Chapter 1

I should have known when Braden frowned at his phone for the third time that tonight would go wrong.

"Shit, Emily, I'm really sorry." Braden hastily packed his medical bag. "The ER got a heart attack patient, I have to go back."

I kept smiling. "It's okay, saving lives is more important."

"Are you sure you'll be fine going alone?" He already had one foot out the car door. "Drake won't mind, right?"

Of course he wouldn't mind. That was exactly the problem.

I waved goodbye, watching Braden speed away. Now I was left alone to face Drake's Thanksgiving dinner.

Drake's house sat in the West Hills, a two-story craftsman-style building. From the outside, it looked like any successful middle-class home - hard to imagine the owner was covered in tattoos and ran a tattoo shop downtown.

After I rang the doorbell, Drake appeared almost immediately, wearing a dark gray sweater and black pants. If you ignored the tattoo outlines peeking from his collar, he looked like any ordinary businessman.

"Emily." His voice was low and magnetic. "Where's Braden?"

"Hospital emergency." I held up the wine. "But I brought your favorite California Pinot Noir."

Drake's gaze lingered on my face for a moment before breaking into a smile. "Then he really missed out on a perfect evening."

As I passed by him, I caught the scent of his subtle cologne mixed with cigarette smoke.

The dining room already seated six people. The oak table was laden with Thanksgiving food: roasted turkey, mashed sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce.

"Emily, sit here." Drake pointed to the seat across from him, directly facing his head chair.

That position was too prominent, like the hostess seat. But I had no choice.

Dinner began with everyone chatting about work, weather, movies. I tried to focus on eating, but Drake kept watching me. Every time I looked up, I found his deep green eyes observing me with an unsettling intensity.

Braden texted: 'Surgery complicated, will be very late. Apologize for me.'

"What did Braden say?" Drake asked.

"Surgery will run late, he asked me to apologize for him."

Drake raised his glass: "To all friends who couldn't be here tonight."

When I set down my wine glass, I suddenly felt something lightly touch my foot.

I looked under the table and froze.

Drake's black leather boot was gently stroking my ankle.

I quickly pulled my foot back, thinking it was an accident. But seconds later, his foot found mine again, this time with unmistakable intent.

My heart began racing. This was definitely not an accident.

I tried to move away again, but Drake's leg followed, pursuing me under the table. I was trapped in the chair with nowhere to escape. His boot moved up along my calf, slowly and purposefully.

I forced myself to maintain surface composure and continue participating in the conversation.

But Drake's foot had moved near my knee, gentle but persistent.

This was insane. He and Savannah... though my sister never clearly stated their relationship, they had lived together.

And now he was doing this to me.

When I finally gathered courage to look up, Drake was discussing sports with Mike, his expression completely normal. As if his foot wasn't wandering on my leg, as if he wasn't harassing me in full view of everyone.

But when he sensed my gaze and turned to me, the corner of his mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible smile.

"Anything you want to say, Emily?" His voice was light but carried a challenging undertone.

My face began heating up. He was testing me, seeing how I would react. Seeing if I had the courage to expose his behavior in front of everyone.

"You stepped on my foot." My voice trembled.

The conversation suddenly stopped. Everyone looked at us.

Drake immediately put on a surprised expression and quickly withdrew his foot. "Oh God, I'm really sorry, Emily. Sorry, it's a bit tight under here." He looked at the other guests apologetically. "My legs are too long, always kicking around."

Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere became relaxed again.

"It's okay." Jenny consoled.

"I'll buy you new shoes later as compensation." Drake said, but his eyes told me this offer was far from simple. "What style do you like?"

"No need, really." I forced a smile.

"I insist." His voice became lower, almost like giving an order. "Don't be polite with me, Emily. You know I always want to take care of you."

The implications in that sentence gave me goosebumps.

The remainder of dinner passed in a strange, tense atmosphere. Drake no longer touched me under the table, but I could feel him constantly observing. Whenever I drank water or ate something, his gaze would intensify.

When Jenny started clearing dishes, I immediately stood up. "I'll go to the bathroom."

I walked quickly to the end of the hallway, closed the door, and leaned against it.

'What the hell is going on?'

The mirror showed me: flushed cheeks, panicked eyes. I looked like a frightened girl.

But I wasn't a girl anymore. Twenty-two years old, with a job, a fiancé, my own life. I shouldn't be affected by Drake's behavior to this extent.

But I couldn't deny what had just happened, nor its effect on me. For four years, Drake had been a stable, reliable presence in my life. After Savannah's car accident, he took on the responsibility of caring for me.

Until tonight.

I rearranged my hair, and when I opened the door, Drake was standing in the hallway waiting for me.

A jolt went through me, and I flinched back.

"You scared me."

"Sorry." But his expression wasn't apologetic at all. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed a bit... nervous during dinner."

He stood too close. I could smell his scent, see the golden flecks in his deep green eyes. See the tattoo lines peeking from his sweater collar.

"I'm fine." I tried to walk past him, but his hand lightly rested on my shoulder.

"Emily." His voice became very soft, almost a whisper. "We need to have a good talk tonight."

That wasn't a request. That was a command.