Chapter Four
D om
The email notification chimed on Dom's phone just as he stepped out of the shower, water still dripping from his hair. He wrapped a towel around his waist and glanced at the screen, expecting another update from Jake about potential bookings.
Instead, he found career suicide in digital form.
"Regretfully, Versace has decided to move in a different direction for the upcoming campaign. We wish you the best in your future endeavors."
Dom stared at the screen, reading the words three times before their meaning sank in. Versace. The brand that had discovered him ten years ago, that had made him a household name, that had been loyal through every scandal and controversy.
Gone.
His phone buzzed again. Another email, this one from Bulgari. Then Armani. Then Omega, the watch company that had been his most reliable client for the past five years.
One by one, they were all cutting ties. Politely, professionally, but decisively.
Dom sank into the leather chair by his window, staring out at the dense Connecticut forest without seeing it. What the hell had just happened?
His phone rang, and 's name flashed on the screen. Dom considered letting it go to voicemail, but he needed to know exactly how bad things were.
"Tell me you have good news," Dom said without preamble.
"I wish I did." Jake's voice sounded strained. "Dom, I'm going to be straight with you. The Milan thing... it's not blowing over like we hoped. The brands are spooked."
"How spooked?"
"Cartier just called. They're reconsidering their options for the holiday campaign." Jake paused. "That's a fifteen-million-dollar contract, Dom."
Dom closed his eyes, feeling the walls of his carefully constructed world crumbling around him. "What about the smaller brands? The ones looking for edgier campaigns?"
"They want edgy, not unstable. There's a difference." Jake sighed.
The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd built his reputation on being untouchable, unshakeable. Dominic Valenti, the man who could sell anything to anyone, who commanded seven figures for campaigns because he embodied the kind of masculine power that made people want to buy whatever he was selling.
Now that same power was his downfall.
"Look, I'm working every angle I can, but right now you need to focus on proving you're still bankable. Whatever Colleen is planning with you, make it count."
After Jake hung up, Dom sat in silence, staring at his phone. Yesterday, he'd been one of the most sought-after models in the world. Now he was toxic.
The worst part? He didn't regret defending Sophia. He'd do it again in a heartbeat, consequences be damned. But that didn't make the reality any easier to swallow.
Dom pushed himself out of the chair and walked to his bar cart, pouring three fingers of twenty-five-year-old Macallan. The whiskey burned going down, but it did nothing to ease the knot of frustration and rage building in his chest.
What made it worse was knowing that just hours ago, he'd been distracted from all of this by Maya.
Her taste, her responsiveness, the way she'd melted under his touch in that darkroom.
For a brief moment, he'd forgotten about his imploding career and focused entirely on claiming the fascinating woman who saw through his carefully constructed facade.
Now reality was crashing back down, and Dom was torn between the need to fix his professional life and the overwhelming desire to find Maya and lose himself in her again.
His phone rang, displaying Sophia's name. Dom hesitated—he wasn't sure he could handle more drama tonight—but guilt won out.
"Dom?" Sophia's voice was stronger than it had been in months. "What’s going on? You never called me back after Milan."
"I'm sorry. I’ve been busy. Look, I hope my actions didn’t make things more difficult for you.”
"No, listen. What you did—standing up to Paolo—it reminded me why I got clean. Not for the magazines or the family reputation, but because someone I love refused to let me disappear." Her voice cracked. "You saved me by refusing to let go."
Dom’s throat tightened. "You saved yourself. I just couldn't watch him destroy you."
"That's my point. You've spent your whole life protecting people—me, your image, your heart. But Dom, you sound exhausted. Different. Like you're fighting something new." She paused. "Are you okay? Really okay?"
Dom was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know."
“Don’t worry about that bitch Elena. They’re ripping her apart on TikTok.”
“I didn’t want that,” he said.
“She needs to be called out on her lies.”
Elena needed someone that would give her the drama and attention she craved. Dom hadn’t been that person. He had been too wrapped up in his career. Was it more irony that she was partly responsible for ending it?
