Claire's POV

The first sensation was heat. Not the gentle caress of morning sunlight, but the lingering warmth of shared intimacy still clinging to silk sheets tangled around my bare legs.

I stirred, disoriented, and his scent hit me-crisp as pine, cool as mint, utterly masculine. My eyes fluttered open to find myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, where a crystal chandelier caught the pale dawn light like scattered diamonds.

This wasn't my bedroom.

I sat up abruptly, the Egyptian cotton sheet pooling at my waist. My body ached in places I'd never known could ache, each throb a stark reminder of what had happened. What I'd allowed to happen.

Oh God.

The truth crashed over me like ice water: I'd slept with a complete stranger.

A stranger whose face was burned into my memory-sharp jawline, eyes like emeralds, a voice that had rumbled through my bones when he whispered my name in the darkness.

Lucius.

Even thinking his name made my skin prickle with awareness.

The steady sound of running water drifted from what I assumed was the bathroom. He was still here. Still in this impossibly elegant penthouse that probably cost more than I made in a year.

Panic clawed up my throat. I needed to leave. Now. Before he emerged and we had to navigate the excruciating awkwardness of morning-after small talk with someone I knew absolutely nothing about.

My red dress lay crumpled near an antique chair like discarded evidence. I clutched the sheet tighter, my mind a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories from the night before.

It had started with a kiss. Hungry, testing, almost possessive.

With a soul-consuming need that left me burning.

Just one kiss from him made me feel things I'd never experienced in all those years with Ethan.

When he pulled back, I gasped for air, words tumbling out. "I don't usually do this."

"I know," he murmured, his thumb tracing my neck. "You don't have to explain anything."

I looked up at him and drowned in his intense gaze. My mouth went dry as heat pooled low in my belly.

His touch was electric, and I felt a magnetic pull toward him that I couldn't resist.

Lucius undressed me slowly, reverently, like he was unwrapping a precious gift.

His lips never left my neck, kissing, tasting, his teeth grazing my burning skin and making me shiver.

Tortured by aching need as I tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. His body was magnificent-strong arms, sculpted chest, and perfect abs that were rock-hard under my touch. A small scar ran across his chest, resembling claw marks.

Before I could admire him further, he scooped me up and laid me on the bed. His hands explored every curve, every sensitive spot until I was soaking wet beneath him.

When he finally pushed inside me, a sharp flash of pain made me gasp.

He froze instantly, his entire body going rigid.

"Claire," he whispered, his voice strained, "is this your first time?"

I nodded, suddenly shy and uncertain.

Would he stop now, thinking I was some inexperienced woman with no sexual appeal?

His eyes darkened. Surprised, pleased, no hint of mockery-just that faint golden glow flickering again.

"If it hurts too much, I can stop."

Even in this moment of passion, he was considering my comfort. The thought made my heart swell.

"Don't stop. Please continue," I breathed.

His control snapped. With a low growl, he began to move. Each thrust filled me completely, erasing the emptiness.

My body stretched to accommodate him, pain giving way to pleasure so intense my breath hitched.

"Mine," he whispered against my skin, his voice rough and husky.

When he flipped me over, taking me from behind, his teeth kept returning to the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. The sensation of his hot breath and gentle scrape of teeth sent shivers down my spine. He wanted to bite me in some primal way I couldn't understand but desperately craved.

One climax crashed into another as he drove me relentlessly toward pleasure. His stamina was endless. Just when I thought we were finished, he would begin again, his desire seemingly insatiable.

"So perfect," he groaned, fingers digging into my hips with bruising force.

By the fourth time, my body was limp, my mind floating in a haze of satisfaction. As he reached his final release, his body tensing above mine, I heard him growl a single word.

"Mate."

I slipped into unconsciousness wondering what he meant.

The shower cut off abruptly.

I scrambled for my clothes, fingers clumsy with panic. My inner voice screamed for escape-but before I could reach the door, it opened with unnerving quietness.

Lucius stepped out wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets trailing down his chest. In the harsh light of morning, he looked impossibly beautiful. Too perfect to be real.

Our eyes locked. His were cooler now, unreadable-like chips of arctic ice.

For a heart-stopping moment, neither of us spoke.

His gaze flickered to the bed, landing on the unmistakable evidence staining the pristine white sheets. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

"That was your first time." Not a question. A statement heavy with implication.

