The next morning, Emma found herself staring at the contract.
The sleek black folder sat on the glass desk like a silent threat. So clean, so precise—like everything Zane did. Every clause, every condition… down to how long she was allowed to stay in his penthouse.
But there was nothing in it about kisses. About hesitation. About hunger laced with fear.
There was nothing in it about feelings.
And yet, they were there—heavy, unspoken, suffocating.
She closed the folder and stood. She wasn't afraid of Zane anymore. But what scared her was something much more dangerous.
She was starting to want more than the contract allowed.
Emma found him on the terrace, reading something on his tablet, black coffee in hand, crisp shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Controlled. Composed.
She hated how beautiful he looked when he wasn't trying.
"You kissed me," she said flatly.
Zane looked up, unsurprised. "I remember."
"It wasn't part of the deal."
"No," he admitted. "It wasn't."
Emma crossed her arms. "Then what was it?"
Zane placed the tablet down. "A mistake."
Her stomach twisted. But her face didn't flinch. "You're lying."
His jaw tightened. "What do you want me to say, Emma? That I lost control? That you got under my skin?"
"Yes," she said. "Exactly that."
Zane stood slowly. Walked toward her. "And what if I did?"
"Then I'd say we need to change the rules."
That made him stop. "You want to rewrite my contract?"
Emma stepped forward. "I want to rewrite the dynamic."
A pause.
Then Zane's eyes darkened. "You're playing with fire."
She tilted her head. "You said you like risk."
Zane's breath hitched—just slightly. "You don't know what I'm capable of when I let go."
She looked him dead in the eyes. "Maybe I want to find out."
Something shifted.
Zane moved fast, closing the distance between them in a blink. His hand found her throat—not tight, not violent, but firm. Testing.
Her breath caught, but she didn't flinch.
"You're not afraid of me anymore," he whispered.
"No," she breathed. "I'm afraid of myself. When I'm with you."
That did something to him.
His hand dropped, but his eyes burned. "You're changing the game."
She nodded. "And you're letting me."
Zane stepped back, his pulse visible in the line of his throat.
He wasn't used to losing ground. Especially not to someone like her—soft on the surface, sharp beneath. The kind of woman who didn't scream for power, but held it in silence.
Emma walked past him and into the penthouse without waiting. No more seeking permission. No more asking.
She poured herself coffee from his machine. Black. No sugar. Just like he drank it.
Zane followed, his voice quieter now. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
Emma turned slowly, her eyes calm. "Taking my place."
He laughed once—low, disbelieving. "Your place?"
She walked up to him, looked up into his eyes, and laid her palm flat against his chest. His heart thudded beneath her fingers. Good. He felt this.
"I signed your contract, Zane," she said. "But I never gave you my soul."
"And now you want to renegotiate?"
"No," she whispered. "I want you to admit you've already broken your own rules."
Zane's jaw clenched. His hands hovered near her hips but didn't touch. Not yet.
"You don't get to flip the board just because I kissed you."
"But I didn't stop you," she said.
That shut him up.
Emma leaned closer, her lips near his ear. "What scared you more—how good it felt… or how much you wanted it again?"
His breath was uneven now.
"You think you're in control," he murmured, hands finally settling at her waist. "But you're standing at the edge of something you don't understand."
"Then pull me back," she challenged.
He didn't.
Instead, he lifted her and set her on the kitchen counter, hands gripping her thighs—tight, possessive. Emma gasped, but not in fear.
Her dress rode up her legs. She didn't pull it down.
His hands slid under the fabric, tracing up her skin slowly. Heat bloomed between them.
"Tell me to stop," he said, voice hoarse.
She didn't.
She reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him down until their foreheads touched. Their mouths were millimeters apart.
Her voice was a whisper. "Make me beg."
Zane groaned—raw, almost pained—and kissed her again.
But this kiss was different.
Not violent. Not restrained. It was intimate. Dangerous. Slow.
His tongue moved with hers like they'd done this a thousand times. His hands explored, but never crossed the line. Every touch asked for permission. Every sigh from her was a yes.
When he pulled back, both of them were breathing like they'd run a mile.
Zane stared at her, eyes darker than obsidian. "This is no longer just about control."
"No," Emma said. "It never was."
Zane took a step back like he was trying to catch his breath—or recover his balance.
Emma slid off the counter without a word, adjusted her dress, and stood tall. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Only the sound of their breathing filled the kitchen.
Then Zane said, quietly, "You've done something to me."
Emma raised a brow. "You kissed me first."
"That's not what I mean."
He turned away, hands gripping the back of one of the leather chairs like he needed something solid to hold onto. His voice was lower now, thoughtful. "I've built my life on control. Power. Boundaries. I don't blur lines. I don't let people in."
Emma didn't respond.
"And yet…" He looked over his shoulder at her. "You're under my skin, Emma. And I don't know how to take you out."
A long pause.
Then he added, "I don't want to."
The admission sat between them like lightning waiting to strike.
Emma stepped closer, slow, steady. "So what now?"
Zane turned to face her fully. "One night."
She blinked. "What?"
"One night without the contract. No terms. No rules. No roles."
She searched his face. "Just you and me."
He nodded. "You. Me. No power games. No control. Just… truth."
Emma hesitated.
Because that was scarier than anything he'd offered before.
Not sex. Not dominance.
Vulnerability.
"I want to know what that feels like," Zane said. "Just once."
Emma exhaled slowly. "You're asking me for something real."
He nodded. "For one night, yes."
She stepped forward again until she was toe to toe with him.
"Okay," she said softly. "One night. No rules."
Zane's shoulders lowered. Not relaxed—but opened. Exposed. "Tomorrow."
Emma tilted her head. "Why not tonight?"
His eyes locked onto hers. "Because tonight, I want to earn it."