My phone wouldn't stop buzzing in my pocket. A barrage of texts from his best friend. Are you seriously not going to take responsibility after sleeping with me? That was my first time! Say something! My stomach dropped. I was spiraling. How the hell was I supposed to handle this? Then, he cornered me, his jaw tight. "So, is this your excuse? Is this why you’ve dated every single guy in my inner circle?" I kept my head down, my fingers twisted tightly into a knot. I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. I didn't just date them. I slept with all of them. After all, I have severe prosopagnosia. I’m completely face-blind. 1 My boyfriend was a piece of trash. I had gone to the club to find him, only to pause outside the VIP booth when I heard his friends talking. "You're marrying the Montgomery heiress soon, right? What are you going to do about Camille?" "She's just a little plaything," Tristan's voice drifted out, casual and light. "I give her money, she warms my bed. It’s a transaction. When the time comes, I’ll cut her a check and send her packing." The booth erupted in laughter. "Is she gonna cry? What if she clings to your leg and refuses to let go?" Through the parted velvet curtain, I saw Tristan shake his head, looking genuinely inconvenienced. "That's exactly what I’m worried about. She's too docile. She’s so obsessed with me, I’m terrified she’ll threaten to do something drastic when I end it. It’s going to be a headache." A chorus of drawn-out boos and mock sympathy filled the room. "You heartless bastard," someone jeered. Tristan just shrugged, unfazed. "If you guys feel so bad for her, go ahead and try your luck. Whoever actually manages to bag her, I’ll buy you a massive gift. Consider it my wedding present to myself." A new voice cut through the noise, out of place among the cheering. "You said it yourself, Tristan. You're breaking up with Camille." Tristan didn't answer immediately. He lifted his gaze, lazily crushing his cigarette into the glass ashtray on the table. "Yeah. I said it." He was wearing a deep V-neck shirt tonight. In the dim, pulsating neon light, the distinct dark red birthmark over his heart looked vivid, almost like a drop of fresh blood. My refined, handsome boyfriend. Right now, looking at him just made me feel sick to my stomach. The cheering was giving me a migraine. I blinked slowly, my eyes burning and aching with a sudden, heavy pressure. So, we weren't in love? So, he just wanted my body? Liar. He had looked me in the eyes and promised he would love me and take care of me for the rest of his life. 2 My phone vibrated. A video file from Brady, Tristan’s absolute best friend. Come to me. I swear I'll treat you better than he ever did. Men. They were all liars. He probably just wanted me to come over so he could get proof on camera to claim Tristan's sick little reward. I locked my screen, sniffled, and turned around, pushing my way out of the club alone. But I didn't know this part of the city well. The further I walked, the darker the streets became. My steps slowed until I slammed headfirst into a solid chest. "I'm sorry!" My nose throbbed from the impact. The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, making my voice come out as a pathetic, muffled whine. Before I could step back, long, masculine fingers forcefully wedged between mine. He possessed my hand, intertwining our fingers with an undeniable grip, and began leading me down the street. "Why so sad? Because of Tristan?" he asked. The streetlights were too dim. I couldn't see his face clearly. Honestly, I've struggled to recognize faces since I was a kid. To make matters worse, Tristan and his inner circle had formed a private motorsport club, and they were always going out in matching sleek, black racing jackets with their arms draped over each other's shoulders. Without a distinct marker, they were entirely interchangeable to me. Once, at one of their dimly lit house parties, I had followed the scent of Tristan's signature Tom Ford cologne, only to realize too late that Brady was the one holding my hand, leading me out to the terrace to look at the stars. If Tristan hadn't stormed out right at that second, Brady would have kissed me. Afterward, Brady claimed it was just a joke, though Tristan nearly threw a punch. Tristan had warned me then to stay away from Brady, claiming the guy was bad news. Whatever. They were all bastards. My silence seemed to give him the wrong idea. "Alright, I know he's trash. Let me take you home. Wait here a second." I didn't wait. I slipped around the corner, quietly ordering an Uber on my phone, hiding in the shadows. But to my shock, a sleek car pulled up right in front of me. A familiar, impatient voice called out. "Why are you standing out here? Get in." Under the flickering streetlamp, I blinked. The man was wearing the exact same racing jacket Tristan had on earlier. Oh... so he must have finished drinking and come out to find me. I had zero desire to speak to him. I turned on my heel to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and forcefully yanked me into the passenger seat. Panic flared in my chest. I swung my hand back and slapped him hard across the face. "Don't touch me!" But this absolute psycho seemed to like it. His eyes lost focus for a second, the sting of the slap sending a visible shudder through him. It took him a moment to recover. His thigh muscles bunched as he effortlessly hauled me across the console, settling me onto his lap. He lowered