LUST, LOVE AND BLOOD

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

His fingers twitched, reaching for warmth, for the soft body that had been pressed against him just hours ago, but the space beside him was empty.

His eyes snapped open. The city stretched out before him, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, but there was no trace of her. No red hair spilling over his chest, no warmth lingering against his skin.

Just gone.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He stared at the spot where she had been, at the wrinkled fabric of his jacket that had been draped over her, now discarded on the concrete.

Then, reality slammed into him. She left him without a note or a name. Nothing but the fading memory of her moans, the way she had come undone in his arms, the way she had fit against him like she was made to be there.

Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what last night was supposed to be; a moment, a fleeting escape from whatever demons had been chasing them both.

But something about her…Something unsettled him.She hadn’t just been another woman.

And the way she touched him, the way she let him touch her, wasn’t just lust. It was something else. Something neither of them had put into words and now she was gone.

Nathaniel stood, rolling his shoulders as tension coiled beneath his skin. His tuxedo jacket lay abandoned on the rooftop floor, a reminder of the wedding he had walked away from, the life he had left behind just hours before meeting her.

It was ironic, really.

He had run away, only to crash straight into something else. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to escape and he wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers.

Nathaniel spent the day searching.

He had nothing to go on, no name, no number, not even a damn clue about who she was. But Nathaniel Weston wasn’t the kind of man who accepted no for an answer.

She had to be somewhere.

He went back to the rooftop that night, hoping stupidly that she might return. Yet, she didn't.

Frustration boiled in his chest. He wasn’t the type of man women walked away from. He was the one who did the walking. Yet, here he was.

He started asking questions. He asked around discreetly, described her to people who might have seen her. A woman with red hair, striking eyes, a presence that couldn’t be ignored.

Nathaniel had spent years learning how to read people, how to cut through deception, how to make men tell him exactly what he needed to know. He wasn’t a fool and he could tell from the way she carried herself that she wasn’t just some ordinary lady looking for a one-night escape.

There was something beneath her surface. Something dark and he wasn’t going to stop until he found it.

It wasn't until evening before he had a break.

His search led him back inside the skyscraper, to the high-end restaurant on one of the upper floors. A waiter at the high-end restaurant hesitated when Nathaniel described her. "There’s a woman who works here... Helena. Red hair, keeps to herself."

He hadn’t paid it much attention the night before, but now, as he stepped inside, something about it felt… off.

Not in a bad way but in a way that tugged at something inside him.

He scanned the room, his sharp gaze slicing through the elegant décor, the carefully arranged tables, the expensive suits of the men who thought they owned the world.

And then, He saw her.

She moved like a shadow, weaving between tables with effortless grace, her face a mask of polite indifference. But he saw through it.

Helena Maxwell.

At least, that’s what the name tag on her black dress read.

Nathaniel’s lips curved into something dangerous. She had run but she hadn’t run far enough. He leaned against the bar, watching as she approached a table, balancing a tray with practiced ease.

Scarlett—Helena—hadn’t seen him yet.

He wanted to watch her first.He wanted to see if last night had shaken her as much as it had shaken him and when she finally turned and caught his gaze, her entire body froze.

For a fraction of a second, her mask slipped. He saw it, the widening of her eyes, the sharp inhale, the way her grip tightened on the tray just a little too much.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Her face smoothed into an unreadable expression, her lips pressing into a neutral line as she turned away, pretending he wasn’t there.

He strode toward her, closing the distance between them in seconds. She hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on stacking plates.

"Helena Maxwell," he said, voice low, firm.

Scarlett froze.

Slowly, she lifted her head, her gaze locking onto his. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in her expression, shock, maybe even recognition. But then it was gone, replaced by something cold and unreadable.

"I don’t know you," she said flatly.

Nathaniel smirked. "Oh, I think you do."

She turned away. "I’m working."

He caught her wrist. "So you’re just going to pretend last night didn’t happen?"

Scarlett inhaled sharply, yanking her hand back. "You’re mistaken, sir."

Sir?

The word sent something dark curling in Nathaniel’s chest. Last night, she had been moaning in his arms. Now, she was looking at him like he was a stranger.

Anger flickered in his gaze. "Why did you leave?"

"I don’t owe you an explanation," she shot back, eyes flashing.

"You don’t," Nathaniel admitted. "But I think you want to give me one."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "You’re arrogant."

"And you’re a liar," he countered.

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, another voice interrupted.

"Helena, is there a problem?"

Her manager had been watching them closely.

Scarlett straightened. "No problem," she said smoothly. "This man was just leaving."

Nathaniel smiled, slow and knowing. "Actually, I think I’ll stay."

Scarlett’s jaw tightened. “Stay all you want. It won’t change anything.”

Nathaniel leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Are you sure about that?”

Her fingers curled into a fist at her side. “I don’t know what you think last night was, but it’s over. I moved on the second I walked away.”

Nathaniel let out a low chuckle. “Moved on? Is that what you call running?”

Scarlett stiffened.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” he continued, eyes locked onto hers. “You vanish. No goodbyes. No explanations.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she shot back.

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But I don’t believe for a second that last night meant nothing to you.”

Scarlett stepped closer, her voice dangerously low. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then let me,” Nathaniel said, reaching for her wrist again.

Scarlett reacted instantly.

Scarlett’s fingers twitched, whether in frustration or something else, he wasn’t sure. But then, before he could react, her palm met his cheek with a sharp, echoing crack.

The slap echoed through the restaurant. It was a loud hard slap.