Barcelona — Aria Palacio Resort, Rowan's Suite
The room was thick with anticipation, the only sounds being the soft rustle of fabric and the distant hum of the city night. Rowan stood close to Lila, his breath warm against her skin, the scent of his cologne enveloping her senses. It was the same fragrance from their first encounter, a blend of sandalwood and spice that had lingered in her memory.
Their eyes met, and in that charged moment, Rowan whispered, "I love you."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected.
Lila's eyes widened, her breath catching. She stepped back slightly, the intensity of the moment shifting. Her mind raced, emotions swirling—surprise, confusion, a flicker of fear.
"Rowan..." she began, her voice uncertain.
He reached out, gently taking her hand. "I mean it, Lila. I've tried to ignore it, to keep things professional, but I can't anymore."
She looked away, her gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the window. "This is... unexpected," she admitted. "I need time to process."
Rowan nodded, understanding. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
The room fell into a contemplative silence, the earlier tension replaced by a new, deeper connection. The night was far from over, but now, it carried the weight of unspoken truths and the promise of what could be.
---
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Lila stirred, her eyes fluttering open to find herself nestled against Rowan's chest. The events of the previous night came rushing back—his whispered confession, the passion they shared, and the vulnerability that followed.
She gently extricated herself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. As she sat on the edge of the bed, her mind raced. He said he loved me. The words echoed in her thoughts, bringing a mix of emotions—confusion, fear, and something else she couldn't quite name.
Lila reached for her robe, slipping it on as she stood. She needed time to think, to process what had happened. Quietly, she made her way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to clear her mind.
---
Elsewhere in the Resort
Piper McLean lounged by the pool, her eyes scanning the area for any sign of Lila. She sipped her coffee, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. She didn't come back to the suite last night. Piper's curiosity was piqued, and she couldn't wait to get the juicy details.
Nico Hart, ever the observer, approached Piper with a raised eyebrow. "Looking for someone?" he inquired, his tone teasing.
Piper smirked. "Just wondering where our dear Lila spent the night."
Nico chuckled, taking a seat beside her. "I have a feeling we'll find out soon enough."
---
Lila's POV — Back in Her Suite
She had slipped out early, hoping to avoid the stares, the whispers, the knowing smirks from Piper—or worse, Nico. Her body still tingled from the warmth of Rowan's skin, and his words "I love you" kept replaying in her mind like a haunting melody she couldn't shake off.
She stood before the mirror, towel wrapped around her waist, brushing her fingers across her lips. What did I just do?
She had been in control all along—until last night. That scent. That man. That damn whisper.
Pulling herself together, Lila dressed in a satin camisole and shorts, ready to face whatever game Piper was about to play.
---
Piper & Nico — Poolside Cabana
"There she is," Piper said, spotting Lila approaching from the far side of the resort. She pulled down her sunglasses and arched an eyebrow. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty."
"Cut it," Lila replied, feigning nonchalance as she dropped her tote onto the lounger beside Piper.
Nico leaned forward, his grin devilish. "So... team strategy meeting, or was it a private one-on-one with Mr. CEO with the sinful cologne?"
Lila looked between them, her lips lifting in a sly smile. "I went over some proposal drafts. Nothing unusual."
Piper nearly choked on her mimosa. "Proposal drafts? In a robe?"
Nico laughed. "You're glowing like someone who's seen heaven and touched hell at the same time."
Lila sipped her water. "Maybe I just had a good dream."
Piper leaned closer. "Honey, if you didn't dream it—he did. And he's probably losing his damn mind right now."
---
Rowan's POV — Back in His Suite
He stared out at the sea, robe loosely tied, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. The sheets were still warm from where she had been. Her scent lingered—like vanilla, like mystery, like temptation.
And her last words haunted him.
"Just your cologne..."
She hadn't said it to dismiss him. She said it like a spell. A warning. A confession wrapped in silk.
Rowan smiled, wicked and lost.
Checkmate, Miss Penrose.
---
#Lila's POV — Brunch#
The brunch terrace overlooked the Aegean Sea, sunlight flickering off the water like scattered diamonds. Lila sat beside Piper at their table, her legs crossed elegantly under her beige silk wrap dress. Her sunglasses shielded the storm in her eyes, and her fingers gently grazed the rim of her champagne flute—untouched.
"Are you going to eat or just stir the universe with your fork?" Piper whispered with a smirk.
Lila smiled faintly. "I'm trying to decide if I want croissants or clarity."
"You're definitely not getting the second one here," Piper replied, spearing a melon. "Especially not after the night you just had."
Lila's eyes flicked toward the far end of the terrace where Rowan sat at a separate table, Nico beside him. He looked composed—impossibly sharp in a white linen shirt, wristwatch glinting under the sun. But his gaze, when it met hers, burned.
She quickly turned away. Don't react. You started this.
Inside, her thoughts tangled: He said he loved me. Why? What did he mean? Was it the moment talking—or him?
Her chest rose with a quiet breath. She couldn't afford to falter now. This wasn't just a romance—it was a battlefield dressed in suits, seduction, and strategy. She'd played her role too well.
But the truth?
She didn't know who had just won. Or if this game ever had rules to begin with.
---
Rowan's POV — After Brunch
He watched her stand—slowly, effortlessly—and excuse herself with the grace of a queen leaving a court she no longer wished to entertain. Her back straight, her hair up in a loose twist, that silk dress clinging like a second skin.
He knew she felt him watching.
Minutes passed. Too many.
Then Rowan stood, gave Nico a short look that said don't follow, and left the table.
