The knock on the door was insistent.
Stephanie blinked from the couch, groggy and still in her pajamas. She wasn't expecting anyone—especially not on a weekend when she'd planned to sulk in silence with a cup of coffee and some paint.
Dragging herself up, she opened the door—and froze.
Anita stood there, all smiles and sunshine, a carry-on bag slung over her shoulder.
"You better hug me before I start crying," she said.
"Anita!" Stephanie shrieked, launching herself forward. "You're back!"
"I told you I'd come back for your breakdown."
They hugged tight, laughing and babbling over each other. Anita stepped inside, taking in the cozy apartment like it was a long-lost friend.
Then another voice came from behind. "Look who the wind dragged in."
Leo—Stephanie's younger brother—stood at the kitchen door with a wide grin.
Anita beamed. "Leo! Wow. You're taller. And still single, I hope?"
"Devastatingly," he replied, walking over to pull her into a hug.
They settled in, the three of them, like old times—music playing, snacks everywhere, memories bouncing from one corner to the next.
"You've barely left the house in weeks," Anita scolded, curling her legs under her on the couch. "I'm dragging you out tonight."
Stephanie groaned. "Anita…"
"No. No excuses. It's the weekend, you have no work tomorrow, and I just flew across two time zones to rescue you. You're coming."
Leo raised a brow. "It's true. You've been working like a maniac and ignoring everyone. You could use some bad decisions."
"Fine," Stephanie sighed. "But I'm not dancing on any tables."
—
The club pulsed with lights and laughter. Stephanie was wearing a soft red dress that hugged her in the right places, and after three shots and two cocktails, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone brighter than they had in weeks.
Anita tugged her to the dance floor, but after a few songs, she needed a break.
"I'll be right back. Restroom," Anita shouted over the music.
Stephanie nodded, leaning against the bar with another drink. Her head felt light. Her heart even lighter. She hadn't felt this free in a long time.
That was when he approached—tall, dark-haired, smug smirk plastered on his face.
"You look lonely, sweetheart."
Stephanie laughed, dry. "Not lonely. Just tipsy."
"Well, I'm here to fix both."
He got closer, too close.
"Back off," she warned, but her words slurred.
His hand gripped her arm. "Come on, don't play hard to get."
"I said no."
Suddenly, he was yanked back—hard—and thrown to the floor.
Gasps followed.
Stephanie squinted, trying to focus.
"Nathan?"
He stood between her and the sleazy man like a wall of fury. "Touch her again," he growled, "and you won't walk out of here."
Security rushed in. The guy scrambled away.
Nathan turned to her. "You okay?"
"I think so…" she murmured. "Are you real?"
He gave a short breath of a laugh and caught her before she stumbled. "Come on. You're coming with me."
"But Anita—"
"I'll leave word with the manager. She'll find you."
—
Back at Nathan's house—a sleek, quiet residence guarded by stone walls and shadows—he helped Stephanie through the door.
Her heels clacked against the hardwood floor before she sank onto the couch, kicking them off and giggling to herself.
"You live like a vampire," she teased, eyes roaming the minimalist interior.
He brought her a glass of water. "Drink this."
She pouted. "Why are you so nice to me?"
"Because you've had a rough night."
"No," she whispered, eyes suddenly glossy. "Because you kissed me and then ignored me."
Nathan stilled.
She set the glass down, pushed herself up from the couch—wobbly but determined—and walked over to him.
"You kissed me," she murmured. "And I liked it. A lot."
"Stephanie…"
"You didn't call. You didn't even look at me after." She reached up, fingertips brushing his shirt. "Do you want me or not?"
He swallowed hard.
"I do," he said. "But not like this."
Her brows furrowed.
"You're drunk," he added gently. "And I want the moment we have to mean something. Not be blurred out by tequila and regret."
Tears welled in her eyes, frustration and alcohol and longing mixing into one unbearable knot.
"I hate how you make me feel," she whispered.
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And I hate how much I want to protect you from everything—including myself."
She leaned into him, her forehead pressing softly against his chest.
Nathan held her for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he scooped her into his arms.
"I'm putting you to bed."
He carried her down the hall, gently placed her on the bed in the guest room, then sat beside her. She blinked up at him, eyes heavy.
"I still want you," she murmured.
"And I still want you sober," he said with a faint smile.
She fell asleep seconds later, breathing soft, lashes fanned across her cheek.
Nathan sat there, watching her, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
You're the daughter of the man who saved me… and the one thing I'm terrified of wanting.