Ann stood at the tall windows of Xavier's study, watching the city's lights flicker like dying stars. The glass felt cold against her fingertips, but inside, her pulse burned hot — too hot for her own good.
She could still feel the ghosts of the day's performance. The men's eyes on her like she was a prize to measure, weigh, envy. The polite smiles that hid knives. And Xavier's hand on her neck the whole time, telling the world she was owned — and telling her she'd never walk away.
Behind her, she heard the soft click of the study door closing. His footsteps were silent on the dark wood floor, but she felt him before he spoke — like a shadow wrapping around her ribs.
"You're upset," Xavier said, his tone calm as a midnight sea.
Ann didn't turn. She kept her eyes on the glass, her reflection ghostly in the dark. "You called me your fiancée."
"Isn't that what you are?" His voice was closer now, warm against the back of her neck.
She spun, her robe falling open at the collar. "You didn't ask me. You never ask. You just decide."
Xavier's eyes glimmered in the dim light. He took one step closer, then another, until the window behind her cooled her back and his presence heated everything else.
"You're mine," he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I don't need to ask."
Ann's throat tightened. "What if I said no?"
He leaned down, so close his lips nearly brushed hers — so close she could taste his danger, his sweetness, his threat.
"I'd make you say yes."
His hands slid to her waist, gripping her firmly but not roughly. He bent to press his forehead to hers, his breath a slow poison she swallowed willingly.
"You stood beside me today," he murmured. "You did it so well. They know you now — they know who you belong to."
A part of her wanted to scream. Another part — the part pressed to his chest, held by his hands — wanted to sink deeper into him and never crawl out.
"You use me," she said, her voice shaking.
His lips curved. "No, Ann. I protect you."
His mouth covered hers before she could argue — slow at first, then hungry, claiming. She hated how she melted under him, how her anger folded into his warmth like it was always meant to disappear there.
When he pulled back, he cupped her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip.
"You think I'm cruel?" he asked, eyes dark and soft all at once.
She didn't answer — didn't dare. He tilted her head, kissing her again, softer this time, like a promise she'd never escape.
Minutes later, Ann found herself seated on the edge of his massive desk. Papers and glass sculptures pushed aside to make room for her as Xavier stood between her parted knees.
His hands slid up her thighs, lifting her robe just enough to make her breath hitch. She braced her palms against the edge of the desk, his eyes locked on hers.
"You belong here," he said, voice low, the tip of his finger tracing the inside of her knee. "Not behind me. Not in front of me. Beside me. Always."
She closed her eyes. "And if I don't want to be yours?"
His laughter was a soft, dangerous thing. "Then I'll ruin you for anyone else."
He leaned in, lips ghosting her ear. "You'd hate how much you'd miss my touch."
Ann shivered — a tremor he felt, because his hands gripped her tighter, pulling her closer. His mouth found hers again, stealing her protests with every kiss, every brush of his tongue. Her legs tightened around his waist on instinct, earning a dark chuckle that vibrated against her throat.
Outside, the city lights flickered. Inside, she forgot the world — the threats, the men's eyes, the secrets that waited beyond this room.
There was only his mouth. His hands. His promises — beautiful, terrible, all-consuming.
Later that night, Ann lay curled against Xavier on the leather couch, her cheek pressed to his chest. The storm inside her hadn't calmed — it only changed shape, settling into something that felt suspiciously like surrender.
"Do you ever regret it?" she whispered into the quiet.
"Regret what?" he murmured, his hand tracing circles on her shoulder.
"Choosing me."
His fingers stilled, then tangled gently in her hair. He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes — bottomless, endless, a promise and a threat all at once.
"Never," he said. "But you should."
Ann's heart fluttered painfully. She knew she should run. She knew she wouldn't.