In the Private Suite
Luca carried Ivy gently in his arms, his steps quiet against the polished floor. He laid her down on the soft bed, carefully tucking her under the blanket like a true gentleman.
But the moment he turned, toss!—she kicked the blanket off with her leg.
Sighing, Luca reached down and covered her again.
Toss!
Again.
This repeated several times until, finally, he caught her leg mid-air. His fingers wrapped gently around her ankle as he leaned down and whispered, "Don't move."
Ivy mumbled something incoherent. Her lashes fluttered, revealing hazy eyes glazed with alcohol. She blinked up at him, her gaze innocent yet deep, like a girl staring at a stranger who felt oddly familiar.
"You're… so handsome," she murmured, her fingers trailing lazily along the outline of his chest. "I think… I've seen you before."
Her small hands wandered, brushing across his firm muscles and hardened abs beneath the fabric of his shirt. He stiffened under her touch.
"Can I… see your body?" she asked, completely unaware of the storm that question unleashed.
It was a pure question—an intoxicated one. But it was enough to ignite fire in the man standing over her.
"You know what you're asking for?" he said, voice dangerously low. "If you see me... you belong to me. Only mine. Do you promise?"
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy but filled with trust. "Promise," she whispered.
That single word shattered his restraint.
In one swift motion, her dress was torn away, falling like petals onto the floor. He undressed himself, allowing her delicate fingers to trace his skin, her touch light yet setting his nerves ablaze.
He devoured her lips, hungrily, until they were swollen and red, kissing her until neither of them could breathe. Her neck and collarbones soon bore the mark of his passion, his name etched in invisible ink only he could read.
Luca had never known he was capable of such desire—raw, consuming, and dangerously real.
Not for any woman.
For Ivy Lennox.
And only her.
Later, when he finally came back to his senses, he lay beside her, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Her cheeks were pink, lips bitten and tender. She was chaos and temptation wrapped in silk, and yet, she had fallen asleep in his arms with such innocence.
He pulled the blanket over her and kissed her forehead gently.
"She's only mine," he murmured into the dark.
---
Outside in the Hallway
Mira staggered through the hallway of the luxury hotel, one heel missing and her balance long gone. Her blurry eyes scanned the hallway.
"Where… Ivy?" she mumbled.
Just as she turned the corner, two sleazy-looking men spotted her.
"Well, well. Isn't she that hot actress from that ad?" one whispered.
"Mm, looks even better in real life. Shall we invite her to party?" They exchanged a knowing grin and began walking toward her like wolves eyeing prey.
But before they could reach her, fate stepped in—literally.
Elian Hale emerged from his suite and collided with Mira. She stumbled and fell right into his arms.
Elian caught her effortlessly, though his eyes narrowed in distaste.
"Young lady," he said coldly, "your method of seducing a man is quite bold. But sadly… ineffective on me."
His voice was ice and silk—smooth, deep, and dangerous.
Mira looked up slowly.
Their eyes met.
Something shifted.
"Your eyes…" Elian whispered. "They're beautiful."
Behind him, his assistant choked on his drink.
Was that… a compliment? From the boss?
Before Mira could speak, the two sleazy men grabbed her arms again.
"Back off, bro. She's ours," one said. "Why don't you move along?"
Elian's smile was polite. But his eyes... were glacial.
"And may I ask your relationship with her?"
"What's it to you?" they snapped. "She's wasted. Mind your own—"
"If I don't mind my own girlfriend's business," he said calmly, "do you think I'll mind yours?"
The men froze.
The tension in the air was suffocating. With a final glance at the terrifying man before them, they released Mira.
"Take care of your drunk girlfriend, dude…"
They didn't wait for a reply. They bolted like cowards chased by death itself.
Elian watched them vanish, then turned to his assistant. "Silence them."
The assistant, wide-eyed, nodded immediately.
With Mira still clinging to his chest, Elian sighed and carried her effortlessly into his private suite—located just across the hall from Luca's.
From the balcony, he could faintly hear the distant sound of muffled moans and soft cries of pleasure.
"Enjoy, brother," he murmured with a smirk, lighting a cigarette.
---
Inside, Mira stirred.
She opened her eyes, cheeks flushed, and lips parted slightly. Elian turned—and for the first time, he felt something unexpected. His body, always cold, reacted to the sight of her rosy, drowsy face.
"Pretty boy," Mira whispered like a sleepy kitten, "gimme a kiss…"
He chuckled lowly. "Demanding, aren't you? I always thought I was the one who made demands... But now... I think I've met someone who'll take everything from me."
He leaned down, brushing his lips just above hers.
"But…" he whispered, "I like it."
Without another word, he pulled her against him, burying his face in the curve of her neck. The scent of her skin... sweet and maddening.
"By your request, I'll give you what you want. But don't regret it. From now on… you belong to me, Mira White."
The cold in the room seemed to vanish, replaced with a growing fire. His kisses were slower than Luca's, but deeper—calculated and claiming. His touch was gentle, yet the marks he left were bold. He ignored her soft pleas to be gentle and instead lost himself in tasting every inch of her.
'I could take you now, right here,' he thought. 'But it's not time yet.'
Still, the kisses, the whispers, the heat between them turned that night into something unforgettable.
---
Present Time
"Do you think we took advantage of them, or... they took advantage of us?" Mira asked, wincing as she reached for her lower back.
Her waist throbbed with every movement, and she groaned. "Ugh... I feel like I got hit by a truck."
Ivy stood beside her, fingers grazing her neck where a deep ache pulsed steadily. Her cheeks flushed as she recalled fleeting flashes of the night before—hands, lips, whispered promises.
"I don't even know anymore," Ivy muttered, still dazed. "But my neck hurts like hell."
"We should leave. Now. Before they wake up," Ivy added quickly, urgency rising in her voice.
With all the grace of panicked chickens escaping a wolf's den, the two women gathered their things—heels in hand, hair a mess—and bolted from the hotel like fugitives.
Behind them, two dangerous men still slept soundly in their beds... unaware that the women who had unknowingly stolen a piece of their hearts were already slipping away into the morning light.