“It’ll blow over,” Sophia soothed.
But would it? He grunted.
"When's the last time you let someone take care of you instead of the other way around?"
The question hit harder than Dom expected. When had anyone ever tried to take care of him? His parents had been too busy managing his career, his lovers too interested in what he could give them, his friends too invested in the lifestyle he provided. "I have to go."
"Dom, wait. Whatever you're running from—maybe try running toward it instead."
After she hung up, Dom stared at his phone. When did his little sister get to be so wise.
A soft knock at his door interrupted his brooding. Dom glanced at the clock—nearly midnight. He wasn't expecting anyone, and room service would have called first.
When he opened the door, a stunning brunette in a designer dress that left little to the imagination was standing there. She was the type he would have noticed immediately a week ago—all curves and confidence, with the kind of practiced sexuality that promised no complications.
"Dominic Valenti," she purred, her accent suggesting Eastern European origins. "I'm Katarina. I was at the bar downstairs and noticed you seemed tense."
Dom's eyes traveled down her body appreciatively. She was eager and willing and exactly the kind of distraction he usually preferred when his world was going to hell. No strings, no emotions, just physical release.
This was familiar territory. How many women like Katarina had he taken to bed over the years? Casual fans who wanted nothing more than a night with him. It had always been enough before—more than enough. It had been part of his identity, his reputation. The playboy who could have anyone he wanted.
"Is that so?" he said, leaning against the doorframe.
Katarina stepped closer, her hand trailing down his bare chest. "I thought perhaps you might need some relaxation. I'm very good at helping men unwind."
Dom caught her hand, studying her face. She was gorgeous, willing, and offering exactly what his body should crave. A few hours of forgetting his problems in the most pleasurable way possible. This was his pattern, his go-to method for dealing with stress and frustration.
But when he tried to summon his usual appetite for meaningless encounters, all he could think about was Maya. The way she'd looked at him in the studio, so trusting and responsive. The soft sounds she'd made when he touched her. The way she'd said his name like a prayer.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
"I appreciate the offer," Dom said, releasing Katarina's hand. "But I'm going to have to pass."
Surprise flickered across her features. "Are you certain? I could make you forget all about your troubles."
"I'm sure you could." Dom's smile was polite but final. "But not tonight."
He closed the door gently but firmly, leaving Katarina in the hallway. Dom stared at the closed door for a long moment, wondering what the hell had just happened to him. Three months ago, he wouldn't have hesitated. No complications, exactly what he needed to burn off his frustration.
Now the idea left him cold.
This wasn't like him. He didn't turn down gorgeous women throwing themselves at him. He was the man who'd had supermodels and actresses competing for his attention, who'd never met a woman he couldn't charm into his bed. His reputation as a playboy wasn't just marketing—it was who he was.
Or who he had been, until Maya had looked at him through her camera lens and seen something that made him want to be real instead of perfect. He should keep that relationship professional for the sake of his plummeting career. But he just didn’t want to.
Dom poured himself another drink and walked out onto his balcony.
The night air was crisp with the scent of pine and autumn leaves, and he heard the distant rustle of wind through the forest. Usually, the peaceful Connecticut woods had a calming effect on him.
Tonight, they just reminded him how isolated he was from the life he'd built.
Movement on the neighboring balcony caught his eye. Maya stood there in silk pajamas that the moonlight rendered nearly transparent, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She was holding a glass of wine and staring out at the forest, lost in thought.
Even from this distance, Dom saw the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself like she was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. Probably figuring out how to maintain professional boundaries after what had happened between them in the darkroom.
Good luck with that, he thought grimly. Professional boundaries were the last thing on his mind when it came to her.
The sight of her stirred something deep in his chest, something that had nothing to do with simple lust and everything to do with the way she'd responded to his him, the way she'd surrendered to him so completely.
He'd had countless women submit to him over the years, but none of them had affected him the way Maya did.
None of them had made him want to possess them so completely.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he called softly.