He had left for a meeting moments ago, his scent lingering in the air—clean cologne, the faintest trace of his skin. The space around me was all polished surfaces and masculine warmth. Books lined the shelves, thick with wisdom and ambition, while abstract art hung over dark oak panels like declarations of status. Everything in here screamed control. Vision. Power.
Him.
I moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows, letting my fingers ghost over the cool glass as I stared down at the cityscape. People looked like ants from here. I wondered what it felt like to run the kind of empire where your word dictated someone else's future. What it felt like to have something with your name etched in glass and steel. Something you had built from nothing.
That would've been beautiful.
Maybe I didn't need a company. Maybe I just needed something of my own. A dream. A career. A life that didn't orbit around the man who made my heart race and my stomach twist.
But the truth pressed heavy in my chest—I had nothing. No title. No fortune. No plan. Only this... arrangement. The one that began with a contract and rules, and me saying yes when I should've said no.
And yet, I kept hoping that maybe—just maybe—he would fall for me.
I was still lost in that aching thought when the door opened behind me. I turned, expecting Denzel.
It wasn't him.
It was his assistant. Tall. Impeccably styled. Her blouse was sheer enough to raise eyebrows, and her pencil skirt clung to every calculated curve. Red lipstick. Stilettos sharp enough to cut through confidence. She walked in without knocking, her smile all sugar-coated venom.
"Hi," she said, voice honeyed. "I see you've made yourself comfortable."
I didn't say anything. I didn't know how to respond to someone who already seemed to have an agenda.
She moved closer, arms crossed under her chest. "Look, I'm not here to start a catfight," she said, even though every inch of her posture said otherwise. "But I think you should know the truth. Before you embarrass yourself."
I frowned. "What truth?"
Her smile turned into a sneer. "Just because he defended you in front of the world doesn't mean he loves you. Denzel doesn't love anyone. Not his parents. Not his friends. Definitely not you."
I stared at her, breath caught between anger and disbelief.
"I don't know what you're trying to say," I said carefully. "But you might want to think about your job before trying to provoke me."
Where the hell that courage came from, I didn't know. Maybe it was borrowed from the way Denzel had stood by me earlier. Maybe it was my own growing spine. Either way, I said it.
She laughed, rich and cruel. "My job is secure. But Denzel's interest in you isn't. It can change at any moment. One day you're in his bed, the next, you're a forgotten name in a call log."
I stood up straighter, even though my chest felt like it was collapsing.
"He's not yours," she said, biting her words. "He's not going to marry you. He's not even going to love you. He'll sleep with you, enjoy the ride, then discard you like the rest."
I smiled faintly. "Thanks for the heads-up, Miss—whatever your name is. But I don't care."
That wasn't entirely true. I cared more than I wanted to admit.
She leaned in, eyes glinting. "Of course you don't. Girls like you only care about the money."
Then she left, heels clicking across the marble like a warning bell. The silence that followed was louder than her words.
I stood there for a while, blinking through the sting behind my eyes. Her words weren't just cruel—they were familiar. They echoed the things my mother used to say, the accusations she hurled when I tried to dream bigger than the town we were stuck in.
"Gold digger."
"Slut."
"Leech."
And now, here I was, proving her right.
The door opened again—Denzel, this time. He walked in, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves with the ease of someone used to ruling kingdoms.
But the second he looked at me, he paused.
"What happened?" he asked, sharp.
I crossed my arms, pressing them into my chest to hold myself together. "Your assistant stopped by."
His jaw flexed. "What did she say?"
"Nothing worth repeating. Just that you don't love anyone. Not even your parents. And that I'm disposable."
He didn't speak at first. Just walked over to me, slow and silent, and then stopped inches from my body.
"She was out of line," he said. "I'll deal with her."
"She said I'll be next. One day you'll just… be done with me."
His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes darkened.
"This was an agreement," he said slowly. "You knew what this was from the beginning."
"I did," I whispered. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
He looked at me then—not like the man who kissed me with heat and urgency, not like the one who undressed me with reverence—but like the man who didn't want to lie.
"I don't love you, Star," he said. Not cruelly. Just honestly. "I don't believe in love."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "But you'll protect me."
"Yes," he said. "Always."
It wasn't what I wanted. But it was what he could give.
And I had already sold my soul for a taste of him.
Later that day, we arrived at a quiet café tucked between the steel ribs of the city. Zoey was already there, sipping iced coffee with her back ramrod straight. Jase sat beside her, nervously drumming her fingers on the table.
I sat across from them, Denzel behind me like a silent wall of force.
"We need to talk," I said, eyes locked on Jase.
She blinked. "What's wrong?"
"You know what's wrong," Zoey snapped. "Don't act innocent."
Jase looked between us, mouth open.
"The fake account," I said. "The one that posted all those photos of me. It had access to my private Instagram stories. Someone I know did it."
Jase scoffed. "You think it was me?"
"You're the only one outside my close friends list who knew about Denzel being the CEO. And you acted weird about it."
"That's not proof," she said defensively. "Why would I do that?"
"To feel powerful?" I said. "To hurt me? Because you thought I didn't deserve him?"
Jase stood, her voice rising. "I don't have to take this. I didn't post anything. I'm not some jealous bitch—"
"Then prove it," Denzel cut in, finally speaking. His voice was calm. Lethal. "Our tech team already traced the location of the original post. It's being investigated. If it wasn't you, great. But if it was… you'll wish it wasn't."
Jase paled.
"I didn't—" she started, but her voice cracked.
I stood up too. "Just answer me this—did you want to hurt me?"
Her lips parted. Closed. Then she whispered, "I was just angry."
"Why?"
"Because he picked you."
The air left my lungs.
"I liked you," she said, tears rising. "And you didn't even see it. You gave yourself to some rich guy, while I was... invisible."
I stepped back, too stunned to respond.
Denzel took my hand, guiding me away as Zoey followed in silence. Jase didn't chase us. She just sat back down and covered her face with her hands.
That night, I sat on Denzel's couch, legs tucked under me, staring out the window. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to me without a word.
I took it.
After a long pause, I said, "She liked me?"
"She was obsessed," he said simply.
"She tried to ruin me."
"She failed."
I looked at him. "But you still don't love me."
He held my gaze. "No. But I'll protect you until this ends."
I nodded, my throat tight.
Because I knew it would end.
And still, a part of me hoped that maybe, someday, his words would change. That he'd say I love you instead of I'll protect you.
But for now, I drank the wine and held onto the warmth of his body beside mine.
Because hope was a quiet kind of hunger.
And I was already starving.