***---Harper---***
Thursday bled into Friday, one endless grind of ringing phones and whispered gossip. PR camped in conference rooms, Legal tossed NDAs like party favors, and Garret stayed locked behind doors I didn't want to look at.
We barely exchanged two words. His eyes followed me everywhere, but I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of accepting his apology.
And Axiom? Silent. No teasing, no late-night "good girl." My phone mocked me with its stillness. Every time it buzzed with Chloe or Nadia, my pulse jumped, hoping it was him. It never was.
By Friday night, I was raw, restless, strung out on nerves.
The lobby swallowed me in shadow and sound. Black marble gleamed under the low amber lights. Bass thumped from below, steady and patient, like it had nowhere to be except under my skin. The concierge behind the desk didn't blink at me clutching my coat tight like a shield.
"Reservation?" His voice was smooth, neutral.
"Room Seven."
He slid a velvet box toward me, then stepped from behind the counter. "This way."
I followed, my boots tapping against the floor, echoing too loud. He led me down a hidden hall, the bass growing louder, the air thicker. We stopped at a black door and I almost turned right back around.
He unlocked the door, pushing it open. "Your mask is in the box. Slip it on once you're comfortable."
The door slid shut behind me.
The room was enormous, dressed in shadows and soft amber light. A massive bed anchored the space, draped in black silk sheets that gleamed in the dim glow. Music drifted from unseen speakers, low and deliberate. The kind of rhythm meant to slow your breathing, make you aware of it.
I set the box on a chair and tugged at the belt of my coat with unsteady fingers. Not yet. Not until I was ready.
I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror across the room. My reflection stared back at me with pale skin, wide eyes, hair falling loose down my back in soft curls. I was nervous and excited.
I opened the box. The mask shimmered up at me, black silk edged with tiny gems that winked when they caught the light. I lifted it, the fabric cool against my palms, and tied it behind my head. When I looked back at the mirror, the woman staring back wasn't me. Not Harper the receptionist. No, this was Crownless.
The mask cut sharp lines across my face, hid just enough to let me breathe.
I shrugged off my bag, set it down. Crossed to the bed and sat on the edge. The sheets whispered under me. My hands twisted the belt of my coat tighter. I couldn't stop glancing at the far door. The one he'd come through. My pulse thudded harder than the bass.
Minutes passed. I counted my breaths to keep from bolting.
The door clicked.
I shot to my feet.
He filled the doorway, broad shoulders, black suit, dark mask cutting across his face. He didn't hesitate. The door shut behind him with a quiet snick, and then he was moving.
Controlled. Certain. Like he knew exactly how many steps it would take to get to me.
I backed up without thinking until the wall stopped me. My palms flattened against cool plaster.
He stopped close enough that the air between us went heavy. His hand came up, slid around my throat, firm and steady. Not choking. Holding. Anchoring. His other hand settled at my hip, his thumb pressing into the soft give of me through the coat.
"Breathe." His voice was low.
The sound vibrated through me. My chest rose. Fell. His thumb stroked once over my pulse.
"Good." He murmured.
The mask hid most of his face, but his eyes caught the dim light and pinned me. Focused. Unwavering. Like nothing else in the room mattered but me.
His fingers brushed the knot of my belt. "May I?"
My voice cracked. "Yes."
The corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile exactly, but enough to make heat flare in my stomach.
He tugged the knot loose. The belt slipped. The coat parted slow, deliberate, like he was opening a gift he'd been waiting on.
Fabric slid from my shoulders and dropped to the floor.
His hand at my throat tightened just enough to make my breath stutter. His gaze dragged down, slow, taking in the black lace I'd bought two nights ago. New. Never worn. Chosen for him.
"You wore this for me?" His voice was rougher now. His thumb stroked once along my jaw. "Good girl."
My thighs pressed together. A small sound escaped my throat, half caught under his palm.
"Turn." His tone softened, but it was still a command. "Face the mirror."
My body moved before my brain argued. I turned. The mirror held a stranger I barely recognized. Mask. Hair spilling over bare shoulders. The kind of woman who didn't flinch when a man claimed her throat with his hand.
He stepped in behind me. His chest brushed my back. His hand stayed firm on my throat. His other hand slid over my hip, down my stomach, and pressed flat there, steady. His reflection towered behind mine, black mask, broad shoulders, shadow and heat.
"Look." His words tickle along the shell of my ear. "See what I see."
I did. My lips parted. My chest heaved. His palm moved lower, teasing the waistband of my skirt. He paused, fingers pressing but not pushing.
"Before I will go further, I need your word, Crownless." He reminded me.
"Yes."
The pressure eased, then returned higher, up my ribs, spreading his hand between my breasts. His mask dipped close enough that I felt his breath on my skin.
"You're nervous." He murmured. "And you're wet already."
I shut my eyes, embarrassed and wrecked, but his grip at my throat tightened a fraction.
"Eyes open. Watch yourself."
I forced them open. The woman in the mirror looked flushed, trembling, undone before anything had even started.
His hand left my chest, slid back down, cupping between my thighs through lace. Heat surged through me, my knees threatening to give.
"Please." I whispered.
He hummed against my ear. "That's the word I like."
His hand withdrew. He turned me back to face him, pressing me to the wall again. His thumb dragged across my lower lip.
"You followed the rules. New. Black. Mine first." His voice was thick now. "Perfect."
His mouth came down on mine. Firm. Demanding. His palm stayed at my throat, holding me steady while he kissed me like he had every right to. My body lit up like it had been waiting for this exact moment, every nerve screaming.
When he pulled back, I chased him. He caught my chin, made me look up.
"Bed."
I crossed the room on unsteady legs and sat. The silk sheets sighed under me. He followed, taking his time like he had all night.
He stopped in front of me, dark and solid, his mask reflecting the low light. "Lie back."
I did.
The sheets cooled my skin. My chest rose and fell too fast.
He braced one hand beside my head, the other on my thigh, pushing it open with steady pressure. My breath caught.
"You're mine tonight." He groaned. "Say it."
"Yours." My voice shook, but the word left me clear.
"Again."
"Yours!"
His mouth curved, small and satisfied. His hand slid higher, pressing into heat, and my hips lifted without my permission.
"Good girl."
The bass thrummed through the walls. My heartbeat climbed to match it. And for the first time all week, the silence inside me broke wide open on a gasp.