Chapter 3 Solene

Solene

There are guards scattered around the hallway. One of them nods and presses a code. The elevator doors slide open, giving him access to his private suite.

The suite is massive, modern, expensive, and soaked in quiet power. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline. Everything is polished, cold, and elite.

He walks off toward a side room without saying a word.

I stand there for a second, trying to breathe.

I should ask where I am, what he wants, or why I’m here. I should feel something.

But I don’t.

Too much has happened.

I barely notice the elegant furnishings or the soft hum of the city below. My mind is still spinning from Rowan’s betrayal, the public humiliation, and now, him.

Then his voice breaks the silence.

“Take your dress off.”

I freeze.

My hand automatically clutches the torn fabric near my hip. “What the f—?”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says quickly, raising his hands, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Relax. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He walks over slowly and hands me a sleek black dress, still with the tag on.

“Your dress is ripped. Change into this.”

I raise a brow. “Do you keep spare dresses around… just in case?”

“Leftovers from a fashion brand shoot,” he replies casually.

“Thanks,” I mumble, taking the dress.

Without another word, he turns and walks back into the other room—maybe to give me privacy.

I look around, half expecting a camera or someone watching. I hesitate, then glance at the door.

I slip out of my torn dress in a hurry, wanting to get it over with before he comes back. I’m left in just my bra and panties.

I glance up at the mirror on the wall and freeze.

I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

She looks tired. Hollow. Her eyes are empty, rimmed red. Her body still beautiful, feels like it’s carrying too much.

This… isn’t me.

I used to dream.

But somewhere along the way, I became Rowan’s “perfect wife.” I erased myself to fit the mold Marcella built. And now?

Now I’m just the placeholder. The backup plan until Calista returned.

Just then, the door clicks.

He walks in.

“Shit,” I whisper, reaching for the dress, but it’s too late.

He stops mid-step. His body freezes.

His eyes, dark and steady, trail down my body slowly.

He doesn’t flinch. Didn't look away.

There’s no guilt in his stare. Just desire. Raw. Dangerous. Focused.

His gaze feels familiar, and I can’t explain why. Like I’ve seen those eyes before.

I fix my eyes on his.

And that’s when it hits me.

The manwhore himself.

“So it’s you,” I say, with a sharp voice, though I'm unsure.

I take a step back.

He steps forward.

His eyes didn't leave mine, not even for a second. His gaze holds heat, power, and something deeper. Like he’s already decided what he wants.

And right now… it’s me.

“Do you know me?” he asks, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely finding the air to say it.

He steps forward like a predator, calm and sure, each movement deliberate.

His presence steals the air from the room. I can feel the heat coming off him, but it’s more than warmth. It’s danger, power, and temptation rolled into one.

“And what do you know about me?” he asks, his voice deep and rich, like velvet over steel. It rattles through me, and my knees threaten to buckle.

I swallow. “You’re Antonio Rodriguez. The infamous billionaire who never sleeps with the same woman twice.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “You sound like a fan.”

His eyes, though, aren’t playful. They’re sharp. Focused. Peeling away my layers like he already knows too much.

I’ve met men like him before at the club, in private rooms, men who wear their power loud. But Antonio? His power is quiet, deadly. He doesn’t need to prove anything. That’s what makes him dangerous.

Then something inside twists.

The smirk. The jawline. The eyes.

I’ve seen him before.

In a photograph. Hidden away in Rowan’s study.

A family portrait.

“You’re Rowan’s uncle,” I whisper.

His expression shifts just enough for me to see the tension behind the charm.

I remember asking Rowan about that photo. He brushed it off like it didn’t matter.

Antonio’s gaze sharpens. “So, you’ve done your homework. Or did your ex-husband whisper bedtime stories about the family Black Sheep?”

He moves closer. I instinctively step back until I hit the wall.

My chin lifts out of habit, defensive. But my body betrays me. My pulse jumps. My breathing falters.

“Rowan never talked about you, it’s like you didn’t exist.”

His jaw clenches. “That sounds right. My sister raised a coward.”

The bitterness in his voice is colder than his stare. This isn’t just about pride. It’s something deeper, painful and old.

A thought stirs.

If he’s this hated…

Maybe he’s exactly what I need.

His knuckle brushes my cheek. I freeze. My breath catches. For a moment, nothing exists but the warmth of his touch.

I shouldn’t want this. He’s Rowan’s uncle. This is wrong in more ways than I can count.

But for once… someone is looking at me like I matter.

Rowan looked through me like I was a stain on his future. Antonio looks at me like I’m somethingand still want more.

He leans in.

I didn’t stop him.

He’s so close I can feel his body heat around me. My fists curl at my sides. His eyes drop to my lips.

Something flares behind them, desire, yes. But not just lust. Possession.

And God help me, I want that right now. Just for tonight. Just to feel wanted again.

This man could break me.

Maybe he already knows who I am. Maybe this is a game to him. But if it is…

I’m still playing.

He licks his lips, slow and deliberate, and every nerve in my body snaps to attention.

“Your li—”

Before I can finish the word, he crashes his mouth onto mine, kissing me like he’s starving. It’s not gentle. It’s rough, wild, and full of hunger and possession.

I kiss him back with the same energy, matching his need.

His tongue moves against mine, tasting every inch of me.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing and pins me against the cool wall of the suite. I wrap my legs around his waist as he deepens the kiss. Fire explodes through me. Every part of me comes alive.

I know I should stop him.

But I don’t.

His lips trail to my neck. I shudder when he sucks gently, then deeper. His hands slide along my waist, one rising slowly until it hovers just under my bra. Then he presses his mouth there, and heat rushes through my chest.

My body melts.

I should feel guilty. But all I feel is alive for the first time in a long time.

Then a phone starts ringing.

Shit.

It’s my ringtone.

I freeze, with a ragged breath. Who would call me now?

He groans at the interruption.

The phone goes silent.

Then his mouth returns, brushing my breast through the thin fabric. My pulse pounds, dizzy and hot—

But the phone rings again.

I push him away gently. “I have to check. It might be my mom… or my brother.”

He watches me silently as I dig for my phone.

Then the name flashes on the screen.

Marcella.

Of course it’s her. The queen of control. Even now, she finds a way to pull the strings.

I stare at the name, my thumb hovering over the answer button. My breath catches.

Then my hand curls into a fist.

No way in hell am I picking up.