Emma stared at the ceiling of the vast, darkened bedroom, listening to the soft hum of the city far below. The sheets around her were expensive—Egyptian cotton, ironed to perfection—but they felt cold against her skin. It had been nearly four hours since Zane had disappeared into his office after dinner. No word. No message. No command.
He hadn't touched her.
And that terrified her more than if he had.
She slid out of bed quietly, barefoot, the nightgown he'd selected for her brushing against her thighs. It was dark blue silk, cut low at the back, designed to seduce. But there was no one here to seduce. Just the echo of her own heartbeat.
Emma padded through the hallway, the lights dimmed automatically, casting her in soft gold. The penthouse was still, the kind of silence that felt thick—heavy with something unspoken.
She stopped at the door to his study.
Closed.
It always was.
She reached for the doorknob, paused, her hand hovering. She shouldn't. It was one of the unspoken rules. But she wasn't afraid of the rules tonight.
She was afraid of what she was becoming.
Her fingers curled around the handle, turned it gently, and—
Locked.
Of course.
She backed away slowly, heart pounding, unsure if it was from fear or frustration. Maybe both. She returned to the living room, sat on the edge of the massive leather sofa, and stared out into the endless lights of the skyline.
She didn't hear him coming. She never did.
"I didn't say you could leave the bedroom."
His voice sliced the silence like a knife—smooth, deep, calm. Too calm.
Emma turned. Zane stood barefoot, shirt unbuttoned halfway down, dark slacks clinging to his frame like he was carved from shadow and silk.
She swallowed hard. "You also didn't say I had to stay."
A flicker passed over his face. Not anger. Something more dangerous.
Amusement.
"You're playing games now?" he asked, stepping closer.
Emma stood. Her pulse quickened. "No. I'm trying to understand the rules."
"The rules are simple," he said. "Obey."
She took a breath. "And what if I don't?"
Zane didn't smile, but his eyes lit with something close to pleasure. He moved closer until the space between them was electric.
"Then I'll have to teach you. Again."
Emma tilted her chin. "Go ahead."
For a heartbeat, silence fell between them like a held breath.
Then he did something unexpected.
He reached up… and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Soft. Gentle. Intimate.
Her body reacted before her brain could stop it—heat rushing through her veins, breath catching. But the way he touched her… It wasn't about dominance. Not this time.
"You're not afraid of me anymore," he murmured.
Emma whispered, "Should I be?"
Zane's fingers traced the edge of her jaw. "You were. The first night. I could taste it."
Her voice shook. "And now?"
"Now," he said, his voice turning darker, "you're confused."
He was right.
And he knew it.
Emma stepped back, just once. Not in fear — in defiance. In control.
"I'm not confused," she lied.
Zane's lips curved slightly, but his eyes remained unreadable. "Lying to me already, Emma?"
"Maybe I'm lying to myself."
"That," he said softly, "is even more dangerous."
He walked past her, toward the bar. Poured himself a glass of something dark, expensive, smooth. He didn't offer her any. Just leaned against the counter and watched her from across the room.
"Why are you really here?" he asked.
She blinked. "You know why."
"I know what the contract says. I know what you signed. But why did you say yes?"
Emma's mouth went dry. She hadn't expected this — this shift. She'd prepared herself for control, for seduction, for the dangerous game of obedience. But not for… questions. Not for this closeness.
"I needed money," she said flatly.
Zane sipped his drink. "Try again."
"I needed an escape."
"Closer."
Emma looked away, toward the skyline. "I wanted to feel something."
A pause.
Then: "And do you?"
She didn't answer.
Zane placed the glass down gently. "Come here."
It wasn't a command. It was a request.
And somehow, that made it even harder to resist.
Emma walked toward him slowly, every step calculated. When she reached him, he didn't touch her. He just looked.
"What do you see when you look at me?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Power. Control. Wealth."
"And?"
Emma licked her lips. "Danger."
Zane's expression darkened slightly. "Anything else?"
She exhaled. "Loneliness."
That did it.
The first crack.
It was subtle, but she saw it — his jaw tightened, a muscle flickering just beneath the surface. His eyes, always cold steel, faltered for a split second.
"You think I'm lonely?"
"I think you wear control like armor," she said quietly. "But no one lives in a fortress unless they're afraid of being invaded."
Zane stared at her.
And then… he laughed.
It wasn't mocking. It was soft. Almost surprised.
"You're not who I thought you were," he said.
"Neither are you."
Another pause. Then:
"If you stay here," he said, "you'll break."
Emma's voice was steady. "Maybe I want to."
Zane stepped forward, one hand brushing her hip. "Don't tempt me, Emma."
Her body ignited at the touch, but she stood her ground. "What happens if I do?"
He leaned in, breath hot against her ear.
"Then I'll stop pretending I can control myself."
Later that night, she lay in his bed again, but this time, she couldn't sleep.
Not because of fear.
Because of hope.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
The air in the bedroom was thick with tension—sexual, emotional, psychological. Emma lay on her side, facing the door, every sense heightened. She hadn't undressed. Not fully. Her gown clung to her skin, slightly damp from her own heat.
And still, he didn't come.
Was this his game now? Seduction through absence? Or was she no longer interesting?
The thought made her chest ache. Not out of pride.
Out of something far more dangerous.
She got out of bed and moved quietly down the hallway, back to the living room. No lights were on, but she could sense him—sitting in the dark, a shadow amidst shadows.
"You can't sleep either," she said softly.
Zane didn't turn around. "Your mind is too loud."
"And yours is too quiet."
He stood slowly, walking to the window. The city glowed beneath them.
"I was wrong about you," he said.
Emma moved beside him, the silence between them electric. "How so?"
"I thought you'd break within the first three nights."
She smirked. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"Oh, you haven't disappointed me."
He turned to face her. The city lights painted his features in silver and darkness.
"You've surprised me. That's much worse."
She looked up at him. "Worse how?"
"Because I'm not supposed to feel anything during this. That was the rule. That was my rule."
Emma's breath caught. "And now?"
Zane stepped closer. "Now, I find myself imagining things."
"Like what?"
He looked at her lips. "Like how you'd sound if I made you beg."
Emma swallowed hard.
He continued, "Or how it would feel to watch you fall apart because of me… not from pain, but from pleasure."
She whispered, "Then why don't you?"
Zane touched her hair, slow, reverent. "Because I want you to want it. Not because of a contract. Not because I own your time. But because you need me."
Emma stepped forward until her chest brushed his. "And what if I already do?"
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Then we begin. Tomorrow."
She wanted to scream. To grab his collar and pull him to her. But something deeper told her not to.
Something deeper told her this was the game.
Not pain. Not control.
Anticipation.
Zane pulled away. "Goodnight, Emma."
She stood frozen, heart pounding, as he disappeared once again into his study.
Alone, Emma returned to bed. She curled beneath the sheets, not cold, but still shivering.
Not from fear.
Not from anger.
From hunger.
Hunger for the man who was slowly becoming something more than a monster.
Something worse.
Someone real.
Someone who could destroy her.
And maybe…
She wanted him to.