The hallway leading toward the elevators was quiet, hushed like it was holding its breath. He turned the corner, and there she was—alone, at the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the sea.
"Lila."
She didn't turn around. "I figured you'd come."
His steps were slow, controlled, until he stood behind her, close but not touching. The memory of her last night still burned on his fingers.
"I didn't mean to say it," Rowan said, voice low. "Not like that. Not then."
She turned finally, her eyes unreadable but soft. "But you did."
"I don't regret it."
Silence.
He reached out, gently brushing her wrist with his fingers. Her pulse leapt beneath his touch, and he noticed.
"You wore it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That cologne."
He stepped closer, lips almost grazing her ear. "You wore war paint."
Her smile was faint. "And you came unarmed."
"No," he said, voice raw. "I came already conquered."
For the first time, she faltered. Her breath hitched. Her hand—once steel—rested against his chest.
Neither kissed. Neither touched further.
But in that breath between them, the unspoken screamed.
---
#Lila's POV#
His words melted in her ears like a secret only her body truly understood.
"I came already conquered."
She should've laughed. Should've reminded him that she had been playing the game all along. That she moved the pieces. That he had only followed. But instead, her fingers betrayed her—resting lightly against his chest, where his heartbeat thundered beneath her touch like a wild drum against war.
She looked up at him.
His almond-hazel eyes had darkened with longing, but they weren't desperate. They were reverent. That scared her more.
Lila's voice came out softer than she expected. "What exactly do you want from me, Rowan?"
He didn't flinch. "Everything."
Her breath caught, but she didn't step back. She held her ground—barefoot in a storm, mascara like armor, her lips parted in dangerous curiosity.
"I don't give everything," she whispered.
He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin. "Then take mine."
Her eyes fluttered closed. Just for a second. Just long enough to imagine what surrender might taste like.
Her next words were a lie, but she needed to hear them aloud. "This… is still a game."
He chuckled under his breath. "Then why does it feel like the last round already broke us?"
A silence fell.
Not empty. Not awkward.
It was the kind of silence where hearts whisper what mouths can't.
When she opened her eyes again, he was still there. Waiting. Not pushing.
She let her hand slide down from his chest, fingers brushing his abdomen, grazing the hem of his shirt—like a promise half-made.
"You're dangerous," she said.
"So are you."
She turned, slowly walking back toward the hallway, hips swaying with poetic defiance. "Then may the best player win."
He didn't follow this time. But oh, how his eyes did.
---
#Rowan's POV#
She walked away.
Not rushed. Not nervous. She walked like she knew he'd still be there… burning.
And he was.
Rowan stood still, one hand clenched at his side, the other brushing the buttons of his shirt where her fingers had been. He could still feel her there—tracing him like a woman mapping out territory she already owned.
Her perfume was a spell. Her voice, a riddle. Her glance? A slow unraveling.
He should've stopped himself—should've kept this professional. But Lila Penrose didn't just walk into his life. She arrived like a prophecy.
And now?
Now she had become the one thing he couldn't outmaneuver.
He walked to the window, eyes fixed on the velvet night outside. The suite was still—except for the echo of her leaving. Her laughter from earlier in the evening still played in his head, mocking his control.
She'd whispered, "Just your cologne," and it had wrecked him.
That scent had been his mask. His distance. The shield he wore around women who got too close. But Lila had made it her compass. Found him with it. Commanded him with it.
And when she'd whispered that truth—right as he kissed her senseless—he knew.
This wasn't just lust. This was recognition.
He poured himself a drink. Left it untouched.
Lila was chaos in silk, temptation in high heels, and he was no longer at the edge. He was in.
Still, he couldn't say more. Not now. Not until he was sure she hadn't played the final card.
He didn't want to be a pawn in her game.
But God, he hoped she came back for checkmate.
---
#Lila's POV#
Geneva had never looked more divine.
The sky wore its twilight like silk, the lake shimmering with distant lights, laughter echoing from balconies, and the hotel buzzed with the last soft clinks of champagne flutes from their closing dinner.
Lila stood in front of the mirror, applying the last touch of gloss over her plum-colored lips. The black satin dress she wore slithered around her body like it knew the game they were playing. Thin straps, a thigh-high slit, and a neckline deep enough to make even the most collected men lose their words.
This wasn't for just any goodbye. This was her final move in a city that had pulled every hidden feeling to the surface.
She walked out onto the hotel terrace where the farewell drinks were held, ignoring the hush that followed in her wake. She didn't need to look for Rowan. She felt him.
He was already watching her.
Across the marble floor, by the polished bar, Rowan Vale stood in a fitted navy tux, black shirt unbuttoned just low enough. His watch glinted under the low lights. His presence was thunder in a room full of whispers.
They hadn't touched since that night. Had barely spoken. But their silence had screamed louder than any words ever could.
And tonight? Tonight, that silence broke in glances.
He approached slowly, cutting through the crowd like fate itself.
Lila took a sip of champagne, pretending not to notice the way his eyes fell to her lips.
"You really plan to leave Geneva just like that?" his voice was velvet and gravel.
"I never stay in one place too long," she replied, her voice calm, but her pulse racing. "Too many things to conquer."
He smirked. But his eyes were stormy. "You conquered this trip, Lila Penrose."
And then, under the stars, without words of confession, without desperation or demand, they stood in proximity so tight their shadows blended. She smelled it again—that cologne. The beginning of all this. The ghost that haunted her.
Her hand brushed his as she walked past him, her voice barely audible over the jazz in the background.
"Next time," she whispered, "try a different scent… or I'll find you again."
She didn't look back. She didn't need to.
Because he was already following her. Not with his steps.
But with his soul.
---