The wager was forgotten. The stranger’s number lay untouched. Because the only prize that mattered was already leaning in, and the only bet either of them wanted to win… was each other.
The amber glow of the penthouse bar reflected off two highball glasses. Eve Sweet swirled her drink, the ice clinking a soft, deliberate rhythm. Across from her, Agatha Vega leaned back in the leather chair, a portrait of smoldering confidence. The air between them wasn't just charged; it was a live wire.
Wagered Affection