Ava woke to sunlight. Streaming through silk curtains. The sensation was disorienting. Egyptian cotton sheets against bare skin. For a moment, she was lost. The bed was too soft. Too large. Too luxurious to be her cramped apartment in Queens. Then memory crashed over her. A wave. Bringing a complex mixture of emotions. She wasn't ready to examine any of them.
Paris. The hotel. Lucien.
Her hand reached across the massive expanse of the bed. Searching for warmth. For the solid presence that had held her through the night. Instead, she found only cold sheets. The indent in the pillow where his head had been hours ago.
He was gone.
Ava sat up slowly. Clutching the sheet to her chest. She surveyed the opulent bedroom. It looked entirely different in the morning light. Her clothes from the previous day were scattered across the Persian rug. Her blouse draped over a chair. Her skirt puddled near the bed. Her heels kicked haphazardly toward the window. The sight made her cheeks burn. A mixture of embarrassment. And something else she didn't want to name.
The suite was quiet. Except for the distant sounds of Parisian traffic far below. And a muffled voice. Coming from somewhere beyond the bedroom. Lucien's voice. She realized. Low and controlled. Achingly familiar after months of working for him.
She wrapped the sheet around herself like armor. Padded barefoot across the marble floor. Following the sound. The sitting room was empty. But French doors led to a private terrace. Overlooking the Eiffel Tower. The sprawling city beyond.
There he was.
Lucien stood with his back to the doors. Fully dressed in a fresh suit. Pressed by angels. His dark hair was perfectly styled. His posture commanding as he spoke into his phone. Cold authority. The kind that had built his empire. He looked every inch the billionaire CEO. Completely in control. Utterly untouchable.
As if the man who had whispered her name like a prayer just hours ago had never existed at all.
"The terms are non-negotiable, Dubois." Flawless French. His tone sharp with impatience. "Either you accept our offer or we walk away. There are other companies. More... amenable to our proposals."
Ava stood frozen in the doorway. Acutely aware. She was wearing nothing but a hotel sheet. Watching him conduct business. The contrast was jarring. Her vulnerability against his polished professionalism. Her confused emotions against his apparent indifference.
"I don't care about your family's legacy." Lucien's voice cut through the morning air like a blade. "Sentiment doesn't pay dividends. If you want to keep your company afloat, you'll take our deal. Be grateful for it."
The cold calculation made something twist in her stomach. This was the real Lucien Drake. The man who destroyed companies. Crushed competitors without a second thought. The man who had dismantled her independence. Used her mother's illness as leverage.
The man she had surrendered to completely just hours ago.
What had she been thinking? In the darkness. With his hands on her skin. His voice rough with need. She'd allowed herself to believe. Something real between them. Something that transcended the twisted power dynamic. The web of control.
But looking at him now, she realized how naive that was. He was conducting business as usual. Discussing mergers and acquisitions. With the same cold efficiency he brought to everything else. Including her.
"Excellent." Satisfaction evident in his tone. "Have the contracts ready by this afternoon. We'll sign before we leave Paris."
He hung up. Slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. Turned to check his watch. A Patek Philippe. Costing more than most people's cars. The movement brought him into her line of sight. For a moment, their eyes met through the glass.
His expression was completely unreadable. Not cold. Just carefully neutral. A stranger's face. No warmth in his dark eyes. No acknowledgment of their intimacy. No sign he was affected by seeing her there. Wrapped in a sheet.
He studied her for a long moment. Taking in her disheveled appearance. A clinical assessment. A quarterly report. Then he walked back into the suite. Brushing past her. Professional distance. An employee.
"You're awake." He moved to the breakfast cart. Delivered by room service while she slept. "Good. We have a meeting in one hour."
The casual dismissal hit her like a physical blow. We have a meeting. As if last night was a minor deviation. Nothing more.
"Lucien—"
"Coffee?" He lifted the silver carafe. Steady hands. "You'll need the caffeine. The Dubois meeting is crucial. I need you sharp."
Clinical. Businesslike. Completely detached. She stood there clutching the sheet. Feeling exposed. While he poured coffee. As if discussing quarterly projections.
"Are we not going to talk about what happened?" The words came out small. Vulnerable. She cringed.
He paused. Adding cream to his cup. His movements stilled for just a moment. But when he looked at her, his expression remained controlled.
"What would you like to talk about?"
The same tone he might use for her lunch preferences. Polite. Professional. Devoid of emotion. Worse than anger. Anger would have suggested he was affected.
"I..." She faltered. How to articulate the confusion. The hurt churning in her chest. "Last night—"
"Was last night." His voice cut through her. Surgical precision. "Today, we have business to conduct. The Dubois family expects us at ten. I won't have this deal compromised. By personal complications."
Personal complications. That's what she was. A complication to be managed. Contained.
The hurt was so sharp it stole her breath. She'd known he compartmentalized everything. She'd seen him switch from charm to ruthlessness. Manipulate with calculating precision.
But in the darkness. With his hands gentle on her skin. She'd believed she was different. That they shared something real.
Looking at him now, perfectly groomed, she realized how foolish that was.
"I see," she managed. A whisper.
"Do you?" He set down his cup. Turned to face her fully. Dark eyes studying her. Uncomfortable intensity. "From where I'm standing, you look like someone who's forgotten why she's here."
Why she's here. Not because he cared. Not because of something real. Because she was useful. A role in his orchestrated performance.
"I haven't forgotten anything." She lifted her chin. What little dignity she had left.
"Good." A glance at his watch. Casual. Dismissive. "We have work to do. I need my assistant focused on her duties. Not distracted by misplaced romantic notions."
Misplaced romantic notions. Each word chosen to cut deep. Leave no doubt. She was his employee first. Last. Always. Everything else was just... complications.
Something inside her chest cracked. Went cold. Not breaking. Worse. A slow fracturing. Leaving sharp edges.
"Of course." Her voice was steady. Amazed. "I'll get ready."
She turned to go. Desperate to armor herself in professional clothing. Before she fell apart.
"Ava."
She turned back. Hope fluttering stupidly in her chest. Despite everything. Maybe he would say something. Acknowledge it meant something. A crack in the facade.
Instead, he looked at her. Board meeting expression. Focused. Calculating. In control.
"Be ready in forty-five minutes." Authority. Orders for his executives. "Wear the blue dress. The Dubois family values traditional elegance."
The blue dress. Not because he thought she was beautiful. Not a reminder of their first meeting. Because it made the right impression. On his business partners.
Even her appearance was a tool. A way to manipulate the situation.
"Of course, Mr. Drake." The formal address slipped out. Armor against the intimacy.
Something flickered in his eyes at the title. Surprise? Satisfaction? Gone qu
ickly. Maybe imagined.
"Good." He turned back to his coffee. Dismissing her entirely. "Don't be late."