Sloane's POV
When I finally came to, I found myself lying on a king-size bed in a luxury hotel room. The air was thick with expensive incense—rich and heady—but beneath it, I caught something else.
Cedar and whiskey.
A scent I knew too well.
A cold, familiar voice cut through the silence.
"Sloane, I have to admit—you've gotten better at this game."
My blood ran cold.
My fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles turning white.
I turned my head, following the voice to the source.
There he was—Zane, lounging in a leather armchair by the window. He was dressed in a black dress shirt and slacks, the top two buttons undone. He looked casual. Tired, even. Like he'd been sitting there for hours just… waiting.
He leaned forward, resting his arms against that cold, hard jawline. His eyes, once
