Everything—questions, fear, logic—burns away in the heat of him. His kiss devours the air, his hand cups my jaw, and my body betrays me—arching, answering, surrendering. The world collapses into sensation: heat, darkness, breath, and skin.
Then—morning. Light bleeds through the curtains. My head swims. The sheets are silk, tangled around my bare legs. His scent clings to everything—on my skin, in my hair, in the hollow of my throat. He's everywhere but here. A sharp knock breaks through the fog. I jolt upright, drag the sheet around me, and scramble to find my clothes.
When I open the door, Jason stands behind a gleaming breakfast cart, all polite smiles and perfect posture. "Good morning, Ace," he says softly. "May I come in? Or should we meet downstairs?"
"Come in," I say, my voice rough, mind still clawing for clarity.
He rolls the cart inside. "I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered everything they had."
"Oh… thank you." The words come out small. My hands tremble as he arranges the plates—too many, too perfect.
He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit, dizzy with the remnants of euphoria I can't shake. My thoughts are fragments with Mr. Silence—his hands, his breath, his voice—and then Jason sets down a small plastic case beside the croissants.
"I know it's abrupt," he says gently, "but one can't be too careful. Please take this."
The Plan B logo stares back at me.
His voice is kind. His gaze is kind. Everything about him is too kind. My cheeks burn as I take the pill with a sip of juice, his eyes quietly watching. I wonder if it would be worse if it's Mr. Silence giving me the pill or Jason.
"Thank you, Ace," Jason says, still smiling. "Do you have any requests? Anything you'd like?"
My mind is tangled, my questions knotted like hair too matted to comb through. I shake my head.
"In that case," he continues, "enjoy your breakfast. Stay as long as you like. You're taken care of."
When the door clicks shut behind him, the silence feels too large. I look around the suite as if seeing it for the first time—because last night, I didn't see anything. I only felt Mr. Silence.
His scent still lingers. I press my face into the pillow, breathing him in, and the tears come without permission. Just like nine months ago—another morning, another stranger, another empty bed. Except I was certain then that it had been Roberto.
So why am I crying now?
It was casual, wasn't it? He made it seem that way by sending Jason this morning. He left without a word, without a note. But last night... Last night, it didn't feel casual. I wipe my tears, the taste of him still on my lips. I know it's not a crush. I don't want to admit that I know what it really is.
###
Mohamad downs the glass of whiskey. Then another. Then another.
The burn is sharp. Immediate.
Useless.
The glass shatters against the wall. The sound echoes through the office.
Still—he can taste her.
His jaw tightens. He pulls out his phone. Calls Jason.
"Line them up. Now."
He ends the call.
----------------------
Twenty minutes later—
the penthouse.
----------------------
Fifteen women.
Waiting.
Arranged.
Available.
Replaceable.
----------------------
The blackout shades seal the city away. The lights flood the room.
He flips the switch. Darkness swallows everything.
His heart pounds. He waits. For the old fear. The one that used to own him.
Years spent killing it. Now—he invites it back.
His assistance positions the escort in the darkness and leaves.
Footsteps. A door closing.
Silence.
He moves. Controlled. Precise.
He unzips his pants. Pulls on protection. And takes her from behind.
Routine. Efficient. Meaningless.
But it isn't.
No matter what he does—
it's her. Her voice. Her mouth. Her scent.
His jaw tightens.
Control slips—just enough to anger him. This wasn't supposed to happen.
He didn't plan it. Didn't want it. Shouldn't have touched her.
His jaw tightens harder. She was a mistake.
He grips tighter. Moves faster. Harder. As if force alone could overwrite her.
It doesn't.
His breath turns uneven.
Not from exertion—from frustration.
He bends slightly, pulling the woman closer. Inhales. Searches—for anything that isn't Ace.
Nothing.
His movements grow sharper. More deliberate. More punishing. He needs her gone.
Every trace. Every thought.
This ends tonight.
It has to.