“Why?”
“Because I chose this.”
The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open. He didn’t step away immediately. He looked at me for one suspended second, something darker flickering behind his eyes. Then he took my hand and led me out, his touch steady and firm. It almost felt as if he wanted to hold me and had never been more sure about his touch.
The penthouse that spread before us was clearly expansive. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the ocean in endless black and silver. The city lights glittered below like scattered diamonds. The space was minimalist but unmistakably expensive, with clean lines, dark marble, and low modern furniture scattered artistically in shades of charcoal and cream. Art hung on the walls, and I immediately noticed how they were not generic pieces but intentional ones. The strokes were bold with stark contrasts. I immediately knew Ilana, my sister-in-law, would love analyzing each one of them. She knew art better than anyone else I knew.
Although what mattered was that everything felt like him. As if every wall in the room was a representative of the man who owned it. It was controlled chaos disguised as simplicity.
“Do you live alone?” I asked, my voice quieter now.
“Yes.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
There were no family photos, no personal clutter, and no softness. The place had never felt a woman’s touch. It was a bachelor’s territory. He stepped closer again, his hand lifting to trace a slow line down my bare arm.
“You’re observing again,” he said.
“I told you. I notice everything.”
“And what do you notice now?”
“That you don’t bring people here often.”
Something in his expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. For a brief second, surprise flickered in his gaze, but he hid it just as quickly. As if he were too afraid of me finding out something personal about him.
“No,” he agreed.
The honesty of that settled low in my stomach.
He wasn’t performing, and he wasn’t trying to charm me with a carefully curated image. He was simply being himself rather intentionally. My pulse quickened again when he reached behind me and unzipped the back of my gown slowly. Not rushing. Not tearing.
Every movement deliberate.
“Are you always this controlled?” I said softly.
“I am. Usually.”
“And tonight?”
His fingers brushed over bare skin as the structured silk loosened around me.
“Tonight,” he murmured, “I’m choosing not to be.”
The gown slipped from my shoulders, the air against my skin beginning to feel electric. His gaze didn’t roam greedily all over me. Instead, it lingered appreciatively with focus as if he was admiring a painting with softness in his gaze.
“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly.
The words weren’t exaggerated. They were factual.
“I know.” A slow smile curved his mouth at that.
“Of course you do.”
He stepped closer until there was no space between us. My palms flattened against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. This was reckless and indulgent, but it was mine. At least for this one night. His hands moved with increasing urgency now, tracing, memorizing, and pulling me closer. My thoughts blurred into sensation as heat took over every sense that once existed. I forgot all about alliances and enemies and how angry my brother would be if they found out about this stupidity. I forgot about expectations stitched into my name.
