You followed him into the hush of the penthouse, your hands clasped tightly together. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, his mouth found yours. The kiss was rich, complex, and intoxicating, just like the expensive cologne he wore and the panoramic view that stretched beyond the windows.

Until this very second, Harry’s life had been an enigma. You'd gathered clues: the luxury car, the exclusive neighborhood, the private driver. But it wasn't until you stepped across this threshold that you fully grasped the world this man inhabited.

"Harry-" you began, but the sound was swallowed by another kiss. His hands, gentle yet decisive, moved from your shoulders down the fabric of your coat, shrugging it free. He treated you with a soft reverence, as if you were something precious and easily broken.

"Please don't," he whispered against your mouth, a low plea. He knew the questions brewing inside you: Who are you? What do you do? How much do you make? They were the same questions everyone asked, and he wanted them silenced.

His lips trailed down the column of your neck, guiding you, step by slow step, toward what you assumed was the bedroom. But your eyes kept snagging on the sheer lavishness of his domain. That immense, hand-knotted rug running down the long hallway, it would take you years to save for, and it wouldn't even fit in your small apartment.

You paused, your gaze lingering on the vast, minimalist living room. He noticed your hesitation and pulled you back to him with a gentle tug. Despite the million thoughts you could see swirling behind his eyes, a faint smile curved his lips. He pressed you against the cool, smooth wall, claiming your mouth once more, before you could utter a single word about the luxury surrounding you.