The hum of the office building returned with the morning rush. Phones rang, printers hummed, conversations blended into a dull buzz. Yet Valentina felt as though she were moving in a bubble, every step weighed down by the memory of last night's command.
When I call, you come. No hesitation. No excuses.
She had obeyed. Against every instinct to run, she had come back, punctual as promised.
Her reflection in the elevator's mirrored walls betrayed her nerves—dark circles beneath her eyes, a pale complexion, and the tight line of her mouth. She had barely slept, turning over every word, every look.
When the elevator doors slid open to the top floor, Rosa was waiting.
"You're early," Rosa observed, her voice neutral, though her sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable.
Valentina smoothed the front of her blouse. "I didn't want to risk being late."
Rosa's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't amusement. "Wise."
Valentina's gaze darted toward Dante's office. The heavy oak doors loomed at the end of the hall, closed and silent. Yet she felt his presence, like a shadow bleeding through the walls.
Rosa's hand brushed her arm lightly, startling her. "Be careful," she whispered.
Before Valentina could ask, Rosa had already walked away, her heels clicking briskly against the marble.
---
Inside, the day unfolded in a haze of paperwork, phone calls, and dictated notes. Valentina forced herself into the rhythm, clinging to the familiarity of routine.
But Dante was different today.
He called for her often, not with the curt efficiency of a businessman, but with the deliberate insistence of a man who wanted her near. Sometimes he had work for her—a letter to type, a file to fetch. Other times, he said nothing at all, merely letting her stand in silence while his gaze burned into her until she fled back to her desk, breathless.
By noon, her nerves were frayed.
"Miss Cruz."
Her name, deep and commanding, rolled through the intercom.
She closed her eyes briefly before answering. "Yes, sir?"
"Bring me my coffee."
Her heart jolted. A task any assistant could perform, yet he'd chosen her.
Carrying the tray felt like carrying a sentence. She knocked softly before entering.
Dante was at the window, his broad back to her, city skyline stretching beyond the glass. His suit jacket was gone, his white shirt fitted across his shoulders, sleeves rolled neatly. He turned when she entered, his eyes locking instantly onto hers.
She set the tray on his desk quickly, eager to retreat.
But his voice stopped her.
"Stay."
The single word froze her steps.
"Yes, sir."
He moved closer, unhurried, like a predator circling prey. "You've been avoiding my eyes."
Her chest tightened. "I didn't mean—"
"You did." His lips curved faintly. "You're afraid of what you'll find there."
Her throat constricted. She wanted to deny it, but his nearness stole the words.
Dante reached for the cup, his hand brushing hers deliberately as he lifted it from the tray. The contact was fleeting, but sparks shot up her arm, her skin betraying her with a shiver.
His eyes flickered with dark amusement. "So easily shaken."
She pulled her hand back quickly, hiding it behind her. "I should get back to work."
"Not yet." He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. The silence stretched, heavy, intimate. Then he set the cup down and stepped closer, close enough that the heat of his body brushed against hers.
"Look at me, Valentina."
Her name on his lips was a command, not a request. Slowly, unwillingly, her gaze lifted to his.
His eyes were endless, fathomless, pulling her into something she knew she shouldn't want. The intensity of it made her knees weak.
Dante's hand lifted, fingers grazing her cheek. He traced a line down to her jaw, then lingered at her throat, the faintest pressure making her breath hitch.
"You don't belong in this world," he murmured, his voice low, intimate. "Too soft. Too pure. And yet… you walked straight into my den."
Her pulse throbbed beneath his touch, betraying her. "I needed the job," she whispered.
A soft, dangerous chuckle escaped him. "You think this is just a job?"
His thumb stroked her throat gently, sending shivers down her spine. "No, little dove. This is fate."
The word struck her, heavy and inescapable.
Dante leaned closer, his lips near her ear, his breath warm. "You're mine now. Every hour you spend here, every breath you take under my roof… it binds you to me."
Her eyes fluttered shut, her body trembling. She wanted to move, to step away, but her legs felt rooted.
Then, abruptly, he stepped back.
The loss of his touch left her gasping, unsteady.
"Go," he said softly. "Before I forget my restraint."
She stumbled toward the door, desperate to escape, but his voice caught her once more.
"Valentina."
She turned, her hand trembling on the handle.
His eyes were fire, burning with possession. "Don't ever doubt who you belong to."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving her in the hall, chest heaving, heart in chaos.
---
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. She avoided his gaze, avoided Rosa's searching looks, avoided her own reflection in the glass walls. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't erase the feel of his fingers on her skin.
By the time she finally left the building, the city lights had already begun to glow. The cool night air did little to steady her. She walked quickly, clutching her bag, as though she could outpace the memory of him.
But even as she reached her apartment, locked the door, and pressed her back against it, she knew the truth.
She wasn't free.
Dante's presence clung to her, a shadow she couldn't shake.
And deep inside, beneath the fear, something dangerous stirred. Something she didn't want to name.
Because despite everything… part of her wanted him to touch her again.