In the bathroom, I struggle to catch my breath. Seeing Juliette, watching that prick touch her, makes me angrier than I've ever been. Angrier than when I found out that Zoe had been kidnapped. It's more of a blind, jealous rage.

Worse, I can tell that Juliette hates it. I'm beginning to get the sense this situation is out of my control.

Splashing water on my face then using a fluffy white towel to dry off, I open the door, hoping that enough time has passed between Juliette's sudden departure from the party and my own.

This house is so enormous that I have to walk down one hallway, cross the foyer, and walk down another hallway just to get to the living room and the pool area, where the guests are.

On my way, I eye the art on the walls and glance into the rooms. Something about this house and its owner gives me the creeps. I don't know what it is, but it's a nagging feeling that something's not right.

And I can't wait to get Juliette out of his clutches, for good.

Not much longer, I repeat in my brain. Sebastian wants to meet tomorrow at his office to discuss the shipment. It's better to do it on a Saturday when few of his employees are around, he'd said earlier.

I round the corner into the foyer and my eyes dart to the massive marble staircase. There, holding onto the rail at the bottom, is a wobbly Juliette.

And a concerned-looking Sebastian.

Juliette seemed drunk the bathroom. Not the drunkest I've ever seen her — we'd gotten pretty crazy one night at a club last summer — but I know when she's not sober. The way she leaned on me, the way she slurred a couple of her words. Last summer, it had been adorable.

Tonight, seeing her like that, watching her with Sebastian, an icy chill flows down my spine.

Of course I can't stop and ask what's wrong, so I keep going. That would be too suspicious. Maybe she's just annoyed by her heels. She hates them and always complains how they make her feet hurt. That's it.

I hope that's all it is.

I keep walking as my heart cracks, then breaks, then shatters in a thousand pieces.

I need to get the fuck out of here. I'll wait until Juliette returns and leaves so I know she's okay, and then say goodbye to Sebastian. Thank God he hasn't asked her to stay the night and hasn't tried to sleep with her.

Let's hope he'll want to wait for their wedding night for that. Jesus, the idea of Juliette marrying him makes me want to puke.

I sip into a circle of people, where Christina's chatting with two couples. I'd brought her specifically because she can talk with anyone about anything.

"Hey," she says warmly. Christina doesn't know the situation, but I did tell her that I needed a companion for the party — while making it clear that this isn't a date. Her boss, my lawyer, has certainly put her in stranger situations before, and she'd agreed. Apparently this is Christina's last week as an intern with my lawyer; she got a good offer for a job with a big developer here in the city.

I lean into her. "Let's mingle."

I can spot some people outside by the pool, on the terrace where I'd talked with Sebastian about tomorrow's meeting. But I don't see Juliette. Sebastian's bald head comes into view.

No Juliette.

I take Christina's elbow, while scanning the room. I don't like this one fucking bit. Where is she? There aren't that many people here. For an excruciating hour, we chat with different groups of people. Admire the art. All the while, I'm drinking water, looking for Juliette. Where the fuck did she go? Sebastian's been down here the entire time with that shit-eating grin of his.

I pull Christina aside. "I want you to chat with our host. Sebastian. Occupy his attention for twenty minutes. Or more. Get him talking about medicine or this house or art or whatever the hell. Don't let him leave your sight."

She grins, obviously enjoying the intrigue. "I can do that. I'll talk his ear off about Spanish art."

I wander over to the nearby bar, while keeping an eye on Christina. True to her word, she hones in on Sebastian like a laser, and I have a fleeing hope that he'll take a liking to her. She's young, but not as young as Juliette. Early twenties. Pretty. Spanish. She seems to have a love of designer clothes and nice cars. She'd been impressed with my Porsche, which I'd finally gotten out of the garage.

I ask for a glass of wine and when the bartender hands it to me, I slip out a door that leads to the hallway. I need to make this quick.

Trying to look like I'm searching for a bathroom, I walk into the foyer and stand there for a second. There's no Juliette. Jesus, could she be upstairs?

