Morning came late.

Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, golden and warm on Maddie’s bare back. She stirred slowly, body aching in all the right places, sheets tangled between her thighs. Her skin was flushed, marked—faint bruises on her hips, a love bite on the swell of her breast, the echo of rough hands and hot words still dancing in her head.

Last night had been unlike anything she’d expected.

His voice. His grip. That deliciously dark energy, like he didn’t belong there—like he’d slipped out of another world just to fuck her senseless.

But he was real.

And he was gone.

Maddie sat up slowly, her body humming with aftershocks. Her fingers drifted between her thighs—slick, sore. She bit her lip, remembering the way he’d filled her, the way he’d growled her name like a promise and a curse all at once.

She wanted to find him.

No—she needed to.

By noon, she was dressed: loose linen shorts, a cropped tank that showed just a sliver of underboob, tousled hair that looked like sex on purpose. She padded barefoot down the hall, listening for voices, clues, anything.

In the kitchen, Vanessa stood in silk pajamas, sipping cold-brew through a glass straw, already glowing like she’d never slept.

“Morning, darling.”

Maddie walked past her to the fridge, trying to play it cool.

“Rough night?” Vanessa asked, with a sly little smirk.

Maddie paused.

“Did anyone else… stay behind last night?”

A longer pause.

Vanessa took another sip. Then slowly—“Someone did.”

Maddie’s breath caught.

“Tall. Sandy hair. Gray jacket. Came early and said he was just stopping by.”

Vanessa’s smile was more knowing now. “Ah. Him.”

Maddie turned, heart thudding. “So you knew?”

“Of course I knew. Lucien vouched for him. Said he had ‘unusual tastes’ but was safe.” She swirled the straw in her glass. “He tends to slip into parties, then disappear… or slip into bedrooms and leave you wondering if you dreamed him.”

Maddie’s legs felt weak again. “Does he have a name?”

“He uses a few.” Vanessa stepped closer. “But around here, we call him Cole.”

Cole.

It suited him—short, sharp, dangerous.

“Is he… married?”

Vanessa laughed softly. “No. But he’s always watching. Careful. Private.” Then, with a wink, “You’re not the first girl to ask about him. You might be the first he came back for.”

Maddie’s heart raced. She turned to hide the way her nipples perked under her tank.

She wanted to ask more—but something stopped her.

She could feel it now. The delicate balance of the house. The fluid lines between pleasure and power. The unspoken rules of who got to know what, and when.

Vanessa was watching her too closely.

So Maddie smiled. Played innocent. And tucked her questions away for later.

---

That afternoon, the house was quiet. Selene and Roman were gone. Graham was on the phone in his office. Lucien had vanished.

Maddie wandered out to the gardens, pretending to admire the roses while her eyes scanned the perimeter. No sign of Cole. No trace of last night. Just birdsong and flowers and the faint taste of secrets on her tongue.

Later, she slipped into the guesthouse—an unused wing with a private bar, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a closed door at the end of the hall.

The door was locked.

But a faint scent lingered near it—spice and sweat and expensive cologne.

Cole had been here.

She pressed her palm to the wood. Her breath caught.

And then, just as quickly, she turned and left.

She didn’t want them to know she was looking.

---

That night, she showered longer than usual. Shaved slower. Dried herself in front of the mirror, studying every inch of herself like she was preparing to be inspected. Touched herself once… then twice… remembering his voice, his grip, the low growl of “You’ll forget it anyway.”

But she didn’t.

She went to bed naked, covers kicked off, door cracked open just slightly.

Waiting.

---

And still—no one came.

Not Cole. Not Lucien. Not even Vanessa.

But Maddie wasn’t discouraged.

Because the next day, as she sipped her mimosa on the patio in a tiny sundress, Vanessa came out in oversized sunglasses and said simply:

“He left you something.”

Maddie blinked. “Who?”

Vanessa only smiled and handed her a white envelope, unmarked.

Inside: a single photo.

Maddie in the pool. Back arched. Eyes closed. Moonlight washing over her breasts.

Shot from the bushes.

From his point of view.

Written across the bottom in black ink:

“Keep the door cracked. I’m not finished with you yet.” – C.

Maddie’s thighs clenched. Her pulse quickened.

Vanessa leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “I’d keep that to yourself, if I were you.”

And Maddie did.

---

That night, Maddie didn’t tell anyone where she was going. She didn’t ask questions. She just slipped quietly into the guesthouse, unlocked now.

Candles were lit.

A new photo was pinned to the mirror—this time of her in bed, face flushed, mouth open, Cole’s hand fisting her hair.

Her lips parted.

A low voice spoke from behind the curtains.

“Close the door, Maddie.”

And she did.

Smiling.

Ready.

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