Once you've experienced incredible intimacy with someone, there's no turning back. It's either a complete absence or an endless craving. Once you've tasted it, you'll always want more.

Clothes lay haphazardly across the carpet. Torn stockings tangled with a crisp white shirt in chaotic disarray.

Grace slipped out of bed, her bare feet gliding over the cool floor. Her fingers reached for the scattered garments. Before she could gather them, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back into the warmth of his embrace.

"Don't go. Stay and sleep with me," he murmured, his voice husky.

"Don't forget our agreement," she replied, a hint of firmness in her tone.

Perched on the edge of the bed, her fair cheeks carried a subtle flush. She smiled—a smile that was both charming and disarming. Yet beneath it lay an unmistakable detachment.

Three months earlier, Grace had discovered that her long-term boyfriend, Alex Hoffman, had been cheating on her. Heartbroken and drunk, she had stumbled into a hotel pool. This man had rescued her.

Soaked and vulnerable, she had wrapped her arms around his neck. Her bright eyes glistened with mischief. "Do you want me?" she had asked.

That night, for the first time, Grace experienced passion in its rawest form. It left an indelible mark on her mind and body.

The next morning, she handed him her number. "We make a good match. If you ever want to have some fun, just call."

He had studied the red mark on the bedsheet, his eyes filled with unspoken meaning.

From then on, whenever the opportunity arose, he would join her in bed.

Their bodies grew increasingly in sync. Grace found undeniable satisfaction in him. But she had set her boundaries from the beginning:

First, no staying overnight.

Second, if he found someone serious, she would walk away.

Third, their relationship would remain purely physical. No strings attached. No emotions. Just two bodies indulging in primal desires, tangled together in the night.

When it was over, she would adjust her skirt and walk away. Cold as ice.

He blew softly against the back of her ear, whispering, "One more time, okay?"

"No, I have an event at school tomorrow." Grace slipped from his grasp, reaching for her dress.

He chuckled lowly and flicked open his lighter. The small flame illuminated his face. He watched her pull the silk fabric over her bare skin. She covered the delicate curves of her chest, her slender waist, the smooth line of her abdomen, and her long, snow-white legs.

A teacher who looked like this? Those legs alone could make a man want to get lost in her forever.

Grace zipped up her dress and glanced back at him. He wasn't just handsome—his features were sharp and rugged. A mix of chiseled masculinity and effortless confidence. A scar ran across his torso. His muscles were lean and powerful, exuding raw strength rather than sculpted perfection.

When his arms were around her, she felt secure.

In every way, he was more than satisfactory.

Grace smiled, radiant yet distant. "Goodnight."

She shut the door behind her, leaving without hesitation. She shed the softness she had shown just half an hour ago when she had murmured, "Slow down."

He put out his cigarette, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. Clearly, he was just as pleased with Grace.

The next morning, before dawn, Grace slipped out of bed and into a white shirt and jeans. She tied her hair into a high ponytail. The slightly curled ends bounced as she moved.

Arriving at school on time, she placed her bag down. She joined the other teachers in preparing for the day's event.

Grace worked at an elite private kindergarten. Today was the annual concert. Parents would be attending in full force.

Just before the show, chaos erupted.

"Miss Quinn! The two little troublemakers in your class are fighting!"

The children at this school were pampered, and treated like little princes. Fights were rare.

Grace rushed backstage and found two boys wrestling on the floor.

Jimmy had pinned Larry down, throwing punches. His own lip was slightly bleeding.

Despite their young age, there was a sharp intensity in their eyes. Not the kind of scuffle typical for kids.

These were the young heirs of the Amster and Hamper families. The teachers stood at a distance, too intimidated to step in.

"Larry, Jimmy, stop!" Grace's voice cut through the tension. They froze.

Larry shoved Jimmy off and ran to Grace, tears welling up. "Miss Quinn, Jimmy hit me! It hurts! Can you make it better?"

Grace sighed as she knelt down, tending to his bruises. If these boys got seriously hurt, she'd be in deep trouble.

"Don't worry, I'm here for you," she reassured him.

Jimmy, standing a few feet away, stared at her. He wanted comfort too but refused to ask for it.

Once Larry was settled, she turned to Jimmy, crouching beside him. "That must hurt, huh?"

He turned his head stubbornly. "It doesn't."

Grace dipped a cotton swab in iodine and gently pressed it against his lip. Jimmy flinched.

She softened her voice. "Tell me, why did you fight?"

Jimmy hesitated before muttering, "He said I don't have a mother."

His small hands clenched and unclenched. Grace's heart ached for him.

"So you hit him?" she asked gently.

Jimmy looked up at her earnestly. "I promised I wouldn't bully younger kids. I just told him I wasn't like him. Not only does he not have a mother, but he doesn't have a father either. Then he went crazy and attacked me."

Grace's lips twitched at the absurdity.

Before she could respond, a voice called from the doorway.

"Miss Quinn, Jimmy's father is here."

Father?

Grace had been teaching this class for a year. She had only ever seen servants pick Jimmy up. Never his parents.

"It's okay. Your dad is here," she said, brushing a hand over Jimmy's head before standing up. Composing herself, she turned to greet the man.

She extended her hand, professional and poised. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Amster. I'm Grace Quinn, Jimmy's teacher. There was just a little—"

Her words trailed off as her gaze landed on the man stepping into the room.

Backlit by the sunlight behind him, he exuded an air of cool detachment. His sharp suit and polished shoes only accentuated his undeniable presence. His chiseled features, piercing eyes, and the confidence in his stance made her breath hitch.

He shifted his gaze from Jimmy to her. When he grasped her outstretched hand, she felt the unmistakable warmth of skin she had once known intimately.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Quinn," he said, his voice deep and smooth.

She knew that voice.