Heat flooded my cheeks. "That's none of your business," I snapped, trying to inject defiance into my wavering voice.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through damp golden hair. "I should have stopped."

"Yeah," I bit out, forcing a bitter laugh. "You definitely should have."

He turned toward an expensive-looking dresser, reaching for his wallet.

My heart plummeted.

Of course. This was the part where he'd throw money at me-payment for services rendered. Because that's what this was, wasn't it? A transaction between strangers.

Before he could say another word, I snatched my purse, fumbling for the crumpled bills left over from last night's aborted anniversary dinner. A hundred and fifty dollars. Barely enough for a taxi home.

I threw the money onto the dresser's polished surface.

"There," I spat, voice cracking despite my efforts. "That's about what you're worth."

The words tasted like poison on my tongue.

Lucius went utterly still.

Then he turned, slowly, his eyes no longer cold but burning with dangerous intensity. "You think I would treat you like that?" His voice was low, deceptively soft.

My throat constricted. "What else am I supposed to think?"

Something shifted in the air between us. The room grew heavy, charged. His pupils dilated until molten gold flickered beneath the green-bright, unnatural.

"Lucius..." I whispered, backing away slowly. "What was that?"

He didn't answer. His breathing grew rough, labored. For a terrifying heartbeat, I thought he might... change. Into what, my panicked mind couldn't fathom.

Then he blinked hard, and the unnatural light receded, leaving his eyes a turbulent storm of green.

"Get dressed," he said quietly, turning away as if fighting invisible chains. "You'll catch cold."

That tiny flicker of concern only sharpened my humiliation. "Don't pretend you care."

He didn't move. Didn't look back. But I heard the faintest crack in his voice when he murmured, "You shouldn't run from me, Claire."

"Watch me."

I grabbed my shoes and bolted.

The hallway stretched endlessly before me, my heels clicking against marble like gunshots. By the time I reached the lobby, I was half-shaking, half-laughing-the kind of hysterical sound that precedes a breakdown.

Outside, the morning air slapped me with frigid reality. The city was awakening around me-people rushing to work, cars honking, everyone blissfully unaware that somewhere above, a foolish women had just left pieces of herself in a stranger's bed.

I walked quickly, my mind a chaotic loop of fragmented memories: his touch, his voice, that impossible shimmer in his eyes.

Maybe it had been the light. Maybe I'd been drunker than I realized.

But then I heard it.

A sound. Low. Deep.

It came from behind me-distant yet too close for comfort. My heart leaped into my throat. I spun around to find... nothing. Just an empty street, sunlight spilling between skyscrapers.

Still, the air felt electrically charged, as if something unseen was watching.

I clutched my purse tighter and walked faster, pretending not to hear the faint echo that seemed to follow-a guttural sound swallowed by city wind.

My heart refused to slow, still hammering a desperate rhythm. My skin burned where his hands had been, my entire body thrumming with strange energy.

I told myself it was adrenaline. Shame. Nothing more.

By the time I reached my apartment, my hands were still trembling. I slammed the door and fumbled with the locks, then pressed my forehead against the cool wood, trying to steady my breathing.

One night. That's all it was supposed to be.

A mistake. A catastrophic lapse in judgment.

But every nerve in my body screamed otherwise.

Because even now, if I closed my eyes, I could still feel him-the lingering warmth of his breath, the heavy pulse of his heartbeat, that barely contained growl beneath his careful restraint.

And deep down, a reckless, secret part of me knew.

Whatever Lucius was, he wasn't done with me.

And God help me, I wasn't done with him either.

Claire's POV

I'd rushed home earlier, practically attacked the shower, scrubbing myself relentlessly. Three, four times, as if I could physically scour away the lingering scent of last night, the memory of his touch, pretending none of it had ever happened. After forcing down some breakfast at a quiet cafe, I headed towards the office, my phone in hand. A text from Ethan, of course.

[Claire, I'm so sorry I hurt you last night. But I don't want to break up with you, and I do love you. If I wanted to end things, I wouldn't have cheated. Can you ever forgive me?]

My jaw dropped. The sheer audacity! How could anyone be so utterly shameless? Was every man truly just a collection of base urges, with no heart or conscience involved? A bitter, humorless laugh escaped me. I had no intention of replying.

I was halfway to the company when my phone rang. It was my mother, Susan.

"Oh, darling, it's your Uncle John's sixtieth birthday today. They're having a banquet at the Conrad Hotel. You simply must come."

