I should move.
Run, probably. Grab my clothes and sprint out of this hotel room and this entire nightmare situation. Call Rhea. Go home. Pretend tonight never happened.
But I can't seem to make my legs work.
Because Caspian Thorne—the Caspian Thorne, the man whose name appears in business articles with words like "ruthless" and "unstoppable" attached—is already on his phone, and the transformation is terrifying to witness.
"Kieran." His voice cuts through the room like a blade. "I need everything on Marcus Veil. Who he's been meeting with, who owes him favors, and specifically any connection to a Todd Morrison." He spells Todd's name out, each letter sharp and precise. "I want it in twenty minutes."
A pause. Someone speaking on the other end.
"I don't care if it's midnight. Wake whoever you need to wake." He's pacing now, all controlled energy and lethal focus. "And Kieran? This is priority one. Everything else waits."
He ends the call. Immediately dials another number.
"Security. This is Thorne. I need the footage from floor twenty-four, cameras covering rooms 2410 through 2420, for the past three hours." Another pause. "No, I don't want it sent. I want it deleted. Every copy, every backup. You have ten minutes before I come down there myself."
He makes four more calls in rapid succession. Each one is a demonstration of exactly how much power one person can wield when they're rich enough and dangerous enough and used to getting their way.
I watch him, still clutching that stupid sheet, and realize I've stumbled into something so far beyond my understanding that I might as well be standing on a different planet.
This is his world. Authority and control and making things disappear with a phone call.
I don't belong here.
"Sit down." He's looking at me now, and I don't know when he ended his last call, but his attention is fully on me again and it's almost too much to bear.
"I should—"
"Sit. Down."
I sit.
Not because he told me to. That's what I tell myself anyway. I sit because my legs are shaking and my mind is spinning and I need something solid beneath me or I'm going to collapse.
The bed is still unmade. Still smells like what we did here. I perch on the edge like it might bite me.
Caspian moves to the minibar, pulls out a bottle of water, and brings it to me. He unscrews the cap before handing it over, which is such a small gesture but somehow it cracks something inside my chest.
"Drink."
I take a sip. Then another. The water is cold and helps clear some of the fog from my brain.
"Todd didn't make a mistake with the room number, did he?" I already know the answer. But I need to hear it said out loud. Need the truth to be real and solid so I can't pretend anymore.
Caspian leans against the desk, arms crossed, watching me with those storm-gray eyes. "No."
"He sent me here on purpose." My voice sounds far away. "To this floor. To... what? Be handed over to someone else?"
"That's what I'm going to find out." There's something in his tone that makes me think whoever's responsible is going to regret every decision that led to this moment.
"But you think—" I have to stop, swallow hard against the nausea rising in my throat. "You think he was paying off a debt. Using me as payment."
"I don't think. I know." He says it with such certainty that I feel the last fragile hope inside me shatter. "Marcus Veil doesn't do favors. He deals in transactions. Currency. Leverage. If your boyfriend sent you here tonight, he was settling something. And the fact that you ended up in my room instead of Veil's..."
A muscle in his jaw tightens. "That's the only reason you're safe right now."
The room tilts sideways.
Two years. I spent two years with Todd. Introduced him to Rhea, talked about future plans, let myself believe we were building toward something real. And the whole time, he was capable of this?
"I don't understand." My hands are shaking so badly the water bottle almost slips from my grip. "We were supposed to be—he said he loved me. He wanted to take things to the next level. Why would he—"
"Money makes people do terrible things." Caspian's voice is matter-of-fact, but there's an edge to it. Something dark. "Especially when they're desperate."
"But I would've helped him. If he needed money, I would've—"
"This wasn't about help. This was about a transaction." He pushes off the desk, and I track his movement like a prey animal watching a predator. But he doesn't come closer. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, studying me. "Veil likes a specific type. Young, pretty, innocent. Breakable."
The word hangs in the air between us.
Breakable.
That's what Todd thought I was. What he was willing to let happen to me.
Something inside me just... breaks.
I don't mean to cry. I hate crying. Spent my whole childhood learning not to because my mother would just get more distant, more disappointed, like my tears were a personal inconvenience she didn't have time for.
But I can't stop it.
The tears come hot and fast, and I'm pressing my hands against my face, trying to hold it together, trying not to completely fall apart in front of this stranger who's already seen too much of me tonight.
"I'm sorry." The words come out choked. "I'm sorry, I just need a minute, I'll be fine, I just—"
The bed dips beside me.
Caspian's sitting next to me now, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, but he's not touching me. Just... present. Solid. Real.
"Did he touch you?" The question is quiet. So quiet I almost miss it.
I lower my hands, blinking through tears. "What?"
