The day passed in a blur of meetings, calls, and silent glances.
Leon didn't speak to her again—not directly—but she felt him watching. During the strategy review, his gaze brushed over her lips when she made a point. At lunch, when she leaned forward to grab a file, his fingers barely skimmed hers. A touch so brief it could've been accidental.
But it wasn't.
Every movement was a message.
By 5 p.m., her body buzzed with tension.
She was sorting files when her phone vibrated.
One new message from: L.K.
> "15 minutes. Elevator 2. Swipe card will work."
Her heart leapt. Her throat dried.
She grabbed her blazer and smoothed her skirt, palms sweating. As she reached the elevator, she hesitated—just for a second. Then slid her card and watched the light turn green.
The doors opened. She stepped inside.
There were no floor numbers on the control panel, just a single button: PRIVATE.
She pressed it.
The ride was smooth, silent. Her reflection in the mirrored walls was composed, but her insides were chaos.
When the doors opened again, it was to a world entirely different from the office below.
The top floor was dimly lit, the décor rich and moody. Black marble floors, dark velvet furniture, golden fixtures. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and something warmer—masculine, expensive.
Leon stood near the far window, back to her.
No words.
She stepped in.
The doors closed behind her.
He turned slowly, eyes sweeping over her with the intensity of a man studying art.
"You came," he said.
"You asked."
He walked toward her, deliberate, unhurried. "No. I gave you the option."
Amara didn't answer. She couldn't.
He stopped just in front of her, his presence eclipsing thought.
"Before this begins," he said, "there are three things I need from you."
She looked up, chin tilted. "What are they?"
His voice dropped. "Your silence. Your stillness. And your surrender."
Her breath hitched.
He reached up and gently unbuttoned the top of her blouse, eyes never leaving hers. "This isn't about sex," he said. "Not only."
"No?"
"It's about learning what you crave—and making you feel safe enough to admit it."
"And what if I don't know yet?"
He smiled faintly. "Then we'll find out together."
She exhaled shakily.
He moved behind her, hands brushing over her shoulders, then sliding down her arms.
"I won't touch you until you ask," he whispered into her ear.
Then he stepped away.
"I want you to sit," he said, gesturing toward a velvet chair.
She did.
"Close your eyes."
She hesitated, then obeyed.
The room went quiet.
Until she heard it.
The soft sound of his footsteps circling her. Closer, then further. Like a predator measuring distance.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he said softly.
"I'm trying not to."
"Don't try. Just speak."
"I'm wondering if this is smart."
"And?"
"If I'll regret it."
"Will you?"
She opened her eyes. "I don't know yet."
Leon stood in front of her now, hand outstretched.
"Then stand. And let me show you."