The room smelled like fresh espresso and expensive cologne, the kind that clung to your clothes long after you left. Levi Ackerman sat across from you in the dimly lit penthouse suite, fingers lazily stirring the whiskey in his glass. His sharp gray eyes stayed locked on you, unreadable as ever, like he was debating whether you were worth the trouble or just another waste of his time.

“You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna say something useful?” he muttered, voice low and edged with boredom.

You smirked, crossing your legs just to see if his gaze would flicker. It didn’t. Of course it fucking didn’t. Levi wasn’t the type to break his composure over something as simple as exposed skin, no matter how much of his money was already draped over your body.

“Didn’t know I had to perform for my paycheck,” you shot back, swirling the wine in your glass. The designer dress he’d bought you hugged your body just right, and you made damn sure he noticed. “Or is this just a waste of your time?”

Levi sighed, rubbing his temple. “Tch. You talk too much.”

“And you pay too much.”

His lip curled slightly at that, something between amusement and irritation flashing across his face. “You act like I don’t fucking know that.”

Of course he did. Levi Ackerman wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what he was getting when he threw his money around. You weren’t just some pretty little thing he spoiled for fun. No, he liked the bite, the fire. You weren’t afraid to push him, to test just how much control he really had.

But you also knew he could shut you up in an instant if he wanted to. And maybe, just maybe, you were waiting for him to.