Ava's POV
The city never slept.
But Sebastian Chen did.
Eventually.
I waited until 1:43 a.m.—not a second earlier—watching the little blinking dot on my phone that confirmed the hallway motion sensors were disabled. A small favor from Leo, the housekeeper's son, who owed me for not snitching about his weed stash last summer.
The entire glass mansion was still. Silent. Moonlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting white streaks across polished marble and midnight velvet drapes. It was beautiful, really. Our pretty lie perched above the world.
I crept across the living room barefoot, like a cat with a death wish, heart hammering louder than my footfalls. Seb's room was upstairs, but the man could hear a heartbeat shift through a wall. A creaky door was basically a death sentence.
My leather jacket was already stashed by the back door, helmet hidden under the stairs. I slipped into the jacket—black, cropped, zipped tight—and felt like my real self for the first time all week. The good-girl uniform was off. Clingy, yap-yap Ava was gone.
Tonight, I was fire.
One leg over the bike, kickstart, engine purring like sin itself. The garage door slid open with a sigh, and the night swallowed me whole.
---
New York glittered.
It didn't glow like Paris or hum like Tokyo—it throbbed, with heartbeats made of red lights, sirens, and music blasting from rooftop clubs. I sped through lower Manhattan like I owned it. The wind clawed through my hair, neon flashing against my black helmet like strobes at a rave.
Rules? None. Red lights were optional. I blew through them laughing, wild, alive, untouchable.
I lit a cigarette at a stoplight, lips stained cherry red, fingers gloved and shaking with adrenaline. Smoke curled from my mouth like a promise I didn't plan to keep.
I reached VULTURE, the underground club that didn't ask for ID if you walked in like you were born famous. The bouncer nodded. I winked. My boots clicked against concrete as I descended the steps into the dark.
And there he was.
Tall. Blonde. Accent so thick I barely understood him through the music.
English boys. My weakness.
He grinned. "You look like sin."
I smirked, leaned close, whispered in his ear, "I am."
Drinks poured. Sweat ran down backs. His hands were on my waist before I could say no—but I didn't want to.
He tasted like vodka and lust. I kissed him like I didn't have a father who would disown me for breathing near boys. I laughed into his mouth, nails scraping his jacket, heart hollow and happy.
For a second, I forgot.
Forgot that Sebastian existed. Forgot the ache in my chest when he looked at me like I was his whole world. Forgot the guilt that followed me home every time.
Until—
2:56 a.m.
My alarm buzzed.
My little escape clock. My reminder.
My curse.
I shoved the boy off with a sweet smile, swiped my lipstick back on in the mirror, and disappeared into the night like I'd never been there.
---
The ride home was colder.
The wind bit harder. The guilt settled deeper. Every red light reminded me what I was doing. Who I was betraying.
I slipped through the garage, back entrance, helmet off, jacket hidden. The only sound was the gentle hum of the fridge and the soft beep of the security system rearming.
I walked upstairs slowly.
Tiptoed past Seb's door.
I paused.
Listened.
His soft, even breathing made my throat tighten.
I pushed open my bedroom door and slid under the silk sheets like a ghost, like I hadn't been sinning an hour ago. I closed my eyes and imagined his arms around me, like when I was five and couldn't sleep unless I curled up beside him.
My pillow smelled like vanilla and lies.
I wasn't daddy's good girl.
Not even close.
But I loved him.
More than anyone ever will or more than anyone ever has.