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After a quick shower, I settle on a fitted white blouse with a pearl-button collar and a sleek black pencil skirt that stops just above my knees. A quick swipe of mascara and soft pink lipstick complete the look—polished, composed,intentional.

When I step into the bedroom, Nicolas is standing by the window, the morning light casting sharp angles across his face.

He looksgood. Too good.

He turns toward me, his gaze dragging over me slowly, taking me in.

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally—his voice low, steady?—

“You look beautiful.”

My heart stutters. I don’t understandwhyhe’s being this way with me. Something has changed—not just in how he treats me but also in how helooksat me. I don’t knowwhatit is, and as hard as I try not to think about it, Ican’t.

I glance down, pretending to smooth my skirt, using the small movement to pull myself together. Without thinking, I loop my arm through his.

His muscles tense briefly—and then he relaxes, his hand settling lightly over mine.

We walk downstairs together, his presence solid, steady. Grounding. But as we near the meeting room, the tight knot in my chest winds tighter.

I force my expression into something unreadable, unwilling to let anyone see the nerves creeping in.

Nicolas pushes the door open, and the scent hits me immediately—rich leather, lingering cigars, faint traces of cologne.

The room is spacious, with polished wooden walls enclosing a long mahogany table.

Fifteen men stand around the table, all dressed in sharp suits.

They lookdangerous—tattoos creeping up their necks, muscles straining against their shirts. Their presence is imposing, and their expressions are unreadable.

But as I take them in, one by one, I realizenoneof them command the room the way Nicolas does.

It’s hard to explain, buthe’sdifferent.

There’s something about him—something in how he carries himself and how power seems to bend around him. I’ve never met a man who could shift the air in a room just bybeingin it. And I have a feeling I never will again.

Nicolas moves to his seat at the head of the table. Only when he sits, do the others follow.

With a subtle glance, he signals one of the guards. The man disappears for a moment, then returns with a chair, placing it beside Nicolas.

At the head of the table.Besidehim.

Nicolas gestures for me to sit.

I take a slow, steadying breath before obeying. Ifeeltheir eyes on me—evaluating, measuring.

Leaning toward Nicolas, I keep my voice low.

“Who are they?” I murmur.

Nicolas doesn’t take his eyes off the men as he answers. “The leaders of my territories.”

I blink, trying to wrap my head around that. “Fifteenterritories?”

He nods once.

My stomach tightens.

I think of all the times I challenged him and spoke back without a second thought.A man who controls an empire—yet he let me be.