Chapter 2
As Anastasia stormed from the private room, she collided with a man entering. A distinctly masculine scent—sandalwood and amber—washed over her, unexpectedly heating her skin. He wore a black Tom Ford shirt, the top button undone, revealing a strong collarbone. Tailored black slacks completed the look of understated luxury; his entire presence radiated confident power. The dim hallway light cast shadows across his chiseled features, his expression distant, cold, untouchable, yet undeniably magnetic.
As he started to move past her, Anastasia gripped his shirt sleeve, the expensive fabric smooth beneath her fingers. Her heart pounded; his scent clouded her judgment. The bitter taste of Jasper’s betrayal fueled a rebellious thought: if Jasper could play dirty, why couldn't she?
"Let go," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
"No," she purred, looking up through her lashes.
The man looked down at her, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her lips, a slight curl playing at the corner of his mouth. "No?" he repeated, leaning closer. "You're playing with fire, sweetheart. Sure you can handle the burn?"
"Would you be interested in marrying me?" Anastasia blurted, her eyes challenging him despite the blush rising on her cheeks. Even she thought she’d lost her mind. Yet, she was serious about finding a husband—anyone to escape Jasper's shadow. Her grandmother, Elisabeth Paige, desperately wanted to see her settled. Months of discussions with Jasper had ended badly. Anastasia couldn't bear to break her grandmother's heart and needed to definitively end any chance of returning to Jasper. Any man would be better than that cheating bastard. The stranger wore no ring. Available. Worth a try. Plus, he smelled like sin and salvation—a scent that drew her closer. In this moment, despite the alcohol, her mind felt unusually clear.
His fingertips tilted her chin upward, the touch electric. His dark eyes assessed her flushed cheeks, parted lips, and defiant gaze. She was trouble in a Valentino dress. "Are you certain about what you’re offering?" His thumb brushed her lower lip. "Do you even know who I am?"
Anastasia's eyes widened in recognition. Cassian Rhodes. Holy shit. Cassian Rhodes—the most feared name on Wall Street, a financial wunderkind who'd built an empire before thirty, powerful enough to influence global markets. He was New York royalty, with looks to match his wealth, pursued by socialites worldwide. His business reputation was legendary, his methods ruthless. Anyone who crossed him professionally needed a new career—in another country. He was the apex predator.
Staring at his severe features, Anastasia's confidence faltered. A primal urge to flee surged. Their paths had crossed twice before: once during a hostile negotiation where he'd silenced the room with a cutting remark, and later at a charity gala where she'd realized her mysterious benefactor was Rhodes himself—a man who unnerved billionaires. Smart people avoided Cassian Rhodes unless invited.
Anastasia's pulse quickened. What had she done? Had he recognized her? Remembering Jasper's crude comments about Valeria, she straightened her spine. "I'm certain," she said, closing the distance between them. "Completely certain." Even if she was walking into the devil's lair in Christian Louboutins, she wouldn't back down. She'd show Jasper she could move on—and up. "I'm dead serious, Mr. Rhodes. This isn't a game," her voice dropped. "Unless you want it to be."
"Isn't it?" His voice deepened, fingers still resting on her jawline. "Don't you have a boyfriend? Or am I just your revenge fuck?" His tone made the crude words sound like poetry. "I saw you hanging off some trust fund brat at the Guggenheim benefit."