His eyes are on mine, and there's something lethal burning in them. Something that makes me think of winter storms and lightning strikes and the kind of danger that doesn't announce itself until it's too late.
"Your boyfriend. Todd." He says the name like it's poison. "Before tonight. Did he touch you?"
I shake my head. "No. I wanted to wait. I thought—" A bitter laugh escapes. "I thought tonight would be special. That's why I was ready. Because I trusted him."
Something shifts in Caspian's expression. The tension in his shoulders eases just slightly, and I realize—
He's been holding himself back. Keeping himself tightly controlled. And my answer just gave him permission to relax. Just a fraction.
"Good." The word is rough. Satisfied.
"Why does that matter?"
He doesn't answer. Just stands, crosses to the phone on the nightstand, and dials room service.
"This is room 2417. I need food sent up. Something simple—soup, bread, fruit." He pauses. "Immediately."
"I'm not hungry," I protest.
He ignores me. "And coffee. Strong."
When he hangs up, I'm still sitting there in my sheet toga, tear-stained and confused and so completely out of my depth I might as well be drowning.
"You need to eat," he says, like it's obvious. "You're in shock."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
I look down at my hands. He's right. I'm trembling like a leaf in a storm.
"I should go home." But even as I say it, I know I won't. Because home means my apartment, alone, processing the fact that the man I trusted tried to sell me. And I can't face that yet. Can't be alone with that truth.
"Not yet." Caspian moves to gather my scattered clothes—my dress, my cardigan, even tracking down both of my shoes. He sets them on the chair nearest the bathroom. "Get dressed. You'll feel better."
It's the practicality of it that gets me moving. The fact that he's not trying to comfort me or tell me everything will be okay. He's just... solving problems. Making sure I have clothes and food and water.
I grab my things and retreat to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
The mirror shows exactly how much of a disaster I am. Smudged makeup. Hair that looks like I've been through a wind tunnel. Eyes red from crying. I look like someone who just had their entire world turned inside out.
Because I did.
I clean myself up as best I can, get dressed, try to pretend I'm someone who has her life together and didn't just sleep with a stranger while her boyfriend was setting her up to be someone's... entertainment.
God. That word. Entertainment.
Like I'm not a person. Like I'm just a thing to be used.
When I emerge from the bathroom, there's a room service cart in the middle of the suite. Silver-covered dishes. The smell of food that I definitely can't eat because my stomach is in knots.
Caspian is standing by the window, phone to his ear again, speaking in low tones I can't quite make out. He sees me, says something quick into the phone, and ends the call.
"Sit." He gestures to the small table where he's already set out the food.
"I told you, I'm not—"
"Humor me."
There's something in his voice that makes me obey. Some combination of command and concern that I don't know how to resist.
I sit. He serves me soup—tomato, simple, warm. Tears a piece of bread. Pours coffee.
"Eat," he says, and it's not a request.
I take a spoonful of soup. Then another. And he's right—I do feel slightly better with something warm in my stomach.
He doesn't eat. Just watches me, and normally that would make me self-conscious, but right now I'm too hollowed out to care.
"What happens now?" I finally ask.
"Now I find out exactly what your boyfriend was involved in. Who else knows about this. Whether there are more people who think you're—" He stops himself. "Available."
The word makes my skin crawl.
"And then what?"
"Then I make sure it never happens again."
The certainty in his voice should probably scare me. But instead, it's the first thing tonight that's made me feel even slightly safe.
I set down my spoon. "I should call Todd. Confront him. Ask him why—"
"No."
"But I need to know—"
"Sloane." The way he says my name stops me cold. "If you call him now, if you let him know you're aware of what he did, he'll run. Destroy evidence. Warn whoever he's working with. We need to be smart about this."
"We?" I look up at him, confused. "This isn't your problem."
Something dangerous flickers across his face. "You ended up in my bed tonight. That makes it my problem."
"I don't understand. Why do you care? You don't know me. This whole thing is just... bad luck for both of us."
He moves closer, and suddenly he's right there, looking down at me with those winter-storm eyes, and I can barely breathe.
"Bad luck," he repeats, and there's something almost amused in his tone. "Is that what you think this is?"
"Isn't it?"
"You walked into my room tonight. Into my bed. Gave me something I know now was meant for me alone." His voice drops lower. "That's not bad luck, Sloane. That's fate making sure you ended up exactly where you belong."
My heart is hammering. "I don't—"
"I'm keeping you here tonight." It's not a question. Not a request. Just a fact he's decided. "Not because I don't trust you."
He leans down, bracing his hands on the arms of my chair, caging me in, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear.
"Because I don't trust anyone else not to finish what they started."