Chapter 2 The city feels unusually quiet tonight. Most nights, silence doesn't exist for me. There are always voices in my ear yammering on about business, security updates, or men confirming orders, deliveries, and even potential threats. I've learned to live with the noise and to thrive on it, even. A night this quiet is so rare it's almost unsettling. Still, it proves I've trained my men well enough to handle crises without me. Tonight, the only sound is the soft clink of ice in my whiskey. My phone sits face-up on the table next to me, also silent. My penthouse is dark except for the low glow of the city skyline filtering through the windows. Shadows stretch across the hardwood floors, creeping toward me, but I don't turn on the lights. I don't need them. The whiskey burns as I take another slow sip, my mind razor-sharp despite the hour. There are a dozen things I could be handling, but I've been in the business long enough to know when to step back. Now is the time to let things simmer and trust the groundwork I've laid will pay off. I consider something mindless-flipping on the TV and zoning out to some inane late-night drama-when my phone buzzes. My eyes flick toward the phone, a slow pulse of dread already curling in my gut. My men call more than they text. It could be Mom needing something downstairs. She would use the penthouse intercom, though. I lift the phone, the screen lighting my face, and frown at the message. I stare at the screen, trying to make sense of the words. Then I read it again. I read it three times, in fact. Plenty of people might call me an asshole, but I sure as hell didn't ditch anyone at dinner. I don't recognize the number. The area code is local, but that means nothing to me. What the fuck is this? I start to set the phone down, about to ignore it, but something stops me. Whoever it is-probably a woman-sounds angry and hurt. She clearly has no problem speaking her mind, and that intrigues me. Despite myself, I'm curious to know more about this person calling me an asshole. I hesitate all of three seconds before my thumbs fly across the keyboard. I suddenly want to know more about her. Maybe it's boredom or the eerie quiet of the night. Still, I spend the next hour sucked into her world, wishing I could see her. I even send a couple of photos for encouragement, but she keeps things playful. I don't even get her name. Yet, I'm drawn to her in a way I don't fully understand. I lock down a date for tomorrow night before the moment cools. I imagine I tortured her well over text. I had a feeling she would enjoy my teasing much more in person. I wanted to hear that filthy mouth screaming my name. The next evening I sit in the farthest corner of an overpriced restaurant with my back to the wall, whiskey in hand, and eyes trained on the entrance. I'm waiting for this mystery woman with no idea what to expect. She texted to confirm she wouldn't stand me up and said she'd be wearing red. She's late. Not by much, but enough to tell me she's not rushing to impress me. Another point in her favor. Then I see a woman in a red dress walk in. And fuck me, I wasn't prepared for this. She's petite, yet nothing about her is fragile. She walks in like she owns the place, exuding an easy confidence. She's commanding in her aura, something her texts hinted at last night. The dark-red silk hugs every ample curve, and my knees threaten to buckle. Already I'm picturing that dress ripped and puddled on my bedroom floor. I curl my fingers around the glass and drink deep, forcing myself to focus. She doesn't notice me at first, her eyes scanning the restaurant. I stay still, curious whether she'll find me on instinct or recognize me from the photos I sent. It takes her exactly three seconds. Her gaze locks on mine; her lips part, her breath catching. I'm mesmerized. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before making her way to my table. I stand as she approaches, pulling out her chair. She arches a brow. "He doesn't stand me up and he's a gentleman," she says by way of greeting, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Nicole." Her voice is smooth, sensual, and her sarcasm isn't a shield. She's naturally sharp as a tack. "Sergei," I offer in return. Up close, Nicole is even more stunning. Brilliant green eyes, lush lips, and soft blonde hair beg to be touched. The waiter appears, and I order us a bottle of wine before she has a chance to protest. She watches me, interested yet not entirely impressed. "I don't remember agreeing to wine," she teases. I lean back, smirking. "It wouldn't be a proper dinner without decent wine," I point out. She scoffs, amusement sparking in her eyes. "You're very confident." I tilt my head. "Shouldn't I be?" Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and fuck, I'm already too invested. I forget the conversation entirely until the wine arrives. I watch as she takes a sip, her lashes fluttering as she tastes it. My cock twitches painfully at the sight. This woman is going to be a problem. The restaurant hums with a low murmur of voices, the soft clinking of silverware against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables. The lighting is dim, the flickering candlelight on each table casting a warm glow over polished glasses and half-eaten meals. Even in all the hubbub of activity, the only thing I can focus on is her. She's magnetic, sharp and bold. I spend an hour cataloging every smirk, every glance, and every flick of her tongue as she eats. I wonder if she does it on purpose. If she knows what it does to me. If she did, she would know how badly I want her, how I'm barely restraining myself from hauling her into my lap and devouring that teasing smile. Nor would she be sitting so damn comfortably. She'd probably run. Then again, maybe she'd drag me off instead, desperate for a private corner where our desires could run wild. She did blush when I asked if she'd gotten her happy ending last night. I swirl the whiskey in my glass, letting the ice clink against the sides, but I don't take another sip. I drum my fingers on the table, watching candlelight stroke the curve of her throat, the soft rise and fall of her chest. She's effortlessly beautiful. She's not draped in excess, the way so many other patrons at this restaurant are. She's comfortable in her own skin. Her green eyes glint with amusement as she catches me looking. "You're staring," she says, lifting her glass to her lips. I smirk. "And you like it." She hums, tilting her head. "I don't dislike it." I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, voice dropping just enough to make her pulse flutter at her throat. "You're teasing me, malyshka." She mirrors my movement, resting her chin on her palm, her smirk widening. "And you can handle it, can't you?" "I can handle anything," I say, my voice gravelly while my gaze drops to the cleavage she's flaunting. What I can't do is sit here one more minute pretending I don't already know how tonight ends. The waiter comes by with the bill. I grab it before she has a chance to reach for it. She rolls her eyes, indignant. "I could've gotten that." I arch a brow. "I invited you here. You really do have low expectations, don't you?" She exhales, shaking her head as she drains the last of her wine. "You always get your way, don't you?" she answers my question with one of her own. I lean in, letting my voice drop even lower. "You have no idea." Her breath hitches, just for a second, but I catch it. Her pupils dilate. The air between us shifts, something darker curling in its place. For the past hour, the tension between us has been a slow burn. A tease. A back-and-forth game we've both been playing. Now, it's a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap. She sets her empty wine glass down, her fingers trailing over the rim absentmindedly, but her focus is entirely on me. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. Because she knows. She can feel it too. The restaurant is still bustling around us, waiters weaving through tables, the smell of expensive food lingering in the air. Yet it all fades into the background. We're in our own little world, on the verge of something inevitable. I throw down the cash for the bill, rising from my seat. She doesn't hesitate to follow. As we step outside, the cool night air does nothing to dull the heat between us. We linger outside, neither of us making a move to leave. The sounds of the city filter around us, but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears. I watch her lips as she makes some comment about the night, but I don't really hear her. My entire focus narrows to one singular thought. I need to taste her. Now. I grab her hand and pull her with me. She gasps but doesn't resist. Her fingers curl around mine as I lead her down a shadowed alleyway, my steps quick and purposeful. The moment we're hidden from view, I turn, pressing her back against the cool brick wall. Her breath stutters, her green eyes wide, locked onto mine. "Sergei-" I don't let her finish. I close the distance, my mouth crashing into hers with desperate hunger. Fireworks detonate behind my eyes. She moans against my lips, her fingers twisting in my shirt, pulling me closer, needing more. I growl, deep in my throat, dragging my lips down her jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She shivers, arching into me. "I want every inch of you," I murmur against her skin. She tilts her head, breathing unevenly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then take me." I grip her chin, tilting her face up to mine. "You don't know what you're asking for, malyshka." Her eyes flash with challenge. "Then show me." And just like that, my control shatters. Title: A Mother's Rewind Tomorrow In "A Mother's Rewind Tomorrow" by CrushReel, Flora Hayes's life takes a tragic turn after a fatal car accident. However, her final moments reveal a chilling glimpse of a future fraught with peril for her children two decades ahead. Exploring themes of resilience and sacrifice, this CEO drama intricately weaves elements of modernity and time travel into a compelling narrative set within the grandeur of a mansion and the intensity of an office environment. As Flora grapples with the aftermath of her premonition, the story delves deep into familial bonds and the weight of destiny. What sets "A Mother's Rewind Tomorrow" apart is its masterful blend of suspense and emotional depth, captivating readers with its intricate plot twists and nuanced character development. Discover the gripping saga at CrushReel, where this ongoing tale awaits those eager to embark on a journey through time and motherly love.