The penthouse was quiet when we arrived, the city below buzzing faintly, distant. I was unpacking the last of my things, folding a scarf neatly, when the intercom buzzed. My stomach tightened. "Miss Vivienne is here," the assistant announced.
Vivienne. His ex. The one I'd only heard of in passing, the one who had once held his attention, his time, his charm. And now, she was here, standing in my home.
Asher appeared behind me, silent and magnetic. Leaning casually against the doorframe, he observed me with that calm, unshakable gaze. "Stay here," he murmured, the faintest curve of a smile brushing his lips. "I'll handle this."
I straightened, heart racing, hands clasped together. I wasn't going to run. I would face this-face her-with composure, with authority, with him backing me silently.
The door opened. Vivienne entered with an effortless air of confidence, heels clicking against the marble. Blond hair perfectly styled, eyes scanning the penthouse and us with a mixture of curiosity and challenge. "Asher," she purred, voice soft and teasing, "I didn't expect to see you... like this."
He didn't move, didn't blink. His calm presence was magnetic, dominant. "Vivienne," he said smoothly, low, deliberate, "this is my wife, Elara."
Her smirk faltered for a heartbeat, then returned with playful defiance. "Wife?" she repeated, tilting her head. "I didn't realize it was that official."
I stepped forward, heart hammering but voice steady. "Hello, Vivienne. It's nice to meet you."
Vivienne's eyes flicked between us. Her smirk returned, confident and teasing, as she deliberately brushed against him, letting her hand linger on his arm. "You've been busy," she said softly, deliberately, "I thought maybe-"
He didn't flinch. Didn't look at her. His deep, commanding voice cut through the air, calm but sharp: "Vivienne, you're here professionally. Nothing more."
I felt the tension crackle, electric, as Vivienne's playful composure faltered slightly. The opportunity presented itself, and I didn't hesitate. Slowly, deliberately, I moved closer, my hand brushing lightly against his arm. I eased myself onto his lap, pressing against him. The heat radiated through me, electric and intoxicating.
Vivienne froze. The smirk she had so carefully crafted faltered entirely. Her eyes widened, caught off guard by the intimacy she hadn't expected.
Asher's gaze darkened slightly, his hand resting lightly on my waist, fingers pressing just enough to anchor me. His deep, commanding voice dropped low, deliberate, designed to cut through her smug confidence: "Elara is mine. Make that very clear, Vivienne."
The words landed like a hammer. I could see the color drain slightly from her face, her carefully practiced charm wobbling. I leaned closer, my lips brushing the curve of his neck. His low, throaty groan vibrated through me, a claim, a possessive mark that left Vivienne blinking, unsteady, suddenly unsure of her footing in my territory.
I felt his hand tighten lightly on my waist, guiding me against him, asserting ownership without needing to say more. The subtle heat between us was undeniable, intoxicating, and the way he looked at me-protective, approving, commanding-made my chest tighten in a delicious ache.
Vivienne's lips parted, an almost whisper of protest, but her words caught in her throat. She circled us slowly, observing, measuring, unsure how to breach the barrier of control we'd silently built. I felt a rush of satisfaction, a thrill I hadn't expected, at the way she faltered.
I straightened slightly, sitting tall, maintaining eye contact with her, projecting calm authority. "It's nice to meet you," I said again, voice polite but firm, the smallest hint of challenge beneath it. "I hope your visit is pleasant."
Asher's hand lingered on my waist for a moment longer, grounding me, claiming me. "Sit," he murmured softly but with an unyielding edge. I felt the warmth of his body, the magnetic pull, and I leaned against him slightly, allowing the contact but keeping my poise.
Vivienne's eyes narrowed slightly, realizing the subtle dynamics, the unspoken claim, the fact that he was utterly untouchable in her attempts to charm him. I pressed my lips gently to his neck again, careful, deliberate, teasing, and I felt his response-a low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest, right in front of her. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, a controlled groan that left no doubt who was claimed, who was desired, and who belonged.
The shift was immediate. Vivienne faltered, stepping back slightly, the calculated charm slipping from her face. She tried to recover, tilting her head, attempting casual grace, but I could see the uncertainty flicker behind her eyes. She had underestimated the depth of their bond, the intensity of the silent ownership, and the way I could move within it without faltering.
Asher's hand remained firm on my waist as he leaned just slightly, murmuring to me, "Stay calm. Confident. Do not let her rattle you." His words were for me, soft, private, yet the authority behind them reverberated through the room.
I straightened again, smiling faintly, polite but commanding. "Thank you for the introduction," I said softly, voice steady. "I appreciate the courtesy."
She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off, his voice cool and precise: "Our time is limited, Vivienne. I trust you will respect that."
And with that, she had no choice. She stepped back, eyes flicking once more between us, then finally straightened her posture, smirk replaced by a careful neutrality. She lingered, trying to assert herself subtly, but the electric current between Asher and me was undeniable, impenetrable.
As soon as the door closed behind her, I exhaled, leaning slightly against him. He pressed a quick, possessive kiss to the side of my head, a quiet reward for my composure. "Well handled," he murmured, his lips brushing my hair, warm and approving.
I let myself melt slightly into him, feeling the lingering tension ease, the adrenaline of the encounter fading. Yet deep down, I knew this was only the beginning-the dance with jealousy, possession, and desire was far from over.
He rested his chin lightly on my head, his hand still firm on my waist. "Remember," he murmured softly, "you are mine. No one else needs to be reminded."
And I knew-every inch of me knew-that I belonged to him, body, mind, and the unspoken fire simmering between us.
Even if the world tried to test us, even if others came with charm and confidence, Asher Sterling's claim was absolute, and I had proven-quietly, fiercely-that I could hold my place at his side.