The door creaked open at exactly 9:02 AM.

Xavier Blackwood didn’t look up. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, the glass desk before him reflecting the cool blue light from his screen.

“Enter.”

The heels were different today—sharper, more confident. But the steps were hesitant.

He kept typing until the file was placed in front of him.

“Late,” he said.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

The voice was soft. Too soft.

He looked up—and stopped.

The screen dimmed behind him. The world quieted.

She stood with her eyes lowered, a wine-red dress clinging to her figure like it had been poured onto her. Smooth skin, soft lines, legs shown more than they should be. Her chest rose and fell beneath fabric too thin for an office, and the lighting kissed her skin in a way that made his throat tighten.

Xavier leaned back in his chair, slow and silent.

“What is that you’re wearing?” His voice was flat, but it sliced through the room like a blade.

She looked up quickly, alarm flashing in her eyes. “I—I just thought—”

“Did you mistake this building for something else?” he asked coldly. “A club, maybe?”

“No, sir. I—I only wore it because everything else was—”

He raised a hand. “Spare me.”

Her lips pressed together.

His eyes didn’t leave her.

Xavier Blackwood had the kind of beauty that made silence feel like a threat. Every part of him was sharp—his jaw, his cheekbones, his gaze. Tall and broad, dressed in black as if the suit had been made from shadows. His eyes were unreadable, cold and dark like the ocean in a storm. There was nothing kind in his face. Nothing soft. Just brutal control and quiet danger.

“You’ve worked here how long?” he asked.

“Over a year.”

“And not once have you dressed like this.”

She swallowed hard.

“So what changed?” he asked.

No answer.

He stood.

Sasha stepped back, just slightly.

He walked toward her slowly, stopping a breath away. His gaze dragged down her body, slow and calculating. It wasn’t curious. It wasn’t respectful.

It was possessive.

Sinful.

“I don’t recall asking for a change in your wardrobe,” he said, voice low.

“I wasn’t trying to offend you, sir,” she whispered. “I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t,” he snapped. “And now I’m thinking for both of us.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I won’t wear it again.”

“No,” he said calmly. “You won’t.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. He noticed the tremble.

“You need this job, Miss Hart?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Y-Yes.”

“Then don’t test me again.”

She nodded quickly. “Understood.”

He stared at her—hard. Too hard. Something flickered in his eyes, brief but unmistakable.

Lust.

He didn’t say it.

He didn’t need to.

She saw it anyway.

And for a second, her breath hitched.

The silence between them thickened, stretched.

Then—

“You’ll accompany me to a business meeting this evening,” Xavier said, turning back to his desk.

She blinked. “Sir?”

“I want you there. Seven sharp. You’ll receive the details shortly.”

“I—wasn’t told—”

“I’m telling you now.”

She lowered her gaze. “Yes, sir.”

“Wear something appropriate,” he added, without turning.

“Yes, sir.”

She walked to the door, carefully.

But just as her hand touched the handle—

“Sasha.”

She paused, turning back slightly.

He didn’t look up from the screen.

“Don’t be late.”