My Boss Will Stop At Nothing To Have Me

Lillian's POV

The moment I stepped into the apartment, something felt off.  

It wasn't the scattered shoes by the door or the faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with vanilla perfume. It was the energy, thick, tense, almost like the walls were holding their breath.  

I dropped my purse on the console table and took a cautious step forward. The TV was off. The kitchen light was dim. And then... I heard it.  

A soft giggle.  

A moan.  

My stomach twisted as my pulse quickened.  

I knew that laugh.  

I knew that voice.  

Without thinking, I pushed the bedroom door open.  

And there they were.  

Daniel. The man I had spent years loving, trusting, building a life with.  

And Jasmine. My best friend.  

Their bodies were tangled in my sheets, my bed. Our bed.  

Jasmine let out a sharp gasp, yanking the covers up to her chest, as if modesty suddenly mattered. "Lillian..."  

Daniel cursed under his breath, scrambling upright, his face drained of color.  

For a moment, I couldn't speak. My throat burned, my vision blurred. A part of me wanted to scream, to throw something, to make them feel the way I felt, betrayed, broken, humiliated.  

But instead, I laughed. A dry, hollow sound that didn't belong to me.  

Daniel tried to step toward me. "Babe, I..."

"Don't." My voice was sharp enough to slice through steel.  

Jasmine opened her mouth, probably to spill some pathetic excuse, but I cut her off with a look that made her shrink back.  

I turned back to Daniel, my hands curling into fists. "Get your things and get the hell out of my house."  

"Lillian, please.. "  

"Now."  

He hesitated. For a moment, I saw the wheels turning in his head, probably calculating whether he could manipulate me into forgiving him. Not this time.  

I turned on my heels and walked out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.  

The club was loud, the bass thrumming through my veins as I drowned my anger in shots of tequila. The betrayal, the pain, the years wasted on a man who didn't deserve me, it all simmered under my skin, waiting to explode.  

I needed an escape.  

And that's when I saw him.  

Dark hair, sharp jawline, piercing eyes that locked onto mine like he could see every thought running through my head.  

He smirked as if he knew exactly what I was looking for.  

I leaned in. "Buy me a drink?"  

He didn't hesitate. "Only if you let me take you home after."  

I smirked. "Whiskey sour."  

His lips quirked up at the corner. "Classy."  

Our drinks arrived, and I took a slow sip, my eyes not leaving his.  

"Rough night?" he asked.  

I let out a breathy laugh. "Something like that."  

He didn't pry. Just lifted his glass and clinked it against mine. "To forgetting for a few hours, then."  

I held his gaze, feeling something stir inside me, a reckless need.  

"To forgetting," I murmured, taking another sip.  

He let the silence settle between us again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was charged.

After a moment, he leaned in just enough for me to catch the warm scent of cologne and something distinctly masculine.

"I have a place not far from here," he said, his voice smooth, deep, unrushed. "If you want to get out of here."  

My pulse skipped.  

He didn't assume. Didn't grab my wrist or act like I owed him anything.  

He gave me a choice.

I searched his face, strong jaw, full lips, golden eyes that held not only curiosity, but a bit of arrogance. He was sure of himself.

And for the first time that night, I wanted something.

I set my glass down. "Let's go."  

The ride to his place was quiet, but not awkward. He helped me with my coat, his fingers brushing my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.  

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, walking to the bar in the corner. "Another drink?"  

I shook my head. "I think I've had enough."  

He nodded, pouring himself a small glass of bourbon before turning to me. "You can say no at any time."  

I blinked.  

His expression remained calm, but there was an edge of intensity in his voice. "You don't owe me anything because you came here. If you want to just sit and talk, we can. If you want to leave, I'll call you a car."  

My breath hitched.  

Despite the arrogance I sensed, he was giving me control.

I swallowed, then stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt. "I don't want to leave."  

His golden eyes darkened, his fingers grazing her hip, slow, deliberate. "Then tell me what you want."  

My pulse pounded.  

I wasn't used to being asked.  

I wasn't used to choosing.

So, I met his gaze, steady and certain.  

"I want you to kiss me."  

He exhaled, then leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that was demanding.

His hands never wandered without permission.  

His lips coaxed.  

And when his fingers trailed down my back, gripping my waist, he whispered, "Still okay?"  

I let out a shaky breath. "Yes."  

His grip tightened, and when he deepened the kiss, I melted into him.