"He didn't care about the time. He cared about her… all of her."
The night air was a cool balm against the city's heat, yet it couldn't touch the fire smoldering within Kieran. He stood on his penthouse marble balcony. A Cuban cigar rested between his fingers; the cherry flared a brief, angry red before he exhaled a plume of rich, curling smoke into the darkness. It danced around him like a crown of thorns, a reminder that he ruled this city—and everything in it.
He should have been preparing for his meeting the next day. But his mind wasn't on that. Not tonight. His thoughts kept circling back to one image—the boy in the park. The one with his face. His eyes. His name.
Who was the blonde man who'd taken him away? His father, he'd said. But they looked nothing alike.
And then those words… "Idon't have a daddy."
He had to get to the bottom of it. Someone was lying. Someone was hiding something from him.
Anger and curiosity twisted inside him, but no matter what, one image wouldn't leave his mind—the woman who made him question his own sanity: Aurielle.
Earlier in his office that day. The defiant tilt of her chin, the sharp intelligence in her green eyes even as her world crumbled, the subtle, unexpected give of her body when he had pulled her into his arms—it was all wrong. And yet it burned in him.
He was Kieran Adrien D'Angelo. He could have any woman he wanted—models, actresses, heiresses—perfect women who understood the rules of the game. Predictable. Sophisticated. Boring.
Aurielle, with her frayed cuffs, fierce maternal instinct, and raw, unpolished fire, was a dangerous complication. Poor. Desperate. Helpless. And somehow, impossibly, she had ignited something in him that felt less like desire and more like a challenge he couldn't ignore. He wanted her—not just her body, but to unravel her mind, to claim her soul. Why her? Of all women, why her? The thought gnawed at him, sharp as shattered glass.
"Kieran."
The voice, cold and commanding, sliced through the quiet night. He didn't turn, only drew deeply from the cigar, letting the smoke linger.
His father, Elias, emerged from the shadows of the living room, a formidable silhouette in a tailored silk robe. "You need to marry. Produce an heir. Not having one is an impossibility." His gaze swept over Kieran critically. "Kendella Delacroix is the strategic alliance. Educated, flawless, with family knowledge of the industry. Fertile, the doctors assure me."
Kieran remained silent. Kendella was perfect on paper—the ideal D'Angelo wife, an asset to the empire. Thinking of her brought the same dull apathy as reviewing a balance sheet. No spark. No conflict. Nothing.
Aurielle's face rose in his mind again. Helpless, desperate, clinging to any lifeline. A wicked idea sparked, sharp and brilliant as a shard of glass. She had nothing to bargain with but her vulnerability. Perfect. Easy to manipulate. A tool—and maybe, just maybe, something more he didn't dare admit.
A slow, dark smirk spread across his face, hidden from his father by the dim glow of the balcony lights. She was perfect for his purposes. He could seize control, bend her life, and get the thrill of dominance without the messy constraints of politics or an arranged marriage.
He took a final drag from the cigar, crushing the stub against the glass railing. Smoke coiled into the city below, his reflection staring back at him. Cold. Sharp. Focused. And hungry.
She would be his.
And somewhere deep in that hunger, a dangerous, unspoken truth whispered: he wanted her not just as a pawn… but as a storm he couldn't resist.
.....
I pushed the office door open, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The room was empty. My desk, my chair, my meager stack of files—gone. Panic pricked at my chest. Had I been fired before I'd even officially started?
Then I saw it. Through the vast glass partition separating the main office from Kieran's inner sanctum, my things were neatly arranged. All of them. In his office. My pulse stuttered. That wasn't just control; that was a profound, intrusive level of… him.
I hadn't heard the outer door open behind me, but suddenly, the air shifted. The presence. Dark. Heavy. Certain.
"From today onwards, Aurielle, you will be staying in my office. I don't want what happened the other day to repeat itself."
My chest tightened. That day. Sixty seconds late. I knew, deep down, that wasn't why he was doing this. Kieran D'Angelo didn't care about a single minute; he cared about possession. This was about having me in his sight, under his control, every minute of every day. I felt a coil of fear and something darker, a heat I couldn't name, twist in my stomach.
"B-but sir…" I stammered, finally turning to face him.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, each movement precise and intentional. My knees threatened to buckle as I instinctively tried to retreat, but he closed the distance, inch by suffocating inch.
"Call me Kieran," he commanded, his voice a silk-dark rasp. "Call me by my name."
My throat constricted. "I… I can't—Mr. D'Angelo—"
I managed to take one step back, only to feel the cold wall press against my spine. Panic and a sudden, unwelcome rush of excitement tangled in my chest as he mirrored my move, caging me. His hands landed on the wall beside my head, trapping me completely, my body pinned.
His eyes were dark, deep, a storm I couldn't look away from. The heat rolling off him was suffocating, every muscle radiating control. My breath hitched, sharp and shallow. Every instinct screamed run, but my body felt heavy, rooted to the spot.
He leaned closer, his broad chest grazing mine. His lips were dangerously near my ear, his voice a low, dark whisper that vibrated through my bones.
"Do you feel that? That pull… that ache? That's mine. You're mine, Aurielle. Even when you tell yourself you can't be."
My legs trembled violently. I pressed my hands against his chest—instinct, not defiance. Desire twisted with fear, raw and electric, beneath my skin. Then his hand slid just a fraction lower, brushing the sensitive curve of my waist through the fabric. My breath caught, stolen.
"S-sir…" I whispered, my voice barely a tremor.
His jaw tightened. "Say my name, Aurielle." His voice was a harsh command, the sound rattling off the wall by my head. "Say it. Feel it. Own it."
My body quivered. He closed the last impossible inch. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, teasing, warm, and impossible to resist. The weight of him shifted, pressing closer, and a violent shiver ran through me from the sheer intensity of his dark scent, his heat, his crushing dominance.
"I… can't…" I managed, even as the forbidden, urgent desire coursed through me, a betrayal I couldn't stop.
He gave a dark, satisfied smile. His final words made my knees dissolve and my pulse thunder in my ears:
"Not can't, Aurielle. Want. You want me. Admit it."
My lips parted to reply, but the sharp click of heels on the marble floor froze my blood. Someone was coming.....