Grace POV
The door to my room opened without a sound. Moonlight slipped through the broken blind and painted silver stripes across the floorboards. Dayton stepped inside. No shirt, just gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, every line of muscle sharp and perfect. His hair fell messy over his forehead, and his green eyes locked on me like the room belonged to him.
I sat up in bed, clutching the thin sheet to my chest. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer with words. A slow smile curved his mouth instead. He crossed the floor in three silent steps, knelt on the mattress, and the air turned thick. His hands slid up my bare thighs, pushing the sheet away. My nightgown had ridden high while I slept; cool air hit my skin, then the heat of his palms.
His mouth found mine before I could speak again. The kiss was deep, hungry, tasting faintly of whiskey and want. I kissed him back without thinking. His tongue stroked mine and a soft sound escaped me.
One of his hands slipped between my legs. Two fingers pushed inside me, slow but sure. I was already wet; my body remembered him even when I tried to forget. He groaned against my lips when he felt it.
"So ready," he whispered, voice rough. "Always so ready for me."
He curled his fingers, rubbed that spot that made my back arch hard. My head fell back against the headboard. I gripped his shoulders, nails biting into skin. He worked me faster, thumb circling my clit until my thighs shook.
"Please," I heard myself beg.
He flipped me over in one smooth move. My knees hit the mattress, chest pressed to the sheets. His hands gripped my hips, lifted me exactly where he wanted. I felt him behind me, thick and hot, pressing against me. Then he pushed in, one long thrust that stole every thought from my head.
I cried out into the pillow.
Knock knock knock.
I jerked awake, heart slamming against my ribs, sheets twisted around my legs. My skin burned, my thighs were slick, and the ache between them felt real. Too real.
Knock knock.
"Ma'am?" Lisa's soft voice came through the door. "Your uncle says to start getting ready. The cars leave in one hour."
I pressed both hands overake to my face until the dream faded. Five years. Five whole years, and he still crawled into my bed every time I closed my eyes.
"Coming," I called, voice steadier than I felt.
I sat up slowly. The room around me was nothing like the cracked attic I used to sleep in. Pale walls, huge windows, city lights glittering far below. I had earned this view. Director of the Aurora Grand. My name in gold on the office door. My son's drawings taped to the fridge downstairs.
Five years since Eli took his first breath in a hospital bed while I cried from relief. Five years of threats slipped under doors, bullets that missed by inches, bodyguards who smiled like college boys but carried guns under their jackets. Five years of late nights with Uncle Marcus, tracing money, names, faces—getting closer every month to the people who killed my parents.
Today the Elite Business Summit began. One week. The richest, most powerful men and women on the continent under my roof. Security tighter than a vault. Uncle believed the killer might finally show his face.
I dressed like armor: black skirt, white silk blouse, hair in a low bun, diamonds in my ears that cost more than the Hendersons ever owned. I kissed Eli's forehead while he ate cereal with sticky fingers.
"Be good for Lisa, okay?"
"Two chocolates from the big party?" he asked, green eyes bright.
"Three if you finish your eggs," I promised.
The ballroom sparkled when I walked in for final checks. Staff hurried past with trays of champagne flutes. Ice swans gleamed under soft lights. Everything perfect.
Then I felt it—the pull low in my stomach I hadn't felt in years.
I turned.
He stood by the concierge desk in a navy suit that fit him too well, surrounded by men who laughed at whatever he said. Taller, broader, sharper than memory. Same messy hair, same jaw that could cut glass.
Dayton Knight.
He hadn't seen me yet.
I watched him smile, and the sound of his laugh punched me straight in the chest. Five years older, five years harder, still the most beautiful man I'd ever touched.
His gaze swept the room and stopped on me.
The smile died.
I didn't move. I just looked back, face blank, heart racing behind the mask I'd practiced for years.
He excused himself and walked straight over. People parted without thinking.
"Grace."
My name sounded raw coming from him.
"Mr. Knight," I answered, cool and smooth. "Welcome to the Aurora Grand. I hope your suite meets your expectations."
His eyes searched my face like he was hunting for the girl he once knew. "You… run this place?"
"I do." I tilted my head. "Is there something you need?"
"Can we talk?" he asked, voice lower.
"I'm afraid my schedule is full."
"Five minutes."
"No."
I started past him. His hand closed gently around my wrist—warm, familiar, dangerous.
"Please, Grace."
I looked down at his fingers on my skin, then up into his eyes. "You had five years to talk, Dayton. You chose silence. Enjoy the summit."
I pulled free and walked away, heels clicking sharp on the marble floor.
Inside my office I locked the door, leaned against it, and let exactly one tear fall.
Then I wiped it away, touched up my lipstick, and opened the biggest week of my life.
He was here.
After everything, he was here.
This time, I wasn't the broken girl he threw away.
This time, I held all the cards.