"No, Mom. I really don't want to." I knew, with a sinking certainty, that if I went to that banquet, I would inevitably run into my father and his mistress.

Even as an adult, the wound still festered. I couldn't forgive him for betraying my mother, for abandoning my sister and me. Years ago, when Mom was critically ill and we desperately needed money for her treatment, I'd gone to his doorstep, practically begging on my knees. He'd refused to see me, instead sending his mistress to chase me away like a stray dog. I'd had to take out exorbitant loans to save my mother, whose part-time jobs offered no health insurance. Mom's condition was stable now, but she still required expensive imported medication and regular check-ups.

"Your Uncle John and Aunt Carter have always been so kind to you, Claire. They specifically asked for you."

I sighed. When my father had left, I was barely ten. Without Uncle John and Aunt Carter's unwavering support, our lives would have been even more desolate. During Mom's darkest days, they'd quietly slipped me money, always ensuring we had enough. They had truly been our anchors.

"Okay," I finally conceded, my shoulders slumping. "I'll go."

"Please don't cause any trouble when you see your father," Susan pleaded, her voice laced with anxiety.

"He won't cause me trouble, and I certainly won't cause him any," I said, the words edged with a cold certainty.

I remembered my mother, kneeling, pleading with him then. Just to not divorce her, to keep their family intact, she would even overlook his infidelity. But my bastard father had been merciless. He not only divorced her, but somehow managed to hide all his assets, leaving her with nothing and providing only a paltry child support sum for my sister and me. My mother tried to fight in court, but he cried poverty to the judge, and we lost everything. After that, only the three of us knew the true meaning of hardship.

"Mom, there's something else. Ethan and I broke up."

"What? But Ethan was such a sweet boy! I thought he was going to propose!"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone, Mom. I need to get to work. We'll talk later." I hung up before she could probe further.

I arrived at the office just in time, not a minute late.

As I settled at my desk, my colleague, Joey Farmiga, sauntered over, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Oh, honey, did you finally get lucky with Ethan last night?" she purred, leaning conspiratorially against my desk.

"How on earth did you know I had sex last night?" I asked, genuinely baffled.

She grinned. "I can practically smell it on you, that unmistakable after-sex glow."

I sniffed discreetly at my arm, detecting nothing but my shower gel. "Your nose must be superhumanly sensitive."

Joey nudged my shoulder. "Come on, spill! Details about your first time!"

Joey and I had that kind of relationship; we shared everything-gossip, triumphs, and the occasional disaster.

I gave her a wry, humorless smile. "Last night, I spent a hundred and fifty dollars on a stranger to help me forget Ethan even exists."

Joey's jaw literally dropped. "Wait-what? I thought last night was supposed to be your big proposal night?"

I exhaled slowly, the weight of the confession heavy on my chest. "I found Ethan in bed with Emma."

Joey's expression darkened, her eyes blazing. "That conniving bitch!"

"Shhh!" I whispered, glancing nervously around the buzzing office.

Her tone dropped, but the fire in her eyes remained. "Honestly, you're better off. At least you found out now instead of after he put a ring on your finger."

I managed a small, tired smile. "That's what I keep telling myself."

"Still," she said, folding her arms, a playful glint returning, "$150? He better have been good."

I chuckled softly, a genuine sound this time. "Let's just say it was. memorable."

We often bantered like this, pretending to be worldly and fearless. But deep down, beneath the bravado, our hearts were far more guarded than we cared to admit.

"Oh, by the way," Joey suddenly announced, her voice buzzing with excitement, "Huge news! Our company has a new CEO!"

My mood, however, remained as calm as a still lake. "I'm just a financial assistant," I shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't make a difference to me who the boss is."

"Are you kidding? I heard he's the heir to the Watson Group! Young, insanely handsome, but apparently cold as ice. They say countless women have tried to get into his bed, but he dismisses them all. Right now, every woman in this company is practically salivating to catch a glimpse of this 'legendary' CEO!" Joey's excitement was palpable.

"Too high maintenance, too much drama. We can't afford that kind of headache," I said, still unfazed. I had no illusions about that kind of unattainable man.

Before our conversation could continue, our supervisor, Gary, materialized at my desk, his expression unreadable.

"Claire, come with me. All department heads and their assistants are requested in the main conference room. The new CEO is about to make his official introduction."

Joey caught my eye, raising her brows mischievously, mouthing: Take pictures!

