Nova POV
The heat of Grant’s palm lingered long after he walked out, branding and leaving trembling and unsatisfied on the cold marble.
My body was a riot of need, every nerve begging, furious and humming for more of him. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always knew.
The worst part of all this is that dream-Grant didn’t leave stranded. In that blurred fever of sleep, I’d co apart twice, maybe three tis, writhing shalessly under the phantom weight of him.
Real Grant, though... real Grant was a bastard. He built the fire and then starved with it, like he was testing how long it would take for to break.
I told myself to forget it. To shake him out of . To claw him out of my veins. But when I slipped my hand between my thighs, the truth slicked over my fingers, I was drenched.
My body didn’t care about logic, or pride, or the gnawing suspicion that he was only playing .
"Fuck,"
I whispered, arching into my own touch, hating myself for wanting more, hating him for planting this fever in .
The thin pajamas were only in the way, so I peeled them down slowly, deliberately, pretending it was a striptease for him.
Pretending he was watching with that cruel smirk, arms crossed, eyes burning holes into . The air prickled against my bare skin, goosebumps racing down my arms as if his gaze had burned there.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror, flushed cheeks, parted lips, pupils blown wide like a girl drowning in desire.
I didn’t look like . I looked like so unhinged, unraveling version of myself, too caught up in the idea of being owned, even though I swore I hated him for it.
The shower hissed alive, its steam curling around . The spray kissed my skin, hot and heavy, like a hundred tiny mouths. I closed my eyes and imagined his hands instead, sliding the washcloth over my stomach, tracing slow circles around my breasts, pinching my nipples until I gasped.
I leaned into the tiles, back arched, thighs parting, giving myself over to the fantasy. The water wasn’t water anymore. It was him. His mouth at my neck. His voice rasping against my ear. His hands forcing open, keeping there.
The ache built until it was unbearable. I tossed the cloth aside and grabbed the toothbrush, the hum vibrating like a wicked secret in my palm.
The first press against my clit made cry out, the sound swallowed by the roar of the shower. My hips bucked forward, greedy, shaless, desperate.
"Grant..." His na ripped out of , raw and needy, like a prayer, like a curse.
I pressed harder, faster, the fantasy devouring . His mouth at my throat. His fingers curling inside . His command echoing: Beg .
"Yes—please—don’t stop, please—" My own voice startled , high-pitched, broken, frantic.
The orgasm ripped through violently, my thighs quivering, my body bucking against nothing. Pleasure tore open, left boneless, clinging to slick tile as the water rushed over .
But even in the afterglow, panting, heart racing, a sharp thought sliced through the haze:
What if that was exactly what he wanted?
To leave undone. Needy enough to confess anything. To test how easily I’d bend.
And God help , because if it was a test, I was already failing.
By the ti I dressed for work, the usual bubbly version of had died for the day. My reflection looked pale and distracted. I told myself it was exhaustion, but I knew better. It was him. Always him draining the life out of .
I padded down the staircase carefully, silently praying I wouldn’t bump into my nesis. The last thing I needed was another embarrassing incident.
Unfortunately, fate didn’t give a damn about my prayers. Grant was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, broad-shouldered and smug, with his ever-present shadow, Ivan, looming nearby. His bodyguard’s eyes were fixed sowhere detached and distant, as if none of this concerned him. But I knew better. If I misstepped even slightly, he wouldn’t hesitate to take down.
"Good morning, Mr. Calloway,"
I muttered stiffly, clinging to the formalities in public. Grant was "Mr. Calloway" to the world. Grant was for the shadows where he undid .
"Ohhh..." His smirk spread lazily. "My morning is good already, Nova."
The audacity of this man. The arrogance.
"From today, we’ll go to work together whenever I’m around," he continued, striding toward the waiting Rolls Royce, its engine purring like a beast.
"When I’m not, the drivers will pick you up."
