Vienna never slept.
The gala was over, the champagne gone flat, and the high-rise suite smelled of roses, sweat, and leftover sin. Alina stood in front of the mirror with her heels still on, diamonds at her throat, the red velvet dress hanging from one shoulder like a whisper.
Behind her, Nicholas stalked forward—shirt unbuttoned, belt gone, eyes burning.
“You looked too good tonight,” he said, voice low.
She didn’t flinch. “Jealous?”
“Possessive.”
He was on her in seconds—pinning her to the mirror, his hand sliding up her inner thigh.
“You let all those men look at you,” he growled.
“I wanted you to see them looking.”
Her smirk was venom.
He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back.
“You want punished?”
She arched her back, lips parting. “Make it hurt.”
He bent her over the mar
