6:12 AM.

Claire Reyes opened her eyes to the black marble ceiling. Dim amber lighting still glowing beneath the shelves. The faint scent of expensive cologne tangled with sex and sleep.

Then memory crashed into her all at once.

Killian.

His bed.

His hands.

Her pulse stumbled violently.

Killian Virel looked different in the gray, pre-dawn light.

The predatory edge of his jaw had softened against the charcoal pillow.

His chestnut hair was a chaotic mess, a sharp contrast to the slicked-back armor he wore at the bar. He looked like someone who could be loved without consequences.

Claire knew about the humanity hidden inside monstrous narratives; she'd written papers on it.

But she also knew that the most beautiful monsters were the ones that made you want to stay until the sun went down.

Attachment leads to dependency.

Dependency leads to...

Her throat tightened.

Leave first.

The instinct arrived cold and automatic, older than logic itself.

If she left first, she could still pretend this had been nothing.

If she disappeared now, before daylight turned this into something real, she would not have to watch interest fade from his eyes later.

Would not have to feel abandoned afterward.

Claire slipped carefully from the bed.

The floor felt freezing beneath her bare feet as she gathered her clothes from the scattered trail across the penthouse floor. Her dress. One heel overturned near the couch. Killian's black shirt hanging half off the kitchen counter.

God.

Heat crept up her neck.

Last night already felt unreal, like something reckless borrowed from another version of herself.

She dressed quickly, fingers clumsy with nerves.

Behind her, Killian shifted slightly in his sleep, brow tightening faintly as though sensing movement even unconscious.

Claire froze instantly.

But he didn't wake.

She grabbed her boots, holding them by the laces to avoid the thud of leather on wood.

One last look.

Killian lay draped across the bed, a masterpiece of dangerous elegance.

The amber glow of his eyes was hidden behind closed lids, but she could still feel the phantom weight of his gaze.

"A beautiful mistake," she whispered, the words lost in the hum of the climate control.

She turned her back on the glass walls and the empire he built.

The elevator ride down felt like a descent into the underworld.

The lobby was empty, the night porter nodding to her with a look that suggested he'd seen many women leave this building at dawn.

But he hadn't seen them leave like this.

Claire pushed through the heavy glass doors and stepped into the Chicago morning.

The air was biting, a sharp slap of reality that cleared the lingering scent of sandalwood from her lungs.

The city was waking up in shades of bruised purple and industrial gray.

She walked toward the nearest subway station, her boots clicking a hollow rhythm on the pavement.

Every shadow looked like a man in a charcoal suit.

Every gust of wind sounded like a low, melodic rasp calling her name.

She descended into the transit tunnels, joining the early-shift workers and the weary souls who lived in the dark.

She was just another girl in an oversized coat now.

The train screeched into the station, a metal beast to carry her back to her books and her café shifts.

She sat on the orange plastic seat, staring at her reflection in the dirty window.

"Forget it," she told herself.

---

Back in the penthouse.

The emptiness woke him first. Killian's eyes opened slowly to cold sheets and silence.

For a moment, he simply stared upward, disoriented by the unfamiliar sensation clawing through his chest.

Then he reached across the bed.

Empty.

His body reacted before thought did.

He sat up in one fluid, violent motion, the silk sheets tearing slightly under the tension of his grip.

His wolf howled in the back of his mind, a sound of raw, unadulterated panic.

She was gone.

"Claire?" His voice sounded rough from sleep.

No answer. The penthouse stood unnaturally still around him.

Killian scanned the bedroom, jaw tightening immediately at the absence of her clothes.

He walked to the window, looking down at the streets he owned, the empire that suddenly felt like a cage.

He felt a void opening up in the center of his chest, a black hole where Claire Reyes had been for a single night.

He stared at the spot where she had slept, his knuckles turning white.