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I took the first left and found myself in what I could only describe as a private library. Not decorative,lived in.Built-in shelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, lined with books in deep jewel-toned covers, old and well-worn. There was a plush emerald velvet armchair nestled in a corner beneath a warm pool of light, a low side table stacked with more titles. Some of them were in Russian.

I ran a hand along the spines as I passed, trying to imagine him here. Reading. Thinking.

The next room was larger, sunken down two shallow steps. A conversation pit. Black leather couches formed a square around a heavy stone coffee table that had veins of white marbling cutting through the dark like lightning. A fireplace stretched along the far wall—sleek slate, no mantel—and above it hung a large abstract painting in shades of ash, wine, and indigo ink.

It felt like a place where people did business.

The bar on the right was built into the wall, stocked with crystal decanters and rare bottles lined up like soldiers on the battlefield. A small hum filtered through the room—some ambient jazz track low in the background, like the space was always ready for company, even when no one was invited.

I continued through the penthouse, my fingers trailing along the cool edges of furniture, catching on stone, glass, steel. The walls were decorated in texture more than color—black, gray, concrete, matte finishes that felt expensive without even trying.

It wasn’t cold.

It was curated.

Like everything he touched became perfect.

I found a door down at the end of the hall that was cracked open. A slow breath escaped me. With every step, I was reminded of how exposed I was beneath my dress, of how bare my pussy was because that’s how he wanted it.

I nudged the door open with one hand.

It was his office. The room inside was enormous, but more than that, it wascommanding.

And he was in there.

The ceiling stretched high above me, beams of dark wood cut across clean steel. Three of the four walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, and the view was dizzying. It felt like I’d stepped into the cockpit of a ship sailing the sky.

His desk was carved from black walnut, massive and sleek, the edges beveled with just a hint of brass. Two oversized armchairs sat in front of it, facing him like thrones brought forth for judgment. Off to one side, near the windows, a deep forest green velvet couch shone softly in the morning light—plush and modern and entirely out of place in such a precise room.

He was seated behind the desk in a black leather chair that looked like it was designed to make people feel small. His eyeswere fixed on the monitor in front of him, one hand on the mouse, the other resting on the armrest like a king.

He didn’t look up, but Iknewthat he knew I was there.

CHAPTER 19

Nikolai

I heard her before I saw her, the soft slap of ballet flats against the stone hallway, muffled slightly by the runner. Tentative. Light, but steady. She wasn’t tiptoeing—not quite—but she wasn’t strutting either. She was curious, exploring.

The double doors to my office were slightly cracked, just as I’d left them, and I heard the faint shift of her fingers against the brass handle. The door eased open, and then she was standing there, in my doorway, wearing exactly what I’d given her. The red silk dress wrapped around her body just the way I’d imagined it would. It clung to her waist, hugged the soft swell of her hips, dipped low enough at the neckline to show the delicate curve of her collarbone and just a hint of cleavage—not too much, but enough to tease.

Her hair—rich, deep chestnut—fell in soft waves over her shoulders. One lock clung to her throat, and I wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear just so I could touch her again, but I didn’t move.

I just let myself look.

Her legs were bare beneath the hem of the dress. Her soft thighs were slightly flushed and, if I looked closely, they were shaking just the tiniest bit.

She lookededible.

And she was nervous.

I saw it in her eyes, emerald green, ringed in gold, wide and questioning. They scanned the room quickly before locking on mine. There was pride there, still, defiance in her spine, but her lips were parted, her breath soft.

She knew what she was wearing. She also knew what shewasn’twearing.

And that blush creeping up her neck?

That was forme.