My stomach twisted. "No need for additional inconvenience, Mr. Calloway. I’ve imposed on you enough."
The thought of being trapped in a car with him, confined and cornered, felt like torture. I wasn’t sure I’d survive it without either combusting or stabbing him with a pen.
"It’s no inconvenience," he said smoothly, "especially since you’re a walking target for an attack on ."
I froze. My blood turned to ice. How did he know about Sandy? That psychotic, obsessed woman...
"I’m capable of defending myself. Sir." I forced steel into my tone. I wouldn’t let him paint as helpless.
"So far you’ve done a poor job," he replied flatly. "Get in, Nova. We’re running late."
I wanted to snap sothing sarcastic, sothing cutting, but Ivan shifted beside him, a not so subtle reminder that disobedience had consequences. I swallowed my pride and slid into the back seat.
The gossip this would stir alone was enough to make want to bury myself alive. Sandy had already nearly broken . If she found out I was being chauffeured around with Grant? She’d go rabid.
Grant slipped in beside , filling the car with his presence. Ivan sat up front, silent as ever. The air thickened, heavy, suffocating.
"Why do you dress like a grandma?" His voice broke the silence, sharp and amused.
I turned to him, incredulous. "I dress to be comfortable. That doesn’t make a grandma."
"Sa thing."
I scoffed. "Picking comfort over fashion isn’t a cri. Not everyone can afford custom made Armani and Tom Ford."
"Hm." His eyes glinted. "But you could fuck your way up if you wanted. Have your own custom designers."
My jaw dropped. What the actual hell was wrong with him?
"No. Thank you."
"Whenever you change your mind..." His smirk deepened. "Let know."
I hissed internally, turning to the window, refusing to feed his ego further.
His phone rang, cutting the tension. I listened to his clipped responses of "Yes." "No." "Let’s see." Every word was curt and controlled in a lethal way.
As the office lood closer, I tapped on the divider. "Please... can you drop outside the gate? I’d rather go in separately."
Ivan ignored .
My gaze slid to Grant, the only one who could overrule him. "Please."
"There’s no need," he said coolly. "The sooner people know you’re mine, the better."
My chest tightened. Rage flared hot and shaky.
"But I’m not yours. I don’t belong to you."
I was trembling now, voice sharp, breaking. He played hot and cold, intoxicating one second, cruel the next. I couldn’t take it anymore. He was confusing , pulling apart, and I hated how much I wanted him even while I despised his gas.
He didn’t flinch. "With ti, you’ll realize you’ve always belonged to , nymph."
"My na is Nova." My voice was ice. I shoved the door open, slamming it behind before rushing toward the elevators.
But of course, the lift betrayed , taking its sweet ti. And of course, he and Ivan towered behind within seconds.
"Don’t you dare walk out on again," he said, voice low, dangerous.
"There won’t be a next ti," I snapped, fire and foolish pride colliding.
"Don’t talk when I’m talking," he warned, his voice calm but edged with sothing lethal.
Silence stretched, suffocating. I bit my tongue, my pulse loud in my ears. I’d read enough books to know: push a man like him too far, and you won’t like the consequences.
The elevator doors finally opened. I stord out first and straight into Mr. Aaron Smith.
"Why did you leave your office laptop unlocked overnight?" he barked, spitting accusations like bullets.
"What? No, I didn’t—" My voice faltered. I knew I’d shut it down. I rechecked twice.
"Well, your laptop has been spamming company folders with sensitive information," he snapped. "You’ve always been a disappointnt."
My chest cracked. The words pierced deeper than I expected, leaving cold, small.
Before I could recover, Grant’s voice cut like a whip behind .
"You’re not in a position to call her—or anyone—a disappointnt. Seeing as it’s your middle na."
Aaron stamred, paling. "Yes, sir. Apologies, boss. I didn’t—"
"Call an ergency eting," Grant ordered, his tone final, dangerous. "We have a mole in our midst."
And just like that, my world tilted again.
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