A soft, unfamiliar silk brushed against her skin. Valeria's eyes fluttered open, the delicate scent of sandalwood replacing the bitter tang of the wet city. She lay in a bed that felt like a cloud, but her mind screamed danger. Her eyes swept the room: pristine white walls, minimalist art, city light flooding through floor-to-ceiling windows. This was a place of immense, stark wealth.
Just then, a middle-aged woman walked in carrying a tray. "You're awake, miss. Good. The young master instructed me to make sure you were comfortable. And this dress is provided by the Young Master Adrian."
The name hit Valeria like a physical blow. The CEO. The man who controlled her grant. She realized with a bolt of ice-cold dread: she was in Adrian De Vere's personal penthouse.
"My... my clothes. Who changed them?" Valeria asked, her voice a dry, panicked rasp.
"That was me, miss. Don't worry. The bath is drawn. I must leave now , Young Master Adrian dislikes tardiness." The woman left, closing the door only halfway.
Valeria rushed through the bath, desperate to wash off the feeling of invasion. She was trapped in the domain of the man who held her future.
She padded back into the bedroom and reached for the new bra. It was fine designer lace, but instantly the wrong size. She struggled to fasten it, the fabric pulling taut. With a sharp snap! the tiny metal pin connecting the straps to the cup broke, a loud, humiliating sound in the terrifying silence.
"A-ah!" Valeria gasped, her hands flying up in a frantic, useless attempt to shield herself.
It was in that exact, horrifying moment that the door swung fully open, and Adrian De Vere, the formidable CEO, stepped into the room.
His gaze, which usually cut like glass, swept over the scene. Valeria was a vibrant, alarming shade of crimson a perfect, ripe apple of embarrassment. The broken bra left the upper swell of her chest tragically exposed, the pale skin glowing in the warm light.
For a breath-stopping fraction of a second, Adrian's discipline failed entirely. His eyes, dark and lethal, locked onto the forbidden sight. It was a direct, visual violation that ignited something savage and white-hot inside him. The sight of her raw, vulnerable, trembling softness after the night he'd fought so hard to ignore her soaked body, was an inferno.
Mine. Too soft. Too beautiful. The possessive thought was instantaneous, terrifying, and violently resisted. His body tightened, every muscle going rigid as he fought the primal urge to cross the room and claim her.
"I..I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do anything... ! It's the wrong size! I tried to... to cover..." Valeria stammered, voice frantic.
Adrian did not look down again. He forced his gaze to her eyes, but the internal chaos was betrayed by the hard set of his jaw.
He closed the distance in two silent, imposing strides. His shadow fell over her, a dark blanket of dominance, heavy and hot. His touch, when it came, was neutral yet searing, his fingers brushing the fine lace near her skin.
"Hold still," he commanded, his deep voice low, a thick, primal rasp that barely masked his arousal.
His long, skilled fingers twisted the strap, knotting the broken fabric into a temporary, secure hold. The proximity was a shockwave. Valeria felt the incredible heat of his body, the overpowering, sharp masculine scent of his cologne.
He immediately turned his back, facing the window. The forced distance was an act of brutal self-control.
"Get dressed. You have ten minutes." His voice, though controlled, was strained.
Valeria, breathing heavily, quickly pulled the emerald dress over her head.
Adrian finally turned, his expression glacial. "Leonard is here now. He will drive you to the office. You will report directly to the 40th-floor conference room."
His eyes pierced through her. The predatory intensity remained, but his voice settled into a low, measured baritone the sound of an executive dictating terms.
" My resources were used to assist you last night. That assistance, Valeria, creates an obligation. I expect efficiency for the resources expended." He paused, letting the word obligation hang, cold and heavy, in the air. "You are going to that office to give your presentation for the grant, as planned. You will perform flawlessly. I will be watching your performance."
His voice remained steady and precise on the final command, emphasizing the absolute standard he demanded. "Do not be late. The discussion begins in one hour."
And with that final, chilling decree, the CEO left the room, leaving Valeria shaking, caught between the scorching memory of his touch and the cold, terrifying reality of his absolute demands.