Chapter 7

Paris - One Year Ago

The clock struck midnight when Elena finally pushed through the glass doors of her office building. Twelve straight hours of negotiations had left her spine fused into the shape of her chair. Parisian air—thick with cigarette smoke and diesel fumes—never smelled so good. She leaned against the cold stone facade, rolling her stiff shoulders. Finally. Fucking. Quiet.

Then reality sucker-punched her.

Caleb's sleepover meant an empty apartment. No sticky fingerprints on her tablet. No marathon debates about whether velociraptors could beat T-rexes in a fight. Just her, a half-empty fridge, and the ghost of a marriage that had blown up spectacularly.

She'd tried the dating scene. Three disasters masquerading as men:

1. The finance bro who ugly-cried when she mentioned commitment.

2. The "ethically non-monogamous" sculptor who wanted her to meet his wife.

3. The baby-faced barista who kept calling her "mommy" during sex.

Work became her rebound relationship. Mergers didn't cheat. Contracts didn't lie.

Her driver materialized with the town car. "Home, Ms. Matthews?"

Elena eyed her phone—no messages, no emergencies. Just a black mirror reflecting how pathetic she'd become.

"Change of plans. Take me somewhere... alive."

####

The Dark Horse pulsed like an open wound.

Bass shook the stained-glass windows. A bouncer with neck tattoos waved her past the velvet rope—apparently "expensive blazer + murder eyes" was the dress code. Inside, bodies moved in the strobing lights, all sweat and stolen kisses.

Elena claimed a corner of the bar. "Whiskey. Neat. Keep them coming."

The bartender—all smirks and sleeve tattoos—pushed a tumbler across the mahogany. "Rough day, princess?"

"Rough life." She knocked it back, letting the burn distract from the hollow feeling behind her ribs.

Around her, the world kept turning. A couple argued in rapid-fire French near the restrooms. A group of models snorted laughter over champagne. Normal people with normal problems.

Then the air changed.

"Those look like dangerous thoughts."

The voice rolled through her like thunder before a storm. Low. Smooth. Expensive.

Elena turned.

Well, fuck.

The stranger looked like sin in a five-thousand-euro suit. Broad shoulders strained against tailored wool. Dark hair swept back just enough to reveal a scar cutting through one eyebrow. But it was his eyes that hooked her—green as broken bottle glass, sharp enough to draw blood.

"You're staring," he said.

"You're obstructing my view of the exit."

His laugh was whiskey-dark. "Then I'll compensate you with a drink." He signaled the bartender without looking away from her. "Another for the lady. And whatever she wants after that."

Elena studied his cufflinks—platinum, probably custom. "Let me guess. Hedge fund? Private equity?"

"Worse." His thumb brushed her abandoned glass. "Philanthropy."

Bullshit. Nobody with hands that rough gave money away for fun.

She leaned in, catching his cologne—leather and something smokier underneath. "What do you really want?"

His smile showed teeth. "To see if your bite matches your bark."

“You’re American,” she observed, taking in his accent.
“As are you,” he pointed out, raising a brow.
“Touché,” Elena chuckled, feeling her cheeks heat up.
There was something about this guy that made her heart flutter. She wasn’t sure if it was his looks or his confidence, but there was definitely something alluring about him.
“So, what are we drinking to?” the stranger asked, lifting his glass of scotch.
“To whatever it is you’re drinking,” Elena replied, clinking her beer bottle against his glass.
They both took a sip of their drinks, their eyes locked on each other the whole time.
“So, tell me, why is a beautiful woman like you sitting all alone at the bar?” the stranger inquired, leaning closer to her.
“I could ask you the same question,” Elena retorted with a smirk.
The stranger smiled, his eyes shining with mischief. “I asked first.”
“And I answered. I’m just thinking. There’s nothing special about that.”
“That’s not true,” he countered, shaking his head. “Everyone is here for a reason. Even you.”
Elena raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?”
“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t looking for something.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, call it a skill of mine, but I’m pretty good at reading people,” the stranger replied, taking another sip of his drink.
“Is that so?”
“Mhm.”
Elena looked at the stranger, and he met her gaze. His eyes were intense and full of unspoken words. There was something about him that drew her in, and she couldn’t help but feel curious about him.
“Your turn," she tipped her head to the side. "What’s a man like you doing here all alone?”
The stranger chuckled and leaned even closer to her.
“Let’s just say I’m here for the same reason you are.”
“To drink and think?”
“Something like that,” the stranger replied, his gaze never leaving hers.
There was something about his eyes that made Elena feel warm and tingly all over. It was like he was looking into her very soul, seeing every hidden thought and desire. It was unnerving, but also thrilling.
As if sensing her discomfort, the stranger suddenly reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. His touch was warm and gentle, and it sent shivers down her spine.
Elena couldn’t deny that she was attracted to the man. Perhaps attracted enough to spend a night with him, if he would ask.
“So, tell me,” the stranger spoke, “what are you thinking about?”
“Life,” she said, trying not to make eye contact with him.
“What about it?”
“I don’t know, just life. How sometimes it throws a curveball at you and you don’t know what to do.”
“Is that what’s happening to you now?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not exactly. It’s just…I guess I’m just a bit lost, you know? I don’t know what to do with myself or what my purpose is.”
The stranger looked at her, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to soften. “I think we’re all a bit lost, and we can’t know our purpose until we find it.”
“I guess so,” Elena agreed, sighing softly.
The stranger smiled and raised his glass.
“To finding your purpose,” he toasted, and Elena clinked her beer bottle against his scotch glass.
They both took a drink, and then the stranger turned to look at her, his dark eyes holding her captive.
“So, what do you say, Elena?” He coiled a stray curl of hers around his finger, giving her a gentle tug. “Would you like to get out of here and go somewhere more private?”