Chapter 1

"You're late," a low voice said from the shadows near the window.

"I'm exactly on time," she replied, closing the door behind her. "You're early."

Marcus Hale turned from the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the glittering Chicago skyline. Even in the dim light of the hotel room, she could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his tailored suit hugged his shoulders. He was a man who commanded boardrooms, negotiated billion-dollar deals, and here he was, waiting for her like a man starved.

"I couldn't stay away," he said, crossing the room in three long strides. His hands found her waist, pulling her against him. "Three days is too long."

"You knew what you were signing up for," Lena said, but her voice had gone breathy. She tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes. "Discretion. Patience. No strings."

"And yet here I am, tangled in every one of them."

His mouth found hers, and she let herself sink into the kiss. His lips were warm and demanding, his hands sliding up her back to tangle in her hair. She had never wanted anyone this way—not her ex-husband, not the men who had pursued her before. Marcus was different. He saw her, not the polished version she showed the world.

"I missed you too," she whispered against his mouth.

He laughed softly, a low rumble that vibrated through her chest. "That's the first time you've said that."

"Don't get used to it."

They moved together toward the bedroom, shedding jackets and ties and the careful armor they wore in public. His hands were reverent on her skin, tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. When he laid her back on the cool sheets, she pulled him down to her, demanding more.

The world outside the penthouse ceased to exist. There was only Marcus—the heat of his body, the whisper of his breath against her neck, the way he said her name like a prayer. She let herself feel, let herself want, let herself have this one thing that was hers alone.

Later, when they lay tangled together in the dark, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm, she felt a contentment she hadn't known in years.

"I have to go," she said, though every part of her wanted to stay.

"Stay the night."

"I can't. The gallery opening is tomorrow. I have to be there by seven."

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. "Then let me drive you."

"Marcus." She placed a hand on his chest. "We agreed. No public appearances. No one can know."

"I know." His jaw tightened. "But this—" he gestured between them "—this is worth more than a secret."

"It's worth everything because it's a secret," she said softly. "If anyone found out, it would destroy everything. Your marriage. My reputation. The gallery."

"My marriage has been over for two years," he said, his voice flat. "You know that."

"The divorce isn't final. And until it is, we're careful."

She slid out of bed and began gathering her clothes. Marcus watched her, his expression unreadable. She dressed quickly, feeling the weight of his gaze on her back.

"I'll see you next week," she said, turning at the door.

"Same time?"

"Same place."

She crossed the living room, her heels silent on the thick carpet. As she reached for the door handle, something caught her eye—a piece of paper, folded neatly, sitting on the marble console table near the entrance. She hadn't put it there. Marcus hadn't mentioned it.

With a frown, she picked it up and unfolded it. The handwriting was precise, each letter carefully formed in black ink.

I know who you are. I know what you're doing. I'll be in touch.

Lena's blood turned to ice. She turned the paper over, but there was nothing else. No signature. No clue.

"Marcus," she called, her voice steady despite the hammering in her chest. "Did you leave this?"

He appeared in the bedroom doorway, shirtless, concern flickering across his face. "Leave what?"

She held up the note. He crossed the room in seconds, took it from her hand, and read it. His face hardened.

"Where did you find this?"

"On the console. Right there." She pointed. "Someone was in this room. While we were—" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Marcus swore under his breath. "I'll have hotel security review the footage. I'll increase the security on your building."

"That won't help if they know already."

He reached for her, but she stepped back. The warmth of the evening had evaporated, replaced by a cold knot of fear in her stomach.

"Go home," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I'll handle this. I promise."

Lena nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same. She slipped the note into her purse and walked out the door, her heart racing with a new, darker rhythm.

Someone knew. And they weren't done with her yet.