Ana had never felt more alive—or more terrified.
The feeling stayed with her for days after Hayden's visit. The touch of his breath on her neck. The words he said. The way he made her feel *exposed* in a way she couldn't quite name.
She thought she could push him away.
She thought she could stay in control. But each day that passed, the knot in her chest grew tighter.
The necklace—a symbol of submission, of surrender—had become something she couldn't forget, even though she'd taken it off as soon as she'd returned home.
But when she closed her eyes, she could still feel the cold gold resting against her skin. It haunted her.
And that haunting was becoming her prison.
---
It was the third night after their meeting when Hayden called.
His voice was smooth, like velvet slipping through her fingers. "Dinner. Tomorrow. Seven. No excuses."
She gritted her teeth, trying to force down the unease rising in her stomach. "I'm not interested in dinner with you."
"I think you are. If not, you wouldn't still be wearing the necklace."
It was a taunt. A challenge.
Ana wanted to fight. Wanted to yell at him, hang up the phone, ignore his presence in her life.
But instead, she stayed silent.
"Tomorrow," he repeated, before hanging up.
---
The next evening, Ana stood in front of her closet, staring at the black dress hanging on the back of the door. It was the most simple thing she owned—no lace, no silk, just black. But it was enough to make her feel...something.
A sense of duty? Or something darker?
She couldn't tell.
But when she slipped into it, she felt his eyes already on her, watching.
---
Seven o'clock sharp, she was at his penthouse door again. A single knock, and the door opened to reveal Hayden. His dark eyes swept over her, taking in the sight of her black dress, the tightness in her stance.
"You came," he said, voice low, thick with amusement.
"I don't have a choice," she shot back, stepping inside, trying to ignore the heat flooding her body.
"You always have a choice." He moved toward the bar, pouring two glasses of whiskey. "But you choose this."
His presence was overwhelming. He was everywhere. His scent. His voice. His eyes.
Ana clenched her fists, trying to find some strength against him. "This is a mistake, Hayden. I don't belong in your world."
"You belong exactly where I put you," he replied coolly, handing her one of the glasses.
She took it, but only out of necessity. She needed something to calm her nerves, something to steady her hand.
"I'm not your plaything," she said, but the words felt weaker than she intended.
"I know you think that," Hayden said, his voice suddenly dark, his fingers brushing against her arm as he reached for his own drink. "But deep down, you know what I can do to you. What I *will* do to you."
She looked up, caught in his gaze. There was something cold and calculating in his eyes, a promise wrapped in danger.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You're wrong."
He moved closer, his breath warm against her skin. His presence was suffocating, his proximity undeniable. "No, Ana," he whispered, "I'm not."
He set his glass down and cupped her chin, tilting her head back until their eyes met. She could feel the weight of his touch, the heat radiating from him.
"Every moment you spend fighting me, Ana, is a moment you're already lost."
His words lingered in the air, thick with promise.
She tried to pull away, but his hand tightened slightly. "You're not going anywhere."
A flash of panic shot through her, but it was immediately replaced by a darker, more dangerous emotion. Something that felt almost like *wanting*.
She closed her eyes, desperate for some semblance of control. "I can't do this," she whispered, more to herself than him.
"You already have, sweetheart," he said, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip.
The intensity of the moment hit her in waves, and she hated herself for the way her body responded. The way she *wanted* him—wanted to feel his touch, his heat, his domination.
Hayden saw it. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.
"Tell me you don't want this, Ana," he murmured, his hand sliding down the side of her neck. "Tell me you don't want me."
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. "I don't."
His hand tightened at her neck, not in a painful way, but with enough force to send a shiver through her. "Liar."
She gasped, but instead of pulling away, she leaned into him. The warmth of his body. The electricity in the air between them. The need she couldn't suppress.
He smirked, satisfied by her reaction. "You're not as innocent as you want to pretend."
Before she could say anything, he closed the distance between them and kissed her—forceful, hungry. There was no gentleness, no restraint. Only raw power and the intoxicating heat of him.
Her breath caught as he deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over her body, pulling her closer until she could feel his chest against hers.
She tried to pull away, but the moment was already spiraling out of control. Her heart raced. Her breath came in short gasps. He was right.
She *wanted* him.
And it scared the hell out of her.
---
Hayden finally pulled back, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "You're starting to understand, Ana. It's never been about power. It's about *need*. You needed me to show you what you're really capable of. What you're really *deserving* of."
He ran a finger along her jawline, watching the tremble in her body as she shivered. "We're just getting started."
---
The evening ended in silence.
Ana left his penthouse with her head spinning, her thoughts a jumble of confusion, anger, and lust.
She wanted to hate him.
But she couldn't.
And the worst part?
She wasn't sure she wanted to anymore.