Jensen was absolutely fuming. "You're a manipulative, scheming woman. So what if you're Sunny? I must've been blind to think you were kind and pure!" Jensen's voice had barely hit the air when Sharon suddenly crumpled to the floor—whether from shock, rage, or sheer theatrics, no one could tell. "Sharon!" Panic slammed into Jensen. He dropped to his knees beside her, scooped her up in his arms, and bolted toward the exit. "Call an ambulance!" he barked as he ran. As he brushed past Natalie, he spat under his breath, "If anything happens to her, I'll make your life a living hell." The words hit harder than the shove. Natalie staggered—but before she could fall, a steady hand caught her from behind. She stared after Jensen's retreating figure. His desperation echoed another time—five years ago—when he'd run like this while carrying her out of the Summers estate. Back then, he had been her whole world. Her hero. Her hope. Now, that same man was holding someone else. She thought of the hidden photo frame in the living room—the one she never dared throw away. For five years, she had convinced herself that even if she wasn't Jensen's first choice… their love was real. But today stripped her clean.Sharon was his real crush. And she? She had simply been the stand-in. A woman who'd mistaken crumbs for affection. Natalie straightened, but the shadow in her eyes didn't fade. That was when a warm, sandalwood-scented suit jacket fell over her shoulders. "I owed the Witch Doctor a favor," the man said calmly. "He asked me to help you today, so I did. Now that everything's settled… what are you planning to do? Do you have anywhere to go? I could—" He didn't finish. Because Natalie suddenly turned, grabbed him by the tie, and yanked him toward her. Up close, he was devastating—easily on par with Jensen, maybe even better. And that tiny mole under his eye held a dangerous charm that pulled her in. Five years. Five years she'd poured herself dry for Jensen. Even now, after exposing the truth and taking back what belonged to her… she felt nothing but a crushing emptiness. Some things didn't heal quietly. They needed to burn out. "Sleep with me," she whispered. Her voice was soft—but it hit him like a punch. "…What did you just say?" He genuinely thought he misheard. This was Natalie—the girl who'd only ever had eyes for Jensen. How could she say something like that?She let out a small, humorless laugh. “What? You don't like women with scars? Forget it. I'll find someone else." She dropped his tie and turned to leave. She didn't make it far. Strong arms lifted her off the ground in one smooth motion. "Don't regret this later." His voice was low, rough, threaded with a desire he wasn't bothering to hide as he strode for the exit. No one stopped them. No one dared. He carried her straight into the hotel next door, rode the elevator to the top floor, and kicked open the presidential suite door with one sharp move. The door slammed shut behind them. He pinned her back against the gilded frame, fingers sliding up the side of her neck. "You still have time to back out," he murmured, breath scraping her skin. His voice was thick with restraint—and losing. Natalie suddenly rose onto her toes, brushing her lips along his throat, her teeth grazing the sharp edge of his Adam's apple. Every muscle in his body snapped tight. His hand shot up and pinned her wrist above her head, the cold scrape of his cufflink dragging right across the fresh red marks Jensen had left. "You're out of chances now, Natalie," he growled—low, dangerous, unmistakable. He dipped his head. The second his mouth closed around her earlobe, her breath shivered out of her—soft, helpless, rising like champagne bubbles.Then she grabbed him and kissed him back, fiercely. Her teeth caught his tongue, and the taste of blood and sweetness burst warm between their mouths. But when she yanked his shirt open, the third button skittered across the floor— and the cross-shaped scar on his chest came into view. Not the same as hers… but close enough to strike straight through her. Her pupils snapped tight. “You—” “Woman. Focus." He swallowed the rest of her words with his mouth, leaving her no room to argue. Then everything dissolved. The chandelier dimmed to a faint halo. A belt buckle hit the floor with a sharp metallic clatter. Somewhere outside, a flock of doves burst upward into the night. It was wild. Breathless. Reckless. Two people tearing through pain, the only way they knew how— by burning through each other. Two hours later, Natalie lay draped against him, boneless and exhausted. He reached for a cigarette, pausing halfway. "You mind?" His voice was rough—sated—and his skin still flushed with heat.Natalie shook her head. Jensen never smoked. She used to love that clean scent on him. But now? All she remembered was the cloying perfume Sharon always wore on him. She needed something different. He lit the cigarette. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the slow thrum of their afterglow. Natalie traced the sharp line of his jaw with her gaze. He was gorgeous. Strong. Dangerous. She didn't regret giving herself to him—not even a little. "Can I have a taste?" she asked, reaching for the cigarette. He caught her wrist. "Not your style." “Tch.” She let it go. He took another drag, then glanced sideways at her. "You're not curious who I am?" The smoke drifted lazily between them. Natalie frowned, pushed herself up, and slid off the bed. "I'm going to shower." It was a one-night thing. She wasn't about to chain herself to another man—not when she was leaving Judshire in a few days. Nothing here would matter soon. He didn't seem bothered by her distance."You really are the 'use it and toss it' type, huh? All that effort I put in—wasted." She snorted. "You enjoyed it too." She shut the bathroom door before he could answer. Hot water poured over her, washing away the sweat, but not the ache in her chest. Outside, he had been about to follow her—when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped out onto the balcony. The sun lit up the serpent tattoo snaking across his shoulder, scales glinting as if alive. “Speak.” Gone was the lazy, teasing charm. His voice was ice and steel. “Mr. Baron, the police has officially archived the footage involving Ms. Summersby. But they'll require her to file a report in person to proceed." Baron's eyes narrowed. "Let her decide." "Yes, sir." A pause. Then— "Mr. Baron… should Ms. Summers be informed of your other identity—as the Witch Doctor?"