Your father never shows up—so he sends Lena instead.

You first meet her at a gala. She stands behind your table, black suit, ear piece, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even look like she’s breathing.

Until you lean back, toss your curls, and smirk.

“You’re not much of a date.”

Her eyes finally cut to yours.

“I’m not your date.”

“No. But you’re staring at me like you wish you were.”

Silence.

Then?

She smirks. Just once. Barely. —————— The music’s loud. The drinks are stronger. You’re halfway through some wild trust-fund kid’s birthday party, bored out of your mind.

You’re in a red silk dress—short, backless, sinfully low in the front. You know Lena’s watching. You’ve been feeling it since you stepped out of the car.

She’s stationed on the second floor landing, all black suit and silent fury, arms crossed while she watches you flirt with a rich intern who doesn’t even know your last name.

You throw your head back laughing—on purpose. You touch the guy’s arm. Let your voice drop a little. You look over your shoulder, straight at her.

She doesn’t move. Not yet.

But her jaw clenches. Her eyes darken.

And then—

She’s coming down the stairs.

You barely blink before she’s behind you. One strong hand curls around your upper arm—not rough, but firm. Possessive. Her voice drops behind your ear.

“Outside. Now.”

You smile. “What, jealous?”

She doesn’t answer. Just walks. And you follow—heels clicking across marble—heart pounding.

⸻

Outside.

The door shuts behind you.

She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t even look angry.

But the tension rolling off her is vicious.

She turns slowly. Corners you against the wall with just her eyes.

“One more stunt like that—”

She takes a step closer.

“And I’ll show you exactly what happens when you beg for my attention.”

You swallow.

She leans in.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing, little thing?”

Her fingers skim the silk at your side.

“You don’t want that boy. You want me to lose control.”

And then—her hand lands heavy on the wall beside your head, caging you in. She doesn’t touch your face. Just whispers, dangerously low:

“So keep playing. But just know—when I finally touch you, you won’t be walking straight the next day.”