharp honk of a car horn broke the spell. My Uber had arrived. I grabbed his wrist, stopping his descent. "Caleb. Stop." He looked down at me, his arms still holding me close. I reached up and wiped a smudge of lipstick from his lips. "It was over between us three years ago, Caleb." Three years ago, he was a brilliant but broke founder, fighting for his dream. Now, he was the CEO of the Morpheus Group. A king in this city. A man I couldn't afford to touch. I pulled away and got into the waiting car. In the rearview mirror, I saw him leaning against his Rolls-Royce, a cigarette glowing between his fingers, a single point of red in the vast darkness. His jacket was still around my shoulders, its sandalwood scent a haunting reminder of the kiss, of the man, of everything I had lost.
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