Taking a deep breath, I set the full glass on a marble-topped table and bound up the stairs. Of course the second floor is as big as the first, but it's empty. Or at least I hope it is. Many of the doors are open, and I poke my head in room after lavishly decorated room. If I run into anyone, I'll tell them I'm looking for the toilet. Pretend to be drunk.

There's a door at the end, probably the master suite. I gently turn the knob.

Oh, Christ. I see her hair first. She's on her back, on the large, wood-framed bed, her hair spread over the pillow. She looks so gorgeous in her silver dress.

I make sure to shut the door and go to her. Her eyelashes are dark and almost reach the tops of her cheekbones. Her lips are in that pout she makes when she's deep asleep. "Juliette," I whisper. "Angel?"

It's impossible for me not to touch her, hoping that she'll wake up. I stroke her face, take her hand in mine. Kiss her fingers. Her ridiculously large engagement ring looks out of place on her finger. I want to rip that ring off and shove it down that fucker's throat.Taking her by the shoulders, I shake her gently. Nope, she's passed out. In his bed.

Fuck Fuck Fuck.

I need to get out of here before someone discovers me, but I don't want to leave Juliette behind. Before Sebastian comes up and wonders why I'm caressing his fiancé. And if that happened, I'd have to punch the bald prick. I look around, wondering if there's a balcony or a staircase out of here. The windows are open, and I sit up straight, peering out. No, no balcony.

I can't just drop an unconscious Juliette out the window. I scan the room, and my gaze catches on a painting facing the bed. Jesus. Rich dudes love of naked chicks in their bedrooms. The woman in the painting looks vaguely familiar, and I wonder if I've seen the artist somewhere.

Turning back to Juliette, a hot pang of fear hits me. What am I going to do? I can't scoop her up and carry her to my car and drive away. Or can I? Will someone see us? It's what I want to do, of course. Every cell in my body wants to do that.

The house is huge and most everyone's in another wing...fuck it. I slide my arm under Juliette's knees and her back. As I go to lift her, I hear footsteps in the hall and freeze. Then, the voice of a woman, speaking a language I don't understand. An echo of a door closing.

"I can't fucking believe this," I whisper.

I set her down and press my lips to her forehead. She smells like flowers and champagne. I'll have to come back for her, somehow. How would I explain to other partygoers that I'm carrying the host's bride-to-be out of the house in my arms? If Zoe's life wasn't on the line, I wouldn't give a fuck.

This is the very definition of being on the horns of a dilemma. My stomach turns somersaults as I stand up and tiptoe out, wondering I'll see someone along the way. I'm now straight up worried for Juliette. I know she hasn't slept with Sebastian, but I don't like her passed out in his bed one bit.

Thank God I don't run into anybody on my way back to the party. Several more people have left, and the large room looks empty. Sebastian's calling out goodbye to a couple. Christina's at his side. He turns to her, and I walk over. As promised, she's giving him an in-depth analysis of El Greco, the Spanish painter.

"My father works for the embassy, so I think I've seen every El Greco painting there is. Art history was a big part of my schooling," she purrs.

He looks mildly amused.

Bastard.

"I'd love to see more of your art. Maybe you could show us around. Christina, wouldn't you like that?" If I can get Christina to divert him again...I turn to look at her, and she grins.

"I'd love that!" Her squeal is almost ear-splitting. Well, at least someone's enthusiastic about being here.

Sebastian takes a deep breath. "Perhaps some other time. The two of you could join Juliette and I for lunch someday soon."

I glower at Sebastian and he meets my angry expression with a grin. Fucker. He knows I want to stay longer. I can feel it.

"I hope you both had a wonderful evening. It was lovely meeting you, Christina." He leans in and they kiss on both cheeks, then waves his arm toward the door, guiding her along. I follow, every step one of dread. Juliette's upstairs and I need to get her out. Every minute that passes is a missed opportunity.

