Her Secret Craving

The evening lights of downtown shimmered through the hotel's high-rise windows, casting a golden glow across the luxury suite. Charles stood by the minibar, shirt unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck, his mind still reeling from the day's events—two new women synced, a secret investor revealed, and Nina's warning ringing in his ears like a death knell.

The crystal tumbler felt cold in his hand as he poured himself a drink, but his movements froze mid-air when the bedroom door creaked open with deliberate slowness.

Out stepped Camilla Quinn, barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe that clung to her curves like liquid shadow. Her usually sharp, calculating eyes—the ones that had dominated boardrooms and crushed competitors—looked different tonight. Soft. Vulnerable, even. For a woman who'd built an empire on never showing weakness, this was more unsettling than any corporate takeover.