Page 36 of My Playboy Neighbor

Maya had seen him—really seen him—and instead of running from his damage and complexity, she'd tried to preserve what was meaningful about their connection.Every image was a testament to feelings he'd been too afraid to acknowledge, proof that what they'd shared had been real and worth fighting for.

He scrolled to the final image—a photograph of his hands on her skin, taken with her phone during one of their more intimate moments.The composition was artistic rather than explicit, focusing on the contrast between his larger hands and her delicate curves, the way their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

At the bottom of the file, Maya had written a single line of text:"The moment I knew I was falling in love with him."

He stared at the words until they blurred, his chest tight with emotion he'd spent years learning to suppress.She hadn't been documenting their relationship to use against him.She'd been trying to understand it, to process feelings that were as overwhelming for her as they were for him.

He had been trying to not think the word for days.Love.It kept surfacing when he remembered her laughing at something only she found funny, when she absently tucked her hair behind her ear while editing, when she looked at him like he was worth more than his reputation suggested.He'd been in lust before.Infatuation.Obsession, even.

But love?Love was what he'd felt watching his sister fight for her sobriety—terrifying, helpless, willing to do anything to protect someone else's happiness above your own.Staring at Maya's photos, seeing himself through her eyes, Dom finally admitted what his heart had known since Milan: he'd risk everything for her.He already had.That was love.Messy, inconvenient, life-altering love.

And he'd accused her of exploitation, of using him for career advancement.He'd taken her vulnerability and twisted it into something ugly because he was too damaged to believe someone could love him without wanting something in return.

He reached for his phone, scrolling to Maya's contact.His thumb hovered over the call button for long minutes before he finally set the device aside.What could he say?How could he possibly explain that his accusations had come from fear rather than fact, that he'd pushed her away because caring about her terrified him more than losing his career?

A memory surfaced—her voice the night she'd left, telling him she'd been falling in love with him.Not the model, not the reputation, but him.The broken, damaged man who'd never learned how to accept love without questioning the motives behind it.

He closed the laptop and stood, pacing to the windows that overlooked the forest.Somewhere in this same building, she was probably editing photos for other clients, moving on with her life and her career while he sat alone with his whiskey and his regrets.

Jake was right—Dom needed to fix this.Not just for his career, but for his soul.Maya had offered him something precious, something real, and he'd thrown it back in her face because he was too afraid to believe he deserved it.

The question was whether she would give him another chance to prove he was worth saving.

His phone buzzed with a new voicemail from Jake.He listened with growing dread as his agent delivered the latest blow.

"It’s me again.Just heard from three more brands—they're pulling out completely.Something about 'brand incompatibility' and 'shifting marketing strategies.'We're down to the wire here.If this campaign doesn't work out, I don't know what else I can do for you."

Dom deleted the message and realized his career failure wasn't what terrified him most.It was the thought of Maya moving on, of finding someone else who could appreciate her artistic vision and her generous heart.Someone who wouldn't be threatened by her ability to see past his carefully constructed walls.

Someone who deserved her in ways he was beginning to fear he never would.

Dom picked up his phone again, this time opening his text messages.Maya's number was still there, their conversation history a record of professional communications that had gradually grown more personal, more intimate.

I need to talk to you.

He typed and deleted the message three times before finally hitting send.The response came back almost immediately.

There's nothing left to say.

Please.Five minutes.I was wrong about everything.

The typing indicator showed Maya composing a response, then disappearing, then starting again.Dom hoped against hope that she might give him the chance to explain.

I'm busy.

Maya, please.I know I fucked up.Just let me explain.

This time, there was no response at all.

Dom stared at his phone for another hour, hoping for some sign that Maya might reconsider.When it became clear she wasn't going to answer, he did something he hadn't done since he was a teenager praying for his father's approval.

He begged.

I looked at the photos.Really looked at them.They're beautiful, Maya.You're beautiful.And I'm an idiot who doesn't deserve a second chance but is asking for one anyway.I know you have no reason to trust me.I know I accused you of things that weren't true.But if there's any part of you that still believes what we had was real, please give me five minutes to prove I'm not the complete bastard I've been acting like.I'm sitting on my balcony with a bottle of whiskey and the worst regrets of my life.If you change your mind about talking, you know where to find me.

He hit send and immediately regretted the pathetic desperation in his words.But it was too late to take them back, too late to pretend he had any pride left.All he could do was wait, and hope that somewhere in the same building, a woman who'd once seen something worth loving in him might be willing to give him another chance to prove he was worth the risk.

The autumn wind rustled through the trees outside his window, carrying with it the scent of change and the promise of winter.Dom pulled his jacket tighter and settled in to wait, because losing Maya was a far greater failure than any career setback ever could.

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