I didn't knock.

I was too angry. Too desperate. Too ashamed.

The door slammed behind me as I stepped into Leon's penthouse, rain still dripping from the hem of my dress. My chest heaved. My throat ached. All I could hear was my brother's voice echoing in my head: *"They said I've got a week. Then they'll come for me."*

And I knew exactly what that meant.

The penthouse was silent except for the soft hum of city traffic far below. Dim golden light spilled from overhead, pooling on marble floors and the sleek edges of designer furniture. It smelled like leather, scotch, and something faintly spicy-him.

Leon was already standing by the window when I barged in, as if he'd been waiting. He didn't look surprised. Just calm, unreadable. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a lowball glass half-full of amber whiskey. The rain shimmered behind him, streaking down the massive windows like tears the sky couldn't stop.

"I need your help," I said, my voice thinner than I expected. "He's in trouble, Leon. Really bad trouble. He borrowed from people who don't ask twice."

Leon turned slowly, glass of whiskey in hand, his gray eyes locking on mine. Cold. Calm. Dangerous. That look alone could freeze blood.

"And you came here. To me."

"You're the only one who can fix this," I said. "Please. He's your stepson too-"

"No," he cut in, voice like cut steel. "He's your brother. I married your mother, not your mess."

The words sliced through the air, final and unyielding.

A beat passed. My fingers curled at my sides.

Then I stepped closer. "I'll do anything."

His eyes narrowed. I could see the exact moment the shift happened-the way his gaze slid down the curve of my body, the way his jaw tightened. The temperature in the room dropped, or maybe it was just me.

He didn't speak right away. The air felt thick. Charged.

"Anything," he repeated, slowly, deliberately. "You sure you know what that means, little girl?"

"I'm not a little girl," I snapped. My cheeks burned, but I held my ground. "I'm old enough. I know what I'm offering."

He set his glass down with a soft *clink*. The sound was deafening in the silence. Then he walked toward me, unhurried, like a wolf circling something fragile. His movements were fluid, controlled-like he owned every second between us.

My breath caught.

When he reached me, he didn't touch me-just stood close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. The air between us felt electric, like static before a lightning strike.

"I've watched you grow up in my house," he murmured. "Pretending not to notice the way you looked at me. You thought I didn't see it?"

"I wasn't pretending," I whispered.

There. It was out. Naked and exposed.

His hand lifted-slow, deliberate-brushing a strand of wet hair from my cheek. His thumb lingered on my skin, calloused and warm. My heart slammed against my ribs.

"I'm not a good man, Elara," he said. "You give yourself to me, there's no going back."

"I'm not asking for good," I breathed. "I'm asking for help."

Another silence. His fingers slid down my neck, slow and possessive. A shiver followed in their wake.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn't soft.

It was a warning. A claim. A fire I'd never felt before.

And I kissed him back.

My fingers clenched the front of his shirt, my legs trembling beneath me. Every part of me was aware that this was wrong. But it didn't matter. Nothing had ever felt this right.

He pulled back just enough to speak.

"Upstairs. My room. Wait for me there. If you lock the door, I'll walk away. If not..." His voice dropped to a growl. "Then you're mine tonight."

I nodded, heart hammering against my ribs.

And I went.

My legs felt like they weren't mine as I climbed the stairs-each step heavier than the last, each one echoing through the silence like a promise. My fingers brushed the banister, cold under my touch, grounding me.

I knew this place. I'd tiptoed around it growing up. The penthouse was always Leon's territory. Off-limits. Untouchable. Just like him.

But tonight, I was invited in.

When I reached his bedroom, I paused. My hand hovered over the doorknob. The door was half-open, just enough to show the low amber lighting spilling across crisp sheets and the edge of the dark headboard.

I stepped inside.

The room was minimal but lush-charcoal linens, soft lighting, a faint scent of sandalwood and something deeper... darker. The way he lived mirrored how he was: sharp, elegant, controlled.

I stood there, soaked and trembling, every sense heightened. I didn't dare sit. Didn't dare move more than a few inches into the room.

I could still walk away.

I could close this door. Lock it.

I didn't.

Instead, I peeled off my coat, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. My dress clung to me, soaked through, the thin fabric almost transparent now. My nipples were tight peaks beneath it, chilled from the rain-or anticipation. Maybe both.

The air in the room felt warmer now, but my skin buzzed like static.

I moved to the bed, slowly, and sat at the edge. I didn't try to look seductive. I didn't know how. But my thighs pressed together instinctively, heat blooming between them. My heart hadn't stopped its frantic rhythm.

Minutes passed.

Then I heard the creak of the stairs.

Every nerve in my body came alive.

He was coming.

The doorknob turned-deliberate, slow.

Leon stepped in like he owned the space-and me with it. His jacket was gone. His shirt sleeves rolled up. His expression unreadable, but his eyes burned.

He closed the door behind him with a soft *click*. Final.

His gaze swept over me-legs, hips, chest, lips. My breath hitched. I wanted to cover myself. I wanted him to look harder.

"You didn't lock the door," he said.

"No," I breathed.

"Good girl."

He moved closer, his steps measured. My pulse pounded in my ears.

He stopped in front of me, towering, heat radiating off him in waves. His fingers reached down, brushing the strap of my dress from my shoulder.

It slipped down my arm like silk.

Then the other strap.

Then silence.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice like smoke and sin. "Right now. And I will."

I looked up at him, my lips parted, heart thudding.

"Don't."

Something raw flickered in his eyes. Then he reached for the hem of my dress and pulled.

Slowly. Carefully.

Like unwrapping something precious.

And I let him.