Roxanne sat slumped against the polished mahogany of the bar, her finger drumming a silent, erratic rhythm on the surface as she waited for her third shot of the night.

"Can you actually believe it? He asked me for an open marriage," she muttered aloud, looking up at the bartender, who merely offered a practiced, sympathetic smile before moving down the counter.

Left to her own thoughts, Roxanne dropped her gaze to her left hand. The ambient bar lights caught the diamond, making it glitter mockingly. "Why am I even still wearing this thing?" she whispered to herself.

She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the metal to slide it off, but her hand froze. Even in her heavily tipsy state, her muscles refused to cooperate. She couldn’t take off the wedding ring that had lived on her finger for the past five years.

To her, that band was still the sacred symbol of her love, of his vows, of the future they were supposed to build together.

Christian was the first and only man she had ever given her heart to. He was her high school sweetheart, her first everything, and her entire definition of what true love was supposed to be.

Maybe that was the curse of it. Maybe that was why she had spent years shrinking herself, forgiving him no matter how many times she found evidence, or how many times she caught him in his office with different secretaries and women whose faces she didn’t even know.

But three weeks ago? That had been different. He had never brought his filth into their home. Not once. Much less onto their actual matrimonial bed.

"Your drink, ma’am," the bartender said, sliding a fresh glass across the counter and breaking her out of the spiral.

Roxanne didn’t waste a single second. She snatched the glass from the table and downed the liquor in one violent gulp. The gin burned a fiery path down her throat and into her chest, but even that searing heat did absolutely nothing to ease the agonizing ache in her heart.

"Another one, please," she said, her voice slightly slurred as she slid the empty shot glass back toward him.

"I think you’ve had enough of the house pours, ma’am." A smooth, polite voice cut through the low hum of the bar.

Roxanne blinked, her brows creasing as she turned her head. Standing beside her stool was a man dressed impeccably in a crisp white shirt, a sleek waistcoat, and a perfectly tied bow tie. He looked like he belonged to a completely different establishment.

"Good evening," he greeted with a respectful bow of his head, extending a heavy, matte-black card toward her between two fingers. "Would you like to access our private VIP lounge upstairs?"

Roxanne frowned, tilting her head as she looked from the mysterious card up to his face. A breathless, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "A VIP lounge? Tell me, does it have handsome men up there?"

She leaned a fraction closer, the scent of gin clinging to her breath. "Because my husband wants an open marriage. He told me to live in reality."

The gentleman’s expression didn’t waver. His face remained perfectly composed. "If you would follow me, ma’am, I can show you exactly what our reality looks like."

Roxanne paused, the alcohol buzzing heavily in her veins, urging her to take a leap into the dark. She glanced at the bartender, reached into her clutch, and carelessly slapped a hundred-dollar bill onto the damp counter. "For the drinks."

The bartender nodded respectfully, pocketing the cash.

Sliding off the barstool, Roxanne took a moment to steady her balance, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She looked at the waiting host, a dangerous, reckless spark finally igniting in her eyes.

"Lead the way," she said. "After you."

The host gave a polite nod and stepped ahead to guide her. As they moved deeper into the exclusive heart of the establishment, the chaotic thumping of the main bar began to fade. The air grew quieter, charged with a distinct, suffocating luxury, but Roxanne kept moving.

A rational, sober part of her instincts screamed at her for blindly following a strange man into the unknown, but the gin buzzing in her veins completely muted the warning. Her legs simply refused to stop.

They reached a massive, heavy door crafted from dark wood. The host pushed it open with effortless grace, stepping aside.

"Welcome to the VIP lounge, ma’am. We hope you have an unforgettable evening."

Roxanne looked at the yawning darkness beyond the frame and swallowed hard, a sudden lump forming in her throat. Steeling her resolve, she stepped inside.

The room was vast but intensely intimate, draped in shadows and illuminated only by the soft, warm glow of recessed lighting.

She frowned, her eyes straining to adjust to the dimness as she scanned the crowd. A sudden realization made her breath catch. Everyone was wearing a mask. Sleek, intricate masks that hid their identities entirely.

"What is this—?" She paused, a sudden wave of reality crashing through her tipsy courage. She shook her head, taking a step backward. "No. I shouldn’t be here."

Panicking, she spun around to bolt for the door, but her face collided violently with a broad chest. The impact rattled her teeth.

"Excuse me," she gasped out automatically, too disoriented to look up at him as she tried to sidestep the human wall.

"Leaving so soon?" The voice was a deep, gravelly baritone, infuriatingly calm, rich with authority, and vibrating right through the air between them.

Roxanne nodded frantically, her heart beginning to hammer a new, chaotic rhythm against her ribs. "Yes. I shouldn’t be here."

"I disagree," the man murmured.

Roxanne’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto his face. "Excuse me?" she demanded, her brows knitting together as she tried desperately to read the features hidden beneath his dark, ornate mask.

It was impossible to see his face, but she could feel the burning intensity of the dark eyes staring straight down into hers.

"Why are you so eager to run away?" he asked, stepping into her personal space, his shadow completely swallowing her whole.

Defensively, Roxanne lifted her left hand between them, tilting her knuckles so the ambient light caught her wedding band. "I’m married," she stated, throwing the words up like a shield.

"For now," the man replied smoothly, his tone entirely unbothered by the band on her finger. He tilted his head, his gaze tracking the movement of her lips. "Tell me, what is your greatest sexual fantasy?"

A furious, burning flush erupted across Roxanne’s cheeks, the heat radiating all the way to her ears.

"Fantasy?" she repeated, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping her. Her brows creased tightly, as if the very concept was utterly ridiculous. "I don’t fantasize. I like to live in the present. In the real world. You know what I mean? Reality."

The man took another agonizingly slow step forward, completely trapping her. Before she could recoil, the tips of his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her chin, his touch sending an electric shock straight down her spine. He tilted her face upward, moving his head toward hers.

What the hell are you doing, Roxanne?! Her mind screamed in a panic, but her body felt entirely paralyzed, rooted to the floor by the sheer gravity of his presence.

He didn’t kiss her. Instead, his face passed hers, trailing a whisper of heat barely inches from her cheek until his lips hovered right against the shell of her ear. When he spoke again, his voice dropped low against her ear.

"If you say yes to me tonight, I promise to give you something worth fantasizing about."

Roxanne violently yanked herself backward, tearing out of his space as a gasp tore from her throat. Her heart was racing so hard she could hear the pulse roaring in her ears. She stared at the towering, masked silhouette in front of her, her mind spinning in absolute chaos.

Who the hell was this man to make a claim like that?