his voice, coaxing me softly. "Baby girl, I was wrong." He paused, his breath hot against my cheek. "Everything I said in there was bullshit. How could I ever let anyone else have you?" He grabbed my hand and brought it to his own cheek, gently mimicking a slap against his own skin. "My sweet girl. I love you. Only you." I instinctively tried to pull back, but he caught my fingers, pressing open-mouthed kisses to each one, the slick heat of his mouth sending a shiver of pure electricity down my spine. "I'll be so good to you." He drove us to an unfamiliar penthouse. Tristan had a lot of real estate; I figured this was just one I hadn't been to before. "This is your home now." Before I could process that, he scooped me into his arms, carrying me into the master bedroom and tossing me onto the center of the massive bed. "Don't turn it on," he murmured, catching my hand as I reached for the bedside lamp. Instead, he leaned over, pressing a glass of dark liquor to my lips. "I love you, baby. I love you—" His voice sounded a little strange tonight. Deeper, rougher, somehow unfamiliar. I tried to turn my head away, but he descended on me with a storm of kisses, kissing me until my mind spun out into static. All I could think was: It’s this late, and we’re really going through the motions? Then, a bead of sweat fell onto my cheek. Was this really necessary? We’d been together long enough to skip this kind of frantic desperation. How much did he drink? I sighed internally, deciding to just get it over with so I could sleep. I had a massive thesis paper to work on tomorrow. I tilted my chin up and kissed his jaw. "Hurry up—" Just finish, so I can sleep. ... He pulled my glasses off, setting them gently on the nightstand. Right at that moment, my phone started ringing. Without my glasses, the screen was a blur. It looked like... Tristan? Wait. If Tristan was calling me... who was currently kissing my neck? "Have you made up your mind?" the man above me asked softly. I tried to reach for my phone, but the heavy weight of the man pressed down, his fingers interlacing with mine, pinning my wrists to the mattress. "What are you—" Before I could finish, his mouth crashed down on mine, swallowing my words into a helpless moan. "Forget about it," he whispered against my lips. "I'll take care of everything." 3 When I opened my eyes, the first thing I registered was the scorching heat of a mature male body pressed against my back. Without thinking, I reached a hand back. The man let out a low, sleep-heavy groan. Before my brain could even catch up, the world flipped upside down. He effortlessly pinned me to the mattress, dipping his head to kiss me, his voice gravelly and dark. "What, didn't get enough last night?" My lower back ached so badly it felt like it belonged to someone else. Furious, I bit his shoulder. He let out a low, breathy laugh, leaning in to kiss me again. I shoved at his chest, my vision clearing just enough to focus on his bare skin. My heart instantly vaulted into my throat. There was no red birthmark. Who the hell did I sleep with last night?! I jerked backward so fast I cracked the back of my head against the headboard. The sharp pain brought instant tears to my eyes. The man's Adam's apple bobbed. He caught my hands, his tone immediately softening into a coaxing murmur. "Baby, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have scared you. Please don't be mad." I stared at him through a blur of tears. Seeing me cry, he immediately backed off. He dropped to one knee beside the bed, gently pulling my discarded shirt over my head and slipping my socks onto my cold feet. It was absolutely his fault. If it hadn't been pitch black last night, if he hadn't held me and whispered that he loved me, if he hadn't dragged my hands down his abdomen... I mean, the abs felt identical to Tristan's! And my brain had been thoroughly short-circuited by the kissing. Of course I hadn't stopped him. ...But who was he? I was paralyzed with panic. I’m a rational person, but I’m face-blind. I rely almost entirely on distinct physical markers to tell these men apart. A mole, a scar, a specific watch. But this man had no mole. And currently, he was buck naked, stripped of any identifying accessories. I had absolutely no idea who I was looking at. Once I was dressed, I blindly reached for my phone on the nightstand. My pupils dilated in sheer horror. It was 7:30 AM. Every single morning at 8:00 AM sharp, Tristan FaceTimed me. What the hell was I going to do?! The man had pulled his racing jacket back on. He had a gorgeous, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted physique. The morning light caught the sharp, aristocratic bridge of his nose. He looked wealthy, dangerous, and absolutely not someone to mess with. He looked at me. "Moving your stuff over today?" Seeing my completely blank expression, a realization seemed to hit him. He let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Do you even know who I am?" It was a trap. A lethal, fatal trap. I stared at him, and then, slowly, large, heavy tears began rolling down my cheeks. "I'm not a bad person." I had just made a tiny mistake that any visually impaired girl in a dark room might make. The man instantly panicked, stepping forward to wipe my tears. "Hey, don't cry..." I locked eyes with him for one second, then threw my arms around his neck. Caught off guard, his hands instinctively dropped to my waist to catch me. I hooked my leg over him, straddling his hips. His breathing