The music in the VIP lounge was a low, thudding vibration, but Aaron barely registered it. He leaned back against the plush velvet leather, a glass of crystal-clear gin resting loosely in his hand. Around him, three different women—hired from the city's most exclusive club, boasting body types that matched Guest’s exact proportions—were putting on a masterclass in seduction. One traced a manicured finger down his collarbone; another swayed rhythmically in front of him, hips moving with practiced ease. Aaron felt absolutely nothing. No sudden rush of heat. No quickening pulse. Just a cold, irritating boredom. He dismissed them with a sharp wave of his hand, not even bothering to look up as they gathered their things and hurried out. He leaned his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes. The moment he did, his mind betrayed him. He didn’t see the strippers; he saw Guest. He saw the way she looked at him from across his kitchen, wearing one of his oversized shirts, completely indifferent to the wealth that usually made women swoon. He imagined her swaying like that, her hands on him, and the sudden, intense jolt of desire made his jaw clench. It was infuriating. He had built his entire adult life on being untouchable. Aaron was the heir, the playboy, the man who held all the cards. When he’d suggested the friends with benefits arrangement, he thought he was being clever. He gave her his credit cards, an open invitation to his penthouse, and complete financial freedom, all in exchange for total access to her body. He had convinced himself it was a transaction a mutually beneficial deal because her body felt like it had been custom-sculpted just for his touch. He was convinced it was just a physical craving or a hopeless addiction he couldn't put an end to, back then. How foolishly naive he was.. He had spent the last three hours trying to prove to himself that any attractive woman with her physique could satisfy him, and he had failed miserably. Aaron grabbed his jacket, shoved a stack of bills onto the glass table, and walked out of the club. Twenty minutes later, the keycard to his penthouse beeped. The apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the skyline filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He walked down the hall, his chest tightening with every step, until he pushed open the door to his master bedroom. Guest was fast asleep, curled comfortably in the middle of his king-sized bed. Aaron stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders. It wasn't just her body. It was her. Going a single day without her was turning into a quiet, unbearable agony. He wanted to consume her, own her, make her exclusively his. But he couldn't afford to act hasty and ruin everything, he had to conceal his desire. He kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his shirt, and slid onto the mattress, pulling her small frame flush against his chest. The moment her skin touched his, the tension finally drained from his shoulders. She stirred slightly, murmuring something soft in her sleep, and Aaron buried his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. As his arms tightened around her, he knew one thing for certain: she was never leaving this bed.