When we're at the front door, I put my hand on Christina's back and stare at Sebastian. "Thank you for having us. I didn't see your fiancé, I'd like to tell her thanks. Maybe we should stay for a nightcap so I can say goodbye."

Shit, my tone's a little too pointed. I look around, and we're probably the only ones left.

Sebastian opens the door. "Ah, Juliette isn't feeling well. Too much champagne, I think. She's upstairs resting."

And then he winks at me.

The motherfucker winks.

"See you tomorrow, Griffin." He gestures to the driveway, where my Porsche is the only car left.

Behind Christina's back, my hand clenches into a fist. I might not be as strong as before the bombing, but I could definitely mess him up. I have probably enough rage coursing through my veins that I could murder him.

I nod, and steer Christina out the door and into my car. There's got to be something I can do. Call police with a bomb threat? Dial 911 and tell them that a woman's had too much to drink and that she's in need of medical attention?

"You're awfully quiet," Christina's got a faint, breathy voice and she's kinda hard to understand.

"Sorry. Just thinking about shit. Is this your building?" We stop outside of a tall silver condo building in the Brickell area.

"It is indeed."

I put the car in park but don't shut it off. "Hey, thanks for doing this tonight. It means a lot. I hope you were able to make some business contacts, at least."

"Oh, I definitely did. Thank you." She leans in a little and her index finger touches my thigh. "Would you like to come up?"

She trails her finger up my leg. I respond by squirming away and chuckling. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm going to have to pass."

Shrugging, she opens the car door. "Can't hurt to try."

"Can't hurt to try," I say, trying to be jovial.

"But if you're in the mood and lonely, you can always call."

Jesus. She's pretty and all but this is the last fucking complication I need. "Have a good night. Oh, and good luck with your new job at that developer's company."

Her laughter is a little too loud, and I wonder how anyone can be happy at this moment. She shuts the door and I roar off, still thinking about whether I should call 911. Short of going back to the house and claiming I left something behind — or breaking in — calling authorities to the mansion might be my only choice.

I can't let that dick-face know about me and Juliette.

As I park and go up to my condo, I mutter a string of swear words. It feels good to be home, but it would feel a thousand times better if Juliette was with me.

Flicking on a light, I pause to look around my living room. All I can see are memories, of how Juliette and I used to cuddle on the sofa, how we'd eat breakfast together, how we'd lie around and kiss and talk about movies.

And now she's in another man's bed. Engaged to another man. Possibly forced into doing something sexually she doesn't want.

The guilt and anger well in my chest, threatening to crush my soul. Since I was a teenager, I thought myself lucky. Luckier than any man in Miami. I had it all: money, cars, a beautiful condo. Then I found Juliette, and everything was complete. I'd always thought I'd treated people fairly. A drug dealer with a heart of gold. A good guy. Fair. I snort and walk into the kitchen, opening each cabinet, and closing the doors.

Everything here's frozen in time, and my luck has run out. And then it hits me: I'm getting exactly what I deserve.

I'd lived an immoral life. What did I expect?

But Juliette doesn't deserve any of this. My shitty decisions are hurting person I love the most. Emotionally, and now possibly physically. As the guilt and shame twists in my stomach, I open a cabinet and take out a bottle of Scotch. Cracking it open, I take a long swig right from the bottle. I've fucked everything up. I've put the woman I love in jeopardy. Done damage beyond repair. Will she forgive me? I won't blame her if she doesn't.

That's when it hits me. The painting in Sebastian's bedroom. The naked chick.

It looked familiar because she's familiar. It was Nadia, Sebastian's girlfriend. The one who died. The one who I screwed a couple of times. The one who wanted me to fuck her while she was asleep.

The revelation steals the breath from my lungs. I pick up the phone. I have once more chance to save Juliette.

As I tap the numbers, I start to cry.

I wake up in my bra and panties, a matching set of lace the color of cotton candy. Inhaling, I detect a sour note. Did someone vomit?

What. The. Hell?

My head is throbbing. As if someone's inside my brain, hammering my skull from the inside.

