Zara's heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she walked toward the elevator.
Aiden's assistant had called her up, saying he wanted a private word in his office.
She knew what that meant.
More games.
The doors opened with a soft chime, and she stepped into the penthouse-level suite of KnightCorp.
It smelled like power and cold-brewed ego. Leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Minimalist, masculine perfection.
And there he was. Behind the desk. Typing like he hadn't just shattered her world and stolen her breath.
He didn't look up.
Zara crossed her arms. "You wanted to see me?"
Aiden finally raised his head. His gaze slid over her slowly—calculated, consuming.
"I did."
Pause.
His voice was calm, smooth, emotionless. That same tone he used in the boardroom. That same tone he'd used when he told her to bend for him.
He slid a folder across the desk. "This is the updated contract."
She didn't move.
"Let me guess," she said. "I have to sign away what's left of my dignity?"
He tilted his head. "You already did that… the moment you came into my bed."
Her breath hitched. But she didn't back down.
Zara snatched the folder and flipped it open, eyes scanning quickly. And then she stopped.
"You want me to what?!"
He leaned back, fingers steepled. "Live in my house. Play the fiancée. Be seen. Be useful."
Her heart thudded. "This wasn't part of the original agreement."
"It is now. I bought your father's debts. I own the company. And by extension... I own you."
Zara's jaw clenched. Her hand crumpled the edge of the contract. "You don't own me."
Aiden stood. Slowly. Deliberately.
He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her—so close she could feel his breath.
His eyes dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before locking on hers.
"Don't I?" he said softly.
Zara slapped the folder closed. "Why do you want me in your house? Is it business… or are you just bored of your usual toys?"
Aiden smirked, cruel and gorgeous. "Because you make things… interesting."
He stepped closer. She backed up—only to feel the cold edge of the glass wall against her spine.
His hand came up, brushing a stray curl from her face. His fingers lingered. Burning. Tempting.
"You called me Daddy," he whispered. "Remember?"
Her knees buckled slightly.
"You made me forget my rules," he murmured. "Now it's your turn."
Zara swallowed hard. Her body wanted to melt. Her mind screamed to fight.
"You're sick," she breathed.
He smiled. "Maybe. But I'm the kind of sick that makes you crave more."
She shoved past him and stormed toward the door.
"I'm not signing anything."
"You will," he said behind her. "Because if you don't, I'll make sure what's left of your family's reputation burns to ash."
Her hand trembled on the door handle.
She hated him.
But God help her... she hated how much she wanted him more.
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