Sage’s POV
When I woke up the next morning, I felt sore in all the right places.
The sheets still smelled like him. The balcony door was cracked open, and the city air drifted in like a soft reminder of last night. Of how we’d made love with the stars watching. Of how I finally saw the real Mark—the man who didn’t give a damn about expectations.
For a second, everything felt right.
Then my phone exploded.
I blinked at the screen. Fifteen missed calls. A dozen texts. Two voicemails. Notifications popping up like popcorn.
And then I saw it.
MARK ARTHUR SPOTTED IN WILD BALCONY s*x WITH 24-YEAR-OLD ASSISTANT!
The headline was in bold. The picture? Blurry, but unmistakable.
His hands on my hips.
My back arched.
His mouth on my neck.
Clear enough to ruin lives.
“s**t,” I muttered, t
