The Warning

The next morning, Sarina woke tangled in white sheets, the sea breeze slipping through the half-drawn curtains like a whispered dare.

Her body still hummed.

Not from any touch.

From something worse.

Anticipation.

Her fingers brushed the space beside her. Empty. Of course.

But somehow… not untouched.

She didn’t know what Damien or Jace had planned next. She only knew they were watching.

And she had never wanted to be watched more.

---

Downstairs, Eden pulsed with luxury. Couples sipped mimosas beside the infinity pool. Staff in crisp uniforms moved quietly, efficiently, eyes always lowered. A pianist played something low and sensual in the background.

But none of it touched Sarina.

Because he was there.

Jace.

Leaning against a pillar near the pool bar, black shirt clinging to muscle, sunglasses hiding his gaze. But she could feel it.

He was watching her.

And not like the others.

Like he was memorizing her walk. The sway of her hips. The shape of her mouth when she smiled at a guest.

She let him.

---

Later, in the dressing room, Sarina slipped into the black silk uniform—halter-style, open back, thigh-slit high enough to silence any doubts about what kind of resort this really was. She adjusted her lipstick in the mirror.

The door behind her clicked open.

She didn't turn.

“I know it’s you,” she murmured.

The door closed. No footsteps. Just silence, thick with heat.

“I’m not afraid of you, Jace.”

“Good.”

His voice was closer now. Just behind her shoulder.

“Because if you were, you’d already be gone.”

She turned slowly, meeting his gaze.

No sunglasses now. Just those dark, storm-filled eyes. Closer than they should be. Bigger. Broader. The air between them tightened.

“You keep looking at me like you want to break me,” she said quietly.

“I do.”

He stepped forward.

“But not yet.”

Her breath caught. “Then when?”

“When you stop pretending you’re in control.”

---

She should’ve left. Should’ve turned and walked out, let the mystery deepen.

But Sarina Vale had never been patient.

She stepped into him.

Close enough that the front of her dress brushed his chest.

Close enough to feel that solid, unmovable body underneath.

“I don’t break, Jace.”

His hand came up—not to touch her, but to graze the hem of her dress.

“You do,” he said darkly, “You just haven’t had the right hands on you yet.”

And just like that—he was gone.

Out the door. No look back.

Leaving her heart racing, breath shallow, thighs clenched around a tension she hadn’t asked for—but now couldn’t shake.

---

That night was her first official shift.

Damien was there.

Sitting in a private booth near the back of the lounge, his silhouette carved in shadow. Elegant, cold, unreadable. A glass of scotch in his hand. A woman leaned close, whispering something into his ear.

Sarina didn’t care.

She walked toward him anyway.

His gaze flicked up the second she stepped into his line of sight.

“Change of heart?” he asked as she stopped at his table.

“I thought I’d introduce myself properly,” she said, voice velvet.

“You already have.”

She tilted her head. “And what did you think?”

He sipped his drink. "You’re clever. You’re confident. And you’re addicted to power."

She leaned down, close enough to let him see the line of her throat. “Is that a problem?”

Damien smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Only if you forget who holds it.”

---

Later, she was sent to host a small private table—two clients, both men, both dripping money and sleaze. One tried to touch her thigh. The other stared at her chest and asked if she came as part of the room service.

Sarina kept her smile sharp and polite.

But when she turned to leave the table, she saw him.

Jace.

Standing in the shadows across the lounge, fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked. His eyes pinned to the hand that had grazed her thigh.

And something inside her… thrilled.

He was jealous.

And not just protective. Possessive.

Hungry.

---

Later that night, she walked back to her suite alone. Or so she thought.

But as soon as she shut the door behind her—there was a knock.

She didn’t even ask who it was.