Mario's comment about the "professional beard" had cracked Claudia's carefully constructed wall. From that day on, every interaction felt like walking on thin ice. She tried to be more efficient, quicker, less present—but Mario seemed to enjoy her unease.
The physiotherapy session was the hardest to endure. In the mansion's private gym, Claudia wore sportswear, and the physical closeness was intense. Today's focus was deep stretching. Claudia knelt on the mat, placing her hands on Mario's hips to stabilize him while she moved his legs.
"Relax, Mario. I need you to release the tension in your upper body," Claudia said, fully focused on the exercise.
"It's hard to release tension when the source of my tension is so close," Mario replied, his voice flat but charged with an unspoken intensity.
Claudia froze mid-movement. Her breathing quickened. "Mr. Hawthorne, please focus on the exercise."
"And what if my exercise is noticing the way your fingers press against my skin?" Mario countered. His voice was not flirtatious in a vulgar way—it carried a raw, undeniable truth.
Claudia stood abruptly, heat rushing to her cheeks. "I need a break!"
Mario chuckled, a dry, tantalizing sound. "Take it. But Claudia, look around you. There's nowhere to hide. It's just you and me, in this gym. In this house. What will you do? Run? Where would you go?"
The question hit her like a blow. Mario wasn't just physically immobile; he had trapped her in her own circumstances. There was no one else to care for him, no other life for her—only this one, confined to the walls of the mansion.
That afternoon, the phone rang. It was Eleanor. Her voice, filtered through a satellite connection from Milan, was sharp. "Mario, I need you to sign some documents. I'll send them with a courier. And tell Claudia to check my wine inventory. I don't want surprises."
Mario sat in his study, a digital tablet on his lap, fatigue etched across his face. Claudia felt a surge of protectiveness. She leaned in to adjust the angle of his tablet.
"Eleanor doesn't see you, Mario," Claudia whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Mario looked up, his gray eyes locking onto hers. "She sees an asset to control. You… you see the man underneath. And that scares me more than any financial report."
Claudia knelt beside his chair, mirroring the gesture from that morning in the gym, but this time by choice. "Why does it scare you?"
"Because I can't give you anything, Claudia. I can't touch you, can't protect you, can't run away with you. And yet… yet, I want you," Mario confessed, his voice breaking on the final word.
The confession erupted like a volcano. Claudia closed her eyes, sharp pain mingling with immense pleasure. Her desire, long silent, had now found a voice in Mario—and that voice was a command.
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