Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The light in the penthouse bedroom was soft and ethereal, filtered through the sheer silk curtains that swayed lazily in the morning breeze. Ysabella shifted against the high-thread-count sheets, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the radiating heat of the man lying beside her.
She turned her head slowly, her breath hitching. Zayden was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way the world never got to see. Without the sharp, predatory edge of his business persona, he looked almost peaceful—though the sheer size of him, the expansive muscles of his chest, and the heavy weight of his arm draped across her waist, reminded her exactly who he was.
Ysabella bit her lower lip, a slow, private smile spreading across her face. God, he's beautiful, she thought. He was 6'2" of sculpted power, golden-haired and devastatingly handsome, and for some reason that still defied her internal logic, he had chosen her. She felt like the luckiest woman in Manila, a girl who had stumbled into a lion's den and found a king who wanted to protect her rather than devour her.
Gently, she lifted his heavy arm, trying not to wake him. As she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, a sharp, dull ache radiated from her hips down to her knees. Her legs felt like jelly, a vivid physical reminder of the "date" they had finished in the back of the Rolls-Royce and continued long into the night in this very bed.
She stood up, stifling a small groan as her back protested the movement. She caught her reflection in the darkened glass of the balcony door—naked, flushed, and marked by him. She looked like a woman who was deeply, almost dangerously, loved.
She padded across the plush rug toward the master suite's rainfall shower, her gait a bit unsteady. The warm water was a blessing, washing away the scent of sandalwood and sweat, helping to soothe the lingering ache in her muscles.
As she stepped out of the glass enclosure, wrapping herself in a thick, white Spencer-crested robe, she heard the low, melodic rumble of Zayden's voice. He was awake.
She walked back into the bedroom, drying her hair with a smaller towel. Zayden was propped up against the headboard, the duvet pulled low to his waist, revealing the dark ink of the tattoos on his ribs. He had his phone pressed to his ear, his expression focused and professional, though his eyes lit up the moment they landed on her.
"No, I want the marble sourced from Italy. Carrara, top grade," Zayden said into the phone, his American accent sounding crisp and authoritative even in the early morning. "The lighting should be recessed and soft. I don't want it looking like a typical corporate cage. It needs to feel... like her."
Ysabella froze, her towel halfway to her head. Like her?
"And the software?" Zayden continued, his gaze following Ysabella as she moved toward the vanity. "I want the most advanced forensic accounting suite available. Fully encrypted, Tier-1 security. If a single byte of data is compromised, I want the servers to melt. Yes. The signage should be ready by Monday. 'The Y.R. Foundation & Associates.' Understood."
Zayden ended the call and tossed the phone onto the nightstand. He reached out, his hand finding Ysabella's waist as she passed by, pulling her into the space between his knees.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice a gravelly, morning rasp. He leaned forward, pressing his face into the soft fabric of her robe, right against her stomach. "How are your legs, mahal? I might have been a bit... thorough yesterday."
"Thorough is one word for it," Ysabella teased, her fingers tangling in his golden hair. "But Zayden... I heard you on the phone. What was that about Carrara marble and The Y.R. Foundation?"
Zayden pulled back, a rare, boyish smirk touching his lips. He looked up at her, his blue eyes shining with a pride that made her heart skip a beat.
"I told you I was working on something," he said. "I didn't want you just 'helping out' with the Spencer accounts from a sofa in the penthouse. You're a professional, Ysabella. You have a mind that can dismantle a billion-dollar fraud in twenty minutes. You deserve a throne."
"Zayden, what did you do?"
"I've cleared the entire 42nd floor of the Spencer Global building," he said, his voice dropping into a proud hum. "It's a dedicated wing. Half of it is the new headquarters for the Spencer Foundation—your charity work. The other half is a boutique accounting firm. Your firm."
Ysabella's breath left her. "A firm? My own?"
"A private practice," Zayden confirmed, pulling her down to sit on his lap. "You'll handle the foundation's audits, but you'll also have the resources to take on private clients—legitimate ones, of course. I've already moved your favorite ergonomic chair from your old office, and I had the tech team install a coffee station that would make a barista weep."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "It's your world, Ysa. Inside mine. You won't be 'the boss's girlfriend' working in a corner. You'll be the Director of the 42nd floor. Everyone who walks into that wing will answer to you."
Tears pricked at the corners of Ysabella's eyes. She thought of all the years she had spent as a junior associate, buried in cubicles, invisible and overlooked. She thought of her father's fear that Zayden would "keep her small."
"You did all that for me?" she whispered. "The marble... the software..."
"I want the world to see what I see," Zayden said, his hands cupping her face. "I don't just want to protect you, Ysabella. I want to build a pedestal for you. You gave up your 'clean' life for me. The least I can do is give you a kingdom to run."
Ysabella bit her lip, the emotion overflowing. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I don't know if I'm ready to run a whole floor, Zayden."
"You handled me in the back of a moving car yesterday while Marcus was driving sixty miles an hour," Zayden chuckled, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "A few accountants and a foundation board? You'll have them for breakfast."
He pulled back, his gaze turning serious. "But there's one condition."
"What?"
"I get a private key to your office. And the blinds are still electronic."
Ysabella laughed through her tears, hitting him playfully on the chest. "You're a shark! A lecherous, golden-haired shark!"
"And you're my Director," he countered, capturing her lips in a kiss that tasted of promise and a new beginning.
As they sat there in the quiet of the morning, Ysabella looked out at the city skyline. Somewhere out there, on the 42nd floor of the tallest building in Makati, a wing of Carrara marble was waiting for her. She wasn't just a survivor anymore, and she wasn't just a variable.
She was a Spencer in the making.