The conference room was already packed when we arrived. Being just an assistant, I discreetly found a seat in the back corner, not particularly invested in the impending spectacle. My mind drifted back to the man from this morning, his exquisite face contorted in a terrifying display of anger when I'd thrown those $150 bills onto his bed. I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a nervous laugh.

I'd definitely gone too far, I admitted to myself. But the utter contempt in his eyes, the way he'd reached for his wallet as if I were some cheap, easily disposable thing. I'd only given him a taste of his own medicine!

A sudden burst of polite applause snapped me back to reality. The room had fallen into a respectful hush as a tall, undeniably handsome man in a flawlessly tailored black suit entered, flanked by a phalanx of executives.

My breath hitched. I stared at that face for several long, disbelieving seconds, shock rendering me utterly speechless. My jaw literally dropped open.

Why... was HE here?

Something had to be terribly wrong with my eyes. I rubbed them fiercely, uncertain if I was dreaming, if this was some cruel, waking nightmare.

But when I looked again, there was no mistaking it. Standing at the front of the room, being introduced as our new CEO, was the very man I'd spent the night with. The man I'd thrown money at and insulted just hours ago.

Last night, I spent $150 to sleep with the new boss.

Oh my God. Is it still not too late to run away?

Claire's POV

A hundred and fifty dollars. That's what I'd spent on a man I'd mistaken for a high-end escort. Now, he was my new CEO. The universe clearly had a cruel sense of humor.

What a cosmic joke. My mind reeled, replaying my audacious-no, insane-words from that morning.

I told him his skills weren't good enough, and I wanted him to sell for a lower price.

Oh God, why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut?

If he recognized me, would he fire me on the spot? Panic clawed at my throat. I couldn't lose this job. My mother's escalating medical bills and my sister's college tuition were tethered to my income.

Breathe, Claire, breathe! I commanded myself, trying to steady my racing heart. Despite my best efforts, a tremor ran through my legs, echoing the turmoil inside.

I stole a quick, careful glance towards the imposing figure at the head of the conference table. He was absorbed in conversation with an executive, his gaze far from my corner. A sliver of relief, icy and fleeting, washed over me. I ducked my head, letting my long hair curtain half my face, a pathetic attempt at camouflage.

My only hope was that Lucius Watson, the notoriously aloof CEO of the Watson Group, hadn't looked closely enough to remember me. The conference room was packed, a sea of unfamiliar faces. Surely, I was just another anonymous employee in his periphery.

Every second felt like an eternity as I sat rigid in my chair, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

As the meeting finally drew to a close, my anxieties seemed to have been unwarranted. Lucius appeared utterly oblivious to my presence. He never once looked my way. I let out a silent, shaky sigh of relief.

The moment people began to disperse, I seized my chance, melting into the crowd, my head still down, a frantic escape artist.

The first thing I did back at my desk was grab Joey. She'd always been my confidante.

Joey's eyes widened, then her jaw went slack. "Holy shit, Claire! You slept with him? Are you positive it was Lucius Watson? The Lucius Watson?"

"Stop it!" I hissed, grabbing her arm. "This isn't funny. Yes, it was him! I'm terrified he'll remember me, seek revenge, and fire me. I have Mom and Betty depending on me. I can't lose this job!" My voice was a frantic whisper.

Joey gave me a meaningful look. "Girl, do you know how many women in this city would kill to be in your position right now?"

I scoffed. "I couldn't care less about other women's wishes. I regret everything about last night. Why did I go to that bar to drown my sorrows? Why did I let myself be drawn to a stranger with such intense eyes? Why did I hand him a hundred and fifty dollars, thinking he was some high-end call boy? And God help me, why did I criticize his performance?"

Joey shrugged. "Don't panic so much. He probably didn't even notice you. Guys like that have a different woman every weekend."

Before she could finish her flimsy reassurance, our manager's booming voice sliced through the office hum. "Claire! Mr. Watson wants to see you in his office. Now."

My heart plummeted straight to my stomach. This was it. I was about to be unemployed.

I walked towards his opulent corner office on leaden feet. When I stepped inside, he was there, not in a crumpled hotel bathrobe, but in a perfectly tailored suit that screamed power and sophistication.

Yesterday, he was a nameless escort. Today, my new boss.

Life, it seemed, was determined to keep me on my toes.

