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Anderson Coleman leaned back in his private cabana, watching the party unfold before him. A hundred of New York's wealthiest socialites, influencers, and industry moguls were sprawled across the lavish beachfront, sipping on imported champagne and laughing under the soft glow of golden tiki torches.

This wasn't just any party-it was his party.

Anderson was no stranger to extravagance. At thirty-four, he was one of the youngest billionaires in the city, known for his ruthlessness in business and his refusal to let anyone get too close. He didn't do love. He didn't do vulnerability. His relationships were transactional, and every woman who came into his world knew that.

Yet, as his piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd, something shifted.

She wasn't dancing or making a scene like the others. Instead, she stood still, slightly apart from the chaos, sipping her drink as the wind played with the ends of her dark, silky hair. She wore a blood-red dress that clung to her curves like it had been painted on, the thigh-high slit revealing just enough to drive any man insane.

Anderson narrowed his eyes, intrigued. He had seen hundreds of beautiful women at events like this, but there was something about her.

She wasn't trying to be noticed.

And that made her all the more captivating.

"Who's that?" Anderson asked, not taking his eyes off her.

Rushton, his longtime friend and business partner, followed his gaze and smirked. "That, my friend, is trouble."

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

Rushton chuckled. "Her name's Shantel. Nobody really knows where she came from, but she's been popping up at these high-end parties lately. Some say she's a socialite from Europe, others think she's just another gold-digger looking for her next victim."

Anderson smirked. "Gold-digger or not, she's the most interesting thing at this party."

Without another word, he got up, adjusting the sleeves of his crisp white linen shirt, and strode toward her.

Shantel didn't seem surprised when he approached. In fact, she barely acknowledged him at first, her attention fixed on the ocean as if she were lost in thought.

"Not enjoying the party?" Anderson asked, his voice smooth, controlled.

Shantel finally turned her head, her gaze locking onto his. Dark brown eyes, deep and unreadable, met his with an intensity that sent a jolt of electricity through his veins. She was stunning up close-full lips, flawless skin, an air of quiet confidence.

"I prefer quieter settings," she replied, her voice low and sultry.

Anderson chuckled. "Then you're at the wrong party."

She tilted her head slightly, assessing him. "Am I?"

Her tone held a challenge, and Anderson liked that.

He held out his hand. "Anderson Coleman."

"I know who you are." She didn't take his hand.

He arched a brow, intrigued. "And you are?"

A small smile played on her lips. "Shantel."

Just Shantel. No last name. No details. Nothing.

Anderson wasn't used to women playing coy with him. They usually threw themselves at him, eager to be seen with the infamous billionaire. But Shantel? She acted as if he was just another man at the party.

It was maddening. And exhilarating.

"I was just about to take a walk," she said, finishing her drink. "Care to join me?"

Anderson hesitated for half a second. He had guests to entertain, deals to close, an empire to run. But for the first time in years, none of it seemed to matter.

"Lead the way."

They strolled along the shoreline, the party fading into the background. The moon cast a silver glow over the water, reflecting in Shantel's eyes as she glanced at him.

"So, Anderson Coleman," she said, her tone teasing. "Tell me, do you always throw parties this extravagant?"

"Only when I need a distraction."