Just a little past six o’ clock, my bedroom door creaks open, alerting me to Judge’s presence. I don’t have to look up from my book to know it’s him. The energy changes the moment he appears, as if he sucks all the oxygen from the room. But when I bookmark my page and glance up at him, it would seem, for only a moment, I might possess some of the same magic too.

He’s staring at me with unmistakable heat in his eyes as they take in the red pencil dress that hugs every inch of my body. I can see I’ve caught him off guard, but I don’t know why he’d expect anything less. This is the Mercedes he’s always known before he decided to strip me bare.

His gaze trails over the square neckline, over the gentle curves of my cleavage, and down my hips all the way to my black Louis Vuitton heels. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, muttering a curse before his gaze darts back to mine.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

I don’t reply. I’m not in the business of thanking men for compliments after they’ve discarded me. But there is something about the tension in Judge’s body that sets me on guard. I noticed it this morning during our brief interaction when he reappeared. His mind was somewhere else, and I couldn’t help wondering where exactly that was.

I heard him leave late last night as I lay in my bed, staring at the wall with my back to him. He’s still sleeping in my room, which I don’t understand. But I suppose he needs to make sure I don’t off myself in his care and ruin his precious reputation.

That’s what I choose to believe because he’s shown me who he is, and he showed me again last night. When his phone received an incoming text long past reasonable business hours, he didn’t hesitate to answer it before he got up and left.

I stood by the window and watched his car disappear down the long driveway, wondering who it was he was going to see. Which courtesan has so captured his attention that she is able to call him to her in the middle of the night?

As much as I hate to admit it, the reality still chokes the air from my lungs. It burns my skin and makes me wish I could forget the feeling of his hands on my body. The feeling of him inside me. I gave something to him I can’t ever give anyone else, and he chose to stomp all over it.

“Your friends are here,” he informs me. “We’re going to have dinner together.”