He was looking through documents, his head bowed, as if he hadn't noticed my arrival. I found myself staring at his thick blond hair, noting how it seemed to catch the harsh office light in a wild, untamed way.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, I forced a pleasant, professional tone. "Mr. Watson? You wanted to see me?"

He raised his head, and I quickly plastered on my most polished, innocent smile. I knew better than to provoke him further.

Lucius's eyes, those green eyes, raked over me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His expression was utterly devoid of warmth, filled with a chilling disdain.

Under his unnerving scrutiny, I felt profoundly uncomfortable, like a small, exposed creature caught in the gaze of a dangerous predator. I struggled to maintain my composure.

Finally, he set down his pen, leaning back in his enormous leather chair. His voice was cold, cutting. "I didn't realize our female employees were quite so. liberal."

His proud, sneering tone stung, hitting a nerve. My carefully constructed calm fractured.

Before I could stop myself, the words flew out. "It seems your private life is equally rich, Mr. Watson."

We're almost the same, aren't we? If I'm a dissolute woman, then you're a high-priced playboy! the unspoken thought screamed in my head.

Lucius's expression turned ugly. A dark cloud descended over his features.

Great. I'd just angered my boss again.

I quickly looked down, a wave of regret washing over me, despite the defiant satisfaction bubbling beneath. My impulsiveness might just cost me my job at the Watson Group.

He took a step forward, too close now.

Lucius reached into the inner pocket of his blazer. My heart stilled, a sudden, terrifying premonition.

He pulled out a thick leather wallet, opened it with deliberate slowness, and withdrew three bills-two fifties, a crisp hundred. He placed them neatly on the gleaming desk between us.

"Your performance," he said, his voice disturbingly calm, "was worth a little more than I thought."

I stared at the money, a searing heat building in my throat. My chest heaved with suppressed fury. I wanted to scream, to lash out. But then, the image of Mom's hospital bills, Betty's tuition, flashed through my mind. I clamped down on my anger with Herculean effort.

Stay calm, Claire.

I stepped forward, plucked the money from the desk with two fingers, and tucked it into my purse with a practiced, elegant movement.

I met his gaze, forcing a brittle smile. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Watson."

Then I turned on my heel and walked out, never letting him see the tremor in my hands, the wild rage in my eyes.

I made it to the elevator before my legs buckled slightly. I pressed the button with far too much force.

Inside, as the elevator descended, I gripped the railing, cold fury threading through my veins, tightening around my heart.

I wouldn't cry. Not for him.

Not ever again.

When I got back to my desk, Joey was there immediately, buzzing with anticipation.

"What did the boss want?" she asked, eyes wide with interest.

I thought for a moment, crafting my response. "He just wanted to tell me something about. his job."

"And what else?" Joey pressed, leaning closer.

"Nothing else," I said, a little too quickly, unwilling to share the humiliating truth.

"That's boring," Joey sighed, deflating.

"Did you want to hear something more interesting?" I asked lightly, a subtle challenge in my tone.

Joey smiled, tossing her hair back. "I thought maybe he'd developed a taste for. regular humans like you! And he was looking to continue the romantic relationship."

"I'm not interested," I said, perhaps too emphatically. Regular humans? What a strange turn of phrase. Aren't we all human? Though, given Lucius Watson's billions, I supposed he did belong to an entirely different social class.

"Not interested? Claire, if others knew you slept with Lucius Watson, how many people would be green with envy?" Joey whispered, gazing at his picture, which was now making the rounds on her phone.

His striking face had indeed spread like wildfire among the female employees. The way they devoured his image made me profoundly uneasy.

"Please, keep this a secret. I don't want people talking," I said, my voice low and earnest.

Joey, ever curious, leaned in again. "Seriously, though, what was it like? Having sex with him?"

I tried to appear calm, nonchalant. "Just. normal. You can try it yourself if you don't believe me."

"I wish I could," Joey said with a sigh, before heading back to her desk.

To be honest, I was so drunk that night, much of it was a blur. I vaguely remembered his bright, unsettling eyes, the hard planes of his body, and that strange, animalistic sound he made. That was about it.

A small, traitorous part of me wished I could remember more. But it didn't matter now. It would never happen again, and I certainly didn't want it to. Lucius Watson was just my boss.

My phone rang. It was Susan.

I knew she was calling to push me about Uncle John's party.

I couldn't help but take a deep breath, steeling myself for the next inevitable confrontation.