Two weeks.
Two weeks since I signed that godforsaken contract—and my world had flipped inside out.
Now, I lived in a palace disguised as a house, tended to by over twenty maids and housekeepers. I had a walk-in closet larger than my college dorm room, overflowing with luxury… and sin.
Tiny, tight, and teasing. Every piece of clothing designed not for comfort, but for seduction. Lingerie in silk, lace, and leather—delicate yet filthy, in every shade from innocent white to sinful crimson.
I was legal now. Eighteen. Technically free to flaunt everything I had—but I wasn't used to being this exposed. These clothes left little to the imagination. Or none at all. And while I hated how vulnerable they made me feel… a twisted part of me enjoyed the stares. The power. The effect.
Ezel, however, paid me no attention.
Despite being his "personal assistant," I barely spoke to him. He was cold, ruthless, and buried in work. And yet somehow… the most intoxicating man I'd ever seen. His voice could freeze blood, his silence could burn flesh.
And those clothes?
They may not have fazed him, but they definitely affected others—especially Benedict. The flirtatious, arrogant lawyer visited often, always watching me with a hunger he barely masked, always offering "warnings" about the Evans brothers.
That evening, I lay on my bed in one of Ezel's chosen outfits—a barely-there white slip that clung to my curves like a whisper. One leg draped lazily off the mattress, revealing white lace between my thighs.
Then, without a knock, the door creaked open.
I scrambled, heart racing, pulling my legs together and sitting upright.
Ezel stood there.
His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. For the first time, his gaze didn't avoid mine—it devoured me.
"Get ready. We have a party to attend," he said, placing a velvet box on my table. His voice was clipped, but… lower than usual.
He turned and left.
My heart was still pounding as I opened the box.
Inside lay a blood-red dress that looked more like scandal than fabric. The neckline plunged dangerously low. The side slits ran up to my hips. My waist, my cleavage, my thighs—exposed like offerings.
"I'm going to look like a damn slut," I whispered, holding the dress up.
But I didn't say no.
I couldn't. A part of me—one I was beginning to fear—wanted this. Wanted the attention. Wanted him to look.
I dressed with trembling fingers, slicked on red lipstick to match, and stepped out.
As I descended the staircase, each step made my breasts bounce beneath the dress—no bra could be worn with something like this. Only fashion tape held me together, barely. My legs were long and bare, heels clicking with every move.
Ezel looked up.
His eyes locked on mine, then dragged over every inch of skin I had revealed. I saw it—the way his pupils darkened, the way his breath hitched.
"You… you—" he stammered, words betraying him.
"Yes, boss?" I asked, with the tiniest smirk.
He blinked, recovering. "Nothing. Never mind."
We sat in the car in silence. The air was thick. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, knuckles tight on the steering wheel. And all I could think about was how much I wanted him to lose control—to press me against the door, his hands on my throat, his lips on mine.
Erica, stop it. He's your boss.
He's twenty-five. You're just eighteen.
But in my fantasies? I'd already surrendered to him—completely.
The car stopped.
We arrived at a lavish club, where luxury dripped from every chandelier and expensive laughter filled the air. The guests were powerful, beautiful, dangerous.
We moved through the crowd, shaking hands, sipping champagne.
Somewhere between the introductions, my eyes caught a shocking scene—on the dance floor, a man was spanking a woman hard, openly, as she moaned and laughed into his shoulder.
My thighs clenched.
God… I wanted that. Needed it. Someone to lose control with me. On me. Inside me.
Then I felt it—a stare.
I turned. Across the room, a man in a blue suit was watching me. No, devouring me.
He raised his glass subtly, his eyes dragging over my body like fingers.
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the club...
"That girl with Ezel… who is she?" the man in the blue suit asked, not looking away.
"That barely dressed goddess?" the other man chuckled. "That's his personal assistant. I hear Ezel's got a soft spot for her."
"She's not just sexy," Blue Suit replied. "She's dangerous. Look at her ass, her curves, her mouth..."
His eyes flicked down his glass, lips curling into a dark smile.
"She doesn't belong in Ezel's bed," he said slowly. "She belongs in mine."
He clinked his glass with his friend's.
"I want her. And I always get what I want."