The Drake Enterprises building felt different at night.
What buzzed like a hive during the day was now a cathedral of silence—empty corridors, the low hum of air conditioning, the occasional ping of an elevator carrying a late executive to their car.
Ava stayed behind to finish the quarterly reports, the ones she'd abandoned earlier for the trip to the tailor. She told herself it was dedication. Truthfully, it was distraction. Her mother's medical bills. The denied insurance. Lucien's promise to "help." They kept circling her mind like vultures.
By eight o'clock, her computer screen was the only light in the assistant pool. She thought she was alone—until she noticed the faint glow spilling from beneath Lucien's office door.
She tried to ignore it. Tried to bury herself in numbers. But unease tugged at her until curiosity won. Saving her work, she crossed the floor and knocked softly.
"Come in."
His voice was different—low, quieter than usual.
She stepped inside.
The office was dark except for the city lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Manhattan stretched beneath them, glittering, alive. The room felt suspended above it all, a world apart.
Lucien stood silhouetted against the glass. A tumbler in his hand. Whiskey, by the look of it.
"You're still here," he said. His tone carried something she couldn't place. Surprise? Approval?
"I wanted to finish the quarterly analysis," she answered. Her own voice sounded small against the vast silence.
"Dedicated." He took a slow sip. "I like that."
Silence settled between them. Heavy. Waiting. Ava hovered by the door, unsure whether to leave or stay.
"The suit you picked up today," Lucien said at last, eyes still on the city. "It's for the Rothschild Foundation Gala tomorrow night."
"Oh." She didn't know why he was telling her this.
"It's an important event. High-profile clients. Investors. People who can move markets with a single conversation."
Ava nodded, though he couldn't see her. "I'm sure you'll represent the company well."
"We will."
The word hit like a stone.
"I'm sorry?"
"You'll be accompanying me."
Her pulse jumped. "Mr. Drake, I don't think—"
"It's not a request, Ava."
He turned then. In the dim glow, his sharp features were carved in shadow and gold. He looked less like a CEO, more like something magnetic. Dangerous.
"I don't have anything appropriate for that kind of event," she said quickly, clinging to the excuse.
"That's handled. Colette will be here at six a.m. with options." He set his glass aside and began moving toward her. Smooth. Predatory. Controlled. "The gala starts at eight. We'll leave from here."
Her throat tightened. The building was empty except for security. His office suddenly felt very small.
"Mr. Drake, I'm not sure this is appropriate. I'm your assistant, not your—"
"Not my what?"
He stopped in front of her. Close. Too close. She caught the scent of his cologne—expensive, sharp, intoxicating. It made her dizzy.
"Not your date," she managed.
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or possession.
"You're representing Drake Enterprises," he said. "That makes you essential to the evening's success."
The words sounded professional, reasonable. But the weight behind them wasn't business. Not entirely.
"I've never been to something like that," she admitted. "I wouldn't know what to say. I'd embarrass you."
"You underestimate yourself."
He reached out, straightening the collar of her dress—the black sheath he'd chosen for her through the cameras. His touch was light. Deliberate. Fingers brushing her neck, sending a shiver through her she wished she could control.
"You're intelligent. Articulate. Quick to learn." His voice was steady, his touch lingering. He knew exactly what he was doing. "You'll do fine."
Her body betrayed her, caught between stepping back and leaning forward. It was the first time he'd touched her without punishment hanging in the air. Almost gentle. Almost.
"Besides," he murmured, voice dropping to a whisper, "I'll be there to guide you."
The promise curled around her, equal parts anticipation and dread.
"Mr. Drake…" she began, though she wasn't sure what she meant to say.
"Lucien."
His thumb traced the line of her jaw. The touch was intimate, startling, dangerous.
"When we're alone, you can call me Lucien."
His first name felt like a line she shouldn't cross. But his hand lingered against her face, and his eyes locked hers, daring her to resist.
"You're mine to protect, Ava." His thumb moved with maddening gentleness. "Remember that."
The words should have comforted her. They did not.
They landed like a brand — clean, certain, labeling her as his possession.
The worst part was how her body betrayed her. Her pulse sped. Her breath thinned. Heat rose in places she didn't want it to.
Then, as suddenly as he'd touched her, he stepped back. The gentleness evaporated. In its place came the cold, professional mask she knew too well. The shift was so abrupt it left her dizzy.
"Be here at seven a.m.," he said, crisp, businesslike. "Don't be late."
The dismissal was obvious. Still, Ava stood frozen, her cheek tingling where his thumb had rested. The man who'd just caressed her jaw and promised protection had vanished—replaced by the boss who punished lateness with hours of standing.
"Ava." His voice carried a warning.
"Yes, sir." Her reply came out breathless, smaller than she intended.
She turned to go, feeling his gaze on her back like a weight. At the door she paused, some reckless part of her forcing a backward glance.
He had returned to the window, drink in hand, a silhouette against the city. Even without looking, she could feel him watching.
"Goodnight, Mr. Drake."
"Goodnight, Ava."
She closed the door and leaned against it, heart hammering. The phantom of his touch lingered on her skin. She hated that it felt like more than a memory. She hated that part of her had welcomed it.
As she gathered her bag and waited for the elevator, one thought rolled through her again and again: tomorrow night she would be alone with him. Dressed in clothes he'd chosen, playing a role in a world she barely understood.
Every instinct shouted danger. Still, a small, traitorous part of her found herself looking forward to it.
The elevator doors shut. The executive floor receded. Outside, the city moved on. But she could still feel the ghost of his thumb along her jaw.
She was in trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble.
And she was beginning to realize that might be exactly where he wanted her.