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When we pull up to the building, I don’t waste a second—I head directly inside, fearing there could be reporters lurking nearby. I can’t face them alone. Not like this.

The moment I step inside, his penthouse takes my breath away.

The private elevator opens straight into the living room—a sleek, modern space that screams luxury and Nick Hardy.

Towering floor-to-ceiling windows dominate one entire wall, framed by black curtains now drawn open to let in the afternoon light.

The white marble floor gleams beneath a massive crystal chandelier suspended from high ceiling, scattering light like diamonds across the room.

At the center of it all is a huge black L-shaped sofa, overflowing with pillows in every shade of white. To the right, the open-plan kitchen grabs my attention. Everything is pristine white—sharply contrasted by matte black appliances. A massive white island anchors the room, surrounded by six black leather stools.

I can already see him here, sipping his morning coffee, shirtless, hair tousled, looking like sin incarnate while smirking at me across the counter.

OMG, I’m already losing my damn mind.

I walk over to the windows and pause for a moment to admire the view. The lake stretches out in front of the building, glittering beneath the sun, peaceful and perfect.

“I see my wife is finally home.”

I jump, startled by his voice behind me, and this only makes him laugh darkly. Before I can turn to face him, he grabs my waist and presses me against the window, his breath hot against my ear.

“What am I supposed to do now, baby? Hmm?” His voice drops, dangerous and playful. “Should I greet you how every husband should greet his woman?”

He glides a finger slowly down my arm, and my heart stumbles in my chest.

“And how is that, baby?”

I turn in his embrace, locking our eyes. Then I lean into him and brush my lips over his jaw with a confidence I don’t feel.

I lock my arms around his neck, my entire body on fire and my heart beating like crazy, tracing his lower lip slowly with my tongue.

He tightens his grip on me, pulling me flush against him. Capturing my tongue between his teeth, he bites me a little too hard, causing a jolt of electricity to rush through my entire body.

God, I want this man like crazy.

Releasing my tongue, he throws his head back and groans like he’s in pain, but his hands remain on my waist, keeping me glued to him.

“Jesus. This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Ser.” His jaw tightens, and his eyes roam over my face like he’s trying to figure me out. “How and when have you become so flirtatious?”

I laugh to cover how flustered I feel. His expression—somewhere between shocked and turned on—only makes it worse.

“Nick, last time you saw me I was a fifteen-year-old girl. Now, you have a twenty-five-year-old woman in front of you. See the difference?”

He doesn’t have time to respond, because I break out of his hold and take a few steps away, needing space.

Breathing room. Sanity.

“If you don’t want us to be late, tell me where I can change.”

He stands still for a moment like he’s trying to collect himself, then finally heads for the stairs. “This way. You’ll stay in the guest room. We need to go in an hour. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

He carries my suitcase to the room and drops it just inside the door, but as he turns to leave, I think I hear him mutter something.

“I see the fucking difference, Sierra.” The words are low, like he’s talking to himself. But I don’t have time to process them, I’m too busy trying to steady my heartbeat.

Taking a few deep breaths, I open my suitcase, pull out my dress, and lay it across the bed before heading into the bathroom to touch up my makeup.

Half an hour later, I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection like I’m about to walk into battle.