(Aria's POV)
"You're already mine."
His words clung to me like smoke as I stumbled out of the suite, searing themselves into my skin and lodging in my bloodstream.
I didn't look back. I couldn't. My bare feet slapped against the plush carpet, my heels dangling from one hand like weapons—or proof of my crime. The hallway stretched on forever, every mirrored panel reflecting a stranger's face: mascara ruined, lips bitten, silk clutched to trembling shoulders.
By the time I burst through the revolving doors, the city's cool morning air hit me like punishment. Wet asphalt. Exhaust. Distant horns. I should've felt relief. Instead, shame wrapped tighter around my lungs until each breath hurt.
A taxi screeched to the curb. I almost threw myself inside.
"Anywhere," I rasped, my voice foreign to my own ears. "Just… drive."
The driver glanced back but—mercifully—kept quiet. Skyscrapers blurred past as I pressed my forehead to the glass, tears burning.
What have I done?
My reflection answered: a woman undone. Mascara streaks. Tangled hair. Skin raw where his touch still lingered.
No, not just any man.
Leo Blackwell.
The name alone made my stomach twist. A titan whose signature could collapse companies. The man who turned competitors into rubble and governments into pawns. His ruthlessness was legend. His face—on every magazine cover.
And last night… I had been in his bed.
By the time the cab reached my building, dawn was bleeding pale light across the sky. I shoved bills at the driver, bolted upstairs, and slammed my apartment door shut.
Silence swallowed me.
My body slid down the door until I sat crumpled on the floor. My lips still tingled with phantom heat. My traitorous mind kept replaying fragments—his voice, low and commanding. His eyes, dark as obsidian. His hands—God.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
I staggered to the bathroom, twisted the shower knob until steam hissed like accusation, and scrubbed until my skin turned raw. It didn't matter. His scent clung—the ghost of him pressed into me like an unshakable brand.
Clothes. Armor. I dragged on the plainest outfit I owned—black slacks, a stiff blouse. Hair yanked back so tight it hurt. I wanted to disappear into normalcy. To bury myself in the mundane hum of work.
It was a mistake. Just a mistake. One night. He'll forget. I'll forget.
Except I already knew—I wouldn't.
The office greeted me with the usual Monday chaos. Phones ringing, keyboards tapping, interns juggling lattes like circus performers. Normally, that sound meant comfort. Today, it felt like static in my veins.
"Morning, Aria!" Clara sang, breezing past with her usual sunshine smile. "Rough night?"
My heart slammed into my ribs. Does she know? Did everyone know? But Clara was already gone, laughing with another coworker.
Get it together. Breathe. Hide.
I buried myself in spreadsheets, numbers blurring on the screen—anything to drown out the whisper echoing in my skull.
You're already mine.
He's gone. You'll never see him again.
That was when the shift began. A murmur rippled across the office, low and electric.
"Is it him?"
"No way—here?"
"Someone said he bought controlling shares—"
The elevator chimed.
Every head turned.
The doors slid open.
And the world tilted.
Leo.
Impossibly tall. Composed. Devastating in a tailored suit that hugged power like a second skin. His presence didn't just fill the room—it bent it around him, every molecule aware of him.
No. God, no.
But yes.
His gaze swept the office—cool and sharp, a king surveying peasants. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the air seemed to hesitate. And then—his eyes found me.
That look. Dark. Knowing. Slow and merciless as a trap closing shut.
Heat roared up my throat. I ducked behind my monitor, gripping my pen until it snapped clean in half.
The office manager practically sprinted forward, flustered and starry-eyed. "Everyone, please welcome Mr. Blackwell—our new Chief Executive Officer."
The name cracked through me like thunder. Blackwell. Of course. The headlines. The empire. The ruthless tycoon who bought, bled, and swallowed companies whole.
And I had slept with him.
Leo's voice rolled across the room—low, commanding, velvet over steel. "I expect dedication. Results. Integrity. Nothing less."
Murmurs of approval rippled. He spoke of goals and vision, but I barely heard. My pulse pounded too loud.
Then his eyes slid back to me. This time, he didn't look away. He pinned me there—steady and unrelenting—until the corner of his mouth curved upward, just slightly, just enough for me to know.
That smirk wasn't corporate. It was personal.
A reminder.
You're already mine.
The blood drained from my face.
And then, as if to seal my fate, his voice cut through the room—this time directed solely at me.
"Well." His gaze never wavered. "It's good to see you again, Miss…?"
Every head turned toward me.
Heat crashed over me in waves. My throat closed. My chair felt like a trap.
Dozens of colleagues stared, waiting.
And Leo Blackwell—ruthless, magnetic, dangerous—just sat there, smirking, daring me to speak.
I prayed the floor would open and swallow me whole.