Chapter 1
Lily's POV
I carried a steaming cup of coffee into Nathan Sullivan’s office that night, the door half-ajar, the air thick with the scent of tobacco and whiskey. He sprawled in his leather chair, tie loosened, suit rumpled, his green eyes half-lidded with a drunken allure. Papers and an empty bottle cluttered his desk, the dim glow of the lamp casting shadows across his chiseled jaw. His broad shoulders filled out the shirt, the fabric clinging to the hard lines of his chest and arms, muscles taut and defined, hinting at a strength that made my breath catch. I should’ve set the coffee down and left, but his presence—those sculpted lines and that dangerous gaze—held me rooted.
“Set it down,” he slurred, his voice low and rough, but his eyes locked onto mine with unnerving focus.
I swallowed hard, stepping toward the desk. As I placed the cup down, he lurched to his feet, grabbing my wrist with a grip that startled me. “Who are you?” he demanded, squinting, his breath hot and whiskey-laced against my face.
“Lily… just delivering coffee,” I stammered, my pulse racing. His face was too close, his drunken gaze sharp as a predator’s.
In an instant, he shoved me onto the desk, papers scattering, the coffee cup crashing to the floor. His hands tore at my blouse, buttons popping free, exposing the heart-shaped, light-brown birthmark on my chest. He froze for a moment, his eyes lingering on it, as if it burned into his memory. Then, with a low growl, he pressed his lips to my neck, rough and urgent.
“Say my name,” he rasped, nipping at my earlobe.
“Nathan…” I gasped, my senses unraveling under his touch. His hands gripped my waist, hiking up my skirt, his movements fast and relentless. The desk creaked under us, my nails digging into the wood as my body arched into his, each thrust raw and forceful. His breaths came in ragged bursts, a low groan escaping as he reached his peak, and I spiraled into chaos with him.
When it was over, he pulled back, not meeting my eyes. “Get out,” he said coldly.
I gathered my torn clothes and fled, shame flooding me like a tide. I knew who he was—Nathan Sullivan, the icy heir to the Sullivan empire—but to him, I was nothing. Just a girl with a birthmark he’d glimpsed.
Three months later, I stood in the dressing room of Skyline Nightclub, staring at my reflection in a sequined dress that barely covered my thighs. I adjusted the straps to hide my birthmark, sighing heavily. This job kept me alive, but the leering eyes and exposed skin stripped me bare every night.
“Chipmunk, dawdling again?” Jade teased, applying bright red lipstick, her braid swinging as she grinned. She was my closest friend here, a fellow survivor of the nightclub’s grind. We both carried scars—mine from a string of foster homes, my dream of being a choreographer reduced to dancing and serving drinks.
“Coming,” I replied, smoothing my hair. The nickname “Chipmunk” had stuck since kindergarten, thanks to my round cheeks, and no amount of protest shook it off.
“Heard the Sullivan brothers are all here tonight,” Jade whispered, her voice low. “Even Nathan.”
My stomach twisted, but I pretended not to hear. After that night, I avoided him like a plague. His cold dismissal had left me feeling like a discarded tissue. Other girls fawned over him, but I just wanted to disappear.
“Hurry up!” Olivia called from the doorway. She was my other lifeline here, dependable and warm. Most girls in the club saw each other as rivals, but Jade and Olivia kept me from drowning in loneliness.
We rushed to the VIP lounge, where Derek Sullivan, the second Sullivan son, waited at the entrance. His million-dollar smile was all charm and mischief. His eyes landed on me, twinkling with amusement.
“Chipmunk, always late,” he said, pinching my cheek like I was a pet. The other girls snickered, and I ducked my head, mortified.
“Just kidding,” he added with a wink. “Do good tonight.”
I forced a smile, desperate to get through the night. Richard Sullivan, our boss, was a kind, fatherly figure, but his sons were another story: William, aloof; Derek, a flirt; and Nathan, a terrifying enigma. Nathan, the heir, rarely appeared, but his presence loomed like a shadow.
Derek rattled off names: “Olivia, Aubrey, Dawn, Jade… and Chipmunk.”
I froze. “Me?”
His grin widened. “Don’t worry, the clients are tough, but you’ll manage.”
Swallowing my dread, I followed the girls into the lounge. Smoke curled in the air, the stench of liquor sharp. A group of suited men lounged on the sofas, laughing loudly. Derek didn’t join us, leaving us alone with the strangers. I carried a tray of drinks, keeping my head down to avoid attention.
But trouble found me. A greasy middle-aged man, his eyes sleazy, beckoned me over. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
I forced myself to hand him a drink, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “Sit here,” he said, patting his lap as the others laughed.
“I need to get more drinks,” I said, trying to pull free, but he yanked harder.
“Don’t play coy!” he slurred, dragging me to a corner of the lounge. Panic surged as I struggled, but no one intervened—the other girls were too busy.
His sweaty hand clamped my wrist, the greasy man’s leer making my skin crawl. He yanked me to the corner, tugging my dress, exposing the birthmark on my chest. Panic choked me, my scream trapped as his fingers grazed me. The lounge blurred, no one helping.
The door crashed open. “Let her go,” Nathan’s voice sliced through, cold and deadly.
He stood in the doorway, suit sharp, muscles coiled, green eyes blazing like frozen fire. He crossed the room in two strides, pulling me behind him, his touch firm yet safe. The creep shrank back, stammering.
Nathan’s gaze flicked to my birthmark, recognition flashing. “You,” he murmured, voice low, stunned.
My heart pounded, fear mixing with a traitorous thrill. Humiliation burned, but his fierce stare—remembering that night—set my pulse racing. I was terrified, yet drawn to him, electrified by his unyielding presence.