Vicky stood on her tiny balcony with a glass of cold white wine, the evening air warm against her skin. She wore a thin white tank top and tiny cotton shorts that barely covered her ass. At twenty-four, she liked these quiet moments after work — just her, the city hum in the distance, and the soft glow of string lights.
The house next door had been empty for months. Today it wasn’t. Movers carried in boxes and expensive furniture while a tall man in a black shirt directed them with calm authority. Even from her balcony she could see he was handsome — dark hair, sharp jaw, broad shoulders that filled out his shirt perfectly. He looked like money. The kind of money that didn’t need to shout.
Their eyes met across the low fence. He paused, one hand in his pocket, and let his gaze travel slo