instantly turned harsh. "Baby, what are you—" Click. His face changed instantly. "Camille!" I scrambled off his lap, quickly swiping my hand over his abs one last time just for good measure. His left wrist was now securely fastened to the heavy iron headboard with a pair of fuzzy novelty handcuffs I’d spotted earlier. The only key was clenched tight in my fist. I had noticed the cuffs in the half-open nightstand drawer the night before. What kind of decent man keeps novelty cuffs by his bed anyway? "I wanted to ask you last night," I said, blinking at him innocently. "Are you... stunted?" I held up my hands, measuring an imaginary distance in the air. "Shouldn't all real men be twelve inches? Shouldn't it be impossible to fit inside a Gatorade bottle?" The man, who had been violently yanking at the restraints, suddenly froze. He stared at me in absolute, utter disbelief. "What did you just say?" I straightened my shirt, nervously wringing my hands. "...Don't be insecure about it. I promise I won't tell anyone about last night." The cuffed man went completely silent. He seemed to choke on his own air for several long seconds. "It's not like I haven't been with Tristan—" I lunged forward, clapping my hand over his mouth. "Shhhh! We are not talking about this!" To my horror, his tongue darted out and licked the center of my palm. I shrieked, yanking my hand back as if burned. "Psycho!" "Twelve inches is a medical anomaly," he growled, his eyes burning into mine. "Stop reading those trashy romance novels." Right on cue, my phone lit up. It was Tristan. I waved the glowing screen at the man chained to the bed. "Tristan's calling. Gotta go." Ignoring the kaleidoscope of murderous colors flashing across his face, I slipped out the door and let out a massive sigh of relief. That was too close. At least I wasn't caught red-handed. 4 I carefully pushed open the door to my apartment. Dead silent. Thank God. Tristan wasn't home yet. I tiptoed into the hallway, but as I passed the living room, a voice, colder than ice, drifted from the shadows. "Why didn't you answer your phone?" My soul nearly left my body. Every hair on my arms stood up. Tristan was sitting rigidly on the sofa in the dark. He was still wearing the clothes from last night. God knows how long he’d been sitting there. He leaned forward, his nose twitching slightly. "Did you shower?" His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck. His sharp nose cut a handsome profile in the gloom. My deeply traitorous, newly-satisfied body actually went a little weak at the knees. It was his fault. He loved using that perfect nose of his in bed. Watching Tristan lean in, sniffing the air around me like a damn bloodhound, pure panic seized my chest. He couldn't look any lower! If he looked lower, he’d see the fading hickeys! I threw my arms around his neck, burying myself deep against his chest, and burst into exaggerated, theatrical sobs. "You're being so mean to me!" I wailed. The rigid tension in Tristan’s muscles didn't completely fade, but the ice in his expression melted slightly. "Don't try to act cute. It won't work." I pressed my face harder against his expensive shirt, finally exhaling. Yep. Definitely Tristan. I kept my head down, forcing my voice to tremble with a pathetic little hiccup. "I went to the club to find you last night—" His body went completely stiff. "You came to the club?" "...Why did you come looking for me?" "Someone sent me a pin drop. They said you wanted me to come get you." I felt Tristan's entire frame go rigid. He gripped my chin, forcing my head up, his dark eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity. "...What did you hear?" My eyes were genuinely red from holding my breath. I stared up at him pathetically. "I couldn't find you. I went back to the university lab and worked on my models all night. I forgot my phone. And then I come home, and you jump scare me." He exhaled a long, shaky breath, the fight draining out of him. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against him, instantly slipping back into his patronizing, lecturing tone. "I told you to stay away from the people in my circle. Every single one of my friends is a piece of trash. Stay away from them." 5 Just as I thought I had survived the gauntlet, someone knocked on the door. Tristan clearly had no intention of answering it. But then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. My entire body turned to stone. On the screen, the name Brady flashed relentlessly. When I didn't pick up, the text messages started rapid-firing across the lock screen. Where are you? I told you to wait for me outside the club last night. Why did you disappear? Tristan’s head snapped toward me, his eyes practically feral. "I thought you said you left your phone at the lab." I had no words. He shoved me aside and stalked to the front door, ripping it open. I spun around, desperate to bolt to the bedroom, but a hand reached through the doorway and grabbed my arm. It was the exact same black racing jacket. "I told you to wait for me at the door last night. Where did you go?" ??? My vision literally swam. Staring at the identical face, I let my eyes drop to the green-dial Rolex on his wrist. I took a wild guess. "Brady?" Did he get out of the handcuffs that fast?! The man in the doorway narrowed his eyes, looking intensely displeased. "Where the hell did you go?" Wait. He was Brady??? Then who did I sleep with last night?!
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