Where am I?

Sitting up, I look around. I'm alone...and in Sebastian's bedroom. Everything about last night comes rushing back in hazy snippets. Champagne. Sebastian announcing our engagement. More champagne. Hugging Griffin while crying in the bathroom. Taking off my heels at the bottom of the staircase while Sebastian looked at me, worried.

And then, nothing.

My hair's down. Who took it out of a bun? I turn my head and there's the puke smell again. I grab a strand of my hair and take a whiff, then grimace.

When did I vomit?

I rub my eyes. It's obviously morning because the light is filtering through the windows. Did Sebastian sleep next to me last night? It doesn't look like that side of this big bed was even touched. Maybe he didn't.

But then, how did I get undressed? Someone had to have taken off my dress. I don't see it anywhere in this immaculate room. Could I have somehow taken it off in my sleep?

I don't see any vomit on the covers or the pillow. I pull back the duvet. As my feet hit the floor, I gasp.

There's a bruise on my inner thigh. I bend my knee and open my leg. Upon closer inspection, a horrible realization dawns on me. This is no bruise.

It's a bite. With teeth indentations and everything.

My heart begins to pound wildly. Something happened to me last night while I was passed out. Someone bit me. What else did they do? My stomach churns.

I practically run into the bathroom and vomit. After heaving for a few minutes, I grab a fuzzy white robe, wrapping myself in it.

I've got to get out of here. If I have to call an Uber in this robe, I'll do it. Thank God my cell is on the nightstand. I sit on the edge of the bed. While I'm waiting for my cell to power on — I don't remember turning it off — I stare at the painting on the wall opposite the bed.

God, it's so pervy. Why would Sebastian want to look at a painting of a naked, sleeping girl when he wakes up? Even if it is by some famous artist.

Who bit my thigh? Did he? No, he's barely touched me. He wouldn't do something like that, and made a point of telling me how he wanted to wait until we were married to have sex. Of course, he doesn't know that neither sex nor marriage will happen in a million years.

So if it wasn't him, why didn't he protect me from being assaulted while I was passed out?

I hear the rattling of the doorknob and I look up.

Sebastian's dressed in jeans and an untucked white linen shirt. His relaxed smile is something I've never seen before on his face. "Good morning, beautiful."

"What happened last night? Someone bit me," I cry. It's time to drop all pretense. "Did you take off my clothes? Where's my dress? Who bit my inner thigh?"

Sebastian's expression turns sober as he sits next to me.

I have to be nice to this asshole for Zoe. I clench my jaw and move away from him, but he reaches out and clasps my knee.

"I think it's time I tell you something, Juliette. Since we'll soon be married and all."

Soon? Like hell we will. Try never. The minute Zoe's free, I'm going far from here. Griffin or no Griffin. Even Ashton can't keep me with this creep.

Sebastian angles his body so he's facing me, and he's still touching my knee. His hand is a little too big and the squeeze a little too possessive.

My whole body tenses.

"I have a condition, Juliette. Some psychiatrists say it's a paraphilia."

I frown. "A what? What are you talking about? Use English and not medical terms, please."

"It's so difficult for me to talk about, and in fact, I've only told one woman, the one who died. The one in that painting there." He gestures to the perverse image. "I've tried so hard to keep it in check around you, but last night I was unable to control myself. I had a little too much to drink, and when I saw you in bed looking so beautiful, my darker impulses took over."

I can hear the blood rushing around my ears. The more he speaks, the more I realize that I'm in deep, deep trouble.

"Oh God," I whisper, hoping he'll stop.

Hoping this is all a dream.

"I have somnophilia, Juliette."

I don't like the sound of that. Not at all. "Wh-what?"

My skin crawls when he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. "Oh, Juliette. It's a beautiful, filthy condition."

Shaking, I hop off the bed, hoping to make a run for the door before my heart explodes with fear. He grabs my wrist and yanks me toward him.

"What it means, my darling, is that I can only become aroused by someone who is unconscious."

____