His hand gripped my hip like I belonged to him—like my body was made to fit only his. Every move he made felt like fire and silk, slow but commanding. Denzel's mouth worked its way down my neck, branding me with love bites, staking a quiet claim on my skin. He moved deep inside me, and all I could do was cling to him, nails clawing against his shoulder blades as the tension coiled, then shattered with a wave of sharp pleasure.
I moaned his name over and over until all that existed was the rhythm of us—his body, my body, tangled and soaked in heat.
He held me even after we were spent, our breath slowing in sync. The room smelled of sweat, sex, and something more intimate—trust.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, brushing damp strands from my face. His voice always had that power—dark velvet laced with heat and something dangerous.
"Thank you," I whispered, lips swollen and heart thudding.
He kissed me again, slowly, then smirked. "Now… it's your turn to take control."
He guided me on top of him, his hands firm but patient, letting me set the pace. It was slower, more languid this time, the intimacy stretching between us like silk threads. I moved over him, kissed his neck, his lips, and drank in the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted.
Afterward, he kissed my shoulder and murmured, "I'm going to run a bath."
The water started in the en-suite, and the sound of it was oddly comforting. I lay in bed for a moment, my body still humming, before reaching for my phone. I opened my notifications casually, but froze at the sight of my name.
Trending: #StarLowell #GoldDigger
My thumb hovered, then tapped. A fake account had posted a cruel thread of images—my apartment, the car, blurry snaps of me and Denzel at a distance—accompanied by captions that made my stomach twist.
"Another social climber using her looks to win a CEO's wallet."
"Gold digger alert 🚨 Wilson Corp's latest conquest."
"When you sell your body for a penthouse and designer bags."
My throat closed. There were hundreds of comments.
"Bet she's got a sugar baby contract."
"Just another pretty face riding the money train."
I blinked rapidly, hands shaking. Then I called Zoey.
She picked up on the second ring. "Hey, babe—wait, what's wrong?"
"I'm trending," I choked out. "Someone posted about me. They're saying… horrible things."
"Send it to me."
I did.
A second passed, then another. Then Zoey swore. "What the hell? Who did this?"
"I don't know… but it feels personal. The tone. The access to my story. My Instagram."
Zoey's voice was tense. "You think it was Jase?"
I paused. "She acted jealous when she found out Denzel was the CEO. Said he changes girls like underwear and that he's dangerous."
Zoey clicked her tongue. "I knew there was something off about her. I'll dig around and see what I can find, okay?"
The bathroom door opened, and Denzel stepped out, steam trailing behind him. His towel sat low on his hips, droplets clinging to his chest. But the second he saw my face, his expression hardened.
"What happened?"
I couldn't even speak. I just handed him the phone.
He read it, his face becoming stone. Cold, unreadable. He set the phone down.
"I'll deal with it."
My voice cracked. "But it's already viral. They're saying I—"
"I said I'll handle it," he said again, firmer this time. "But first, go take that bath."
I hesitated.
"Star," he said, gentler now, walking over and brushing my cheek. "Please. Wash this off you. The filth of it. I'll be right here when you're done."
So I went. The water was warm and scented faintly with lavender. I let myself soak, sinking under the bubbles like I could drown the shame, the panic. I scrubbed my skin until it tingled, trying to remind myself that I still belonged to me.
When I stepped out, a towel wrapped around my body, Denzel was already dressed in charcoal slacks and a black shirt, sleeves rolled up.
"We're going to the office," he said.
Wilson Corp's lobby buzzed with quiet tension. The press was already waiting. Denzel's jaw was tight as he led me through the main floor, ignoring the camera flashes and hushed whispers.
His assistant rushed to meet us. "They're in the press room, Mr. Wilson. Your media team prepped statements, but it's your call."
"I'm speaking," he said. "They'll hear it from me."
We stepped into the room. Flashes went off immediately. The space was packed with reporters and microphones. I sat beside Denzel, hands clasped in my lap, trying to breathe.
"Mr. Wilson," a reporter said. "Can you comment on the trending post about your relationship with Star Lowell?"
"Is she living with you?"
"Is this a business arrangement?"
Denzel raised a hand. Silence fell.
"I'm aware of the rumors circulating online," he began. His voice was calm, clipped, CEO-cold. "I will make one thing clear—Star Lowell is not a gold digger. She is not for sale. She is not disposable."
Cameras clicked. Murmurs rose.
"She is not my employee, not my investment, and not a temporary amusement. She's mine. That is all anyone needs to know."
More flashes. A few reporters tried to push further.
"Are you confirming a relationship then?"
Denzel's eyes flicked toward the crowd. "I am confirming she belongs to no one but herself—and that no one, and I mean no one, gets to drag her name through filth without consequences. This press conference is over."
He stood.
The room exploded into noise behind us, but he didn't care. He took my hand, guided me through the exit, and into the quiet of his private office.
I turned to him slowly. "Why are you doing this?"
He closed the door and walked over to me. "Because I protect what's mine."
I swallowed. "You don't do relationships. That's what you said."
"I don't," he said. "But I still claim what's mine."
My heart stuttered. "So… what am I to you?"
He didn't speak. He just reached for me, his hand on my waist, pulling me into him until we were chest to chest.
"You're mine," he said, voice low. "Whether I want a relationship or not doesn't change that."
Then he kissed me—slow and searing, the kind of kiss that marked a new beginning. Something deeper. Something dangerous and undeniable.
And in that moment, even with the world watching and judging, I knew one thing for certain.
He might not believe in love.
But he believed in me.
And that was a start.