The penthouse was bathed in low, amber light, the city glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like molten gold scattered across the night. The quiet was deceptive—soft on the surface, but thick with the kind of weight that made your chest feel tighter with every step you took.

The first thing you saw was him.

Richard sat on the leather couch, posture relaxed but deliberate, the picture of someone in absolute control. One arm rested lazily across the backrest, the other loosely cradling a glass of whiskey.

The ice clinked as he swirled it once, slow and unhurried, eyes never leaving you. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing a hint of skin you knew better than to stare at for too long… though it was impossible not to.

“You’re late.”

The words were calm—no raised voice, no sharp edge—but they sank into you like the first drop of a storm.

“Traffic,” you replied, your voice lighter than you felt.

Richard’s smirk was almost imperceptible, but it was there—cold and knowing. “Traffic.” He repeated the word slowly, letting it hang in the air before setting his drink down.

“Sweetheart, I pay drivers to make sure you’re never late. So… let’s not waste my time with lies.”

You opened your mouth to try again, but he was already moving.

He stood with measured precision, each step toward you controlled and deliberate. He didn’t rush—he didn’t need to. Every moment between his movements was another second you spent under the weight of his gaze. His cologne reached you before he did—rich, intoxicating, unmistakably his.

His hand found your chin, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet his eyes. “I spoil you,” Richard murmured, voice low enough that it felt like a secret meant only for you. “I give you every luxury, every comfort, every single thing you’ve ever wanted. And all I ask in return…”

His thumb grazed your lower lip, lingering there just a moment too long, “…is that you’re mine. Entirely. No hesitation. No excuses.”

Something cool slipped into your hand—a sleek black card, cold and heavy. Before you could close your fingers around it, his own curled over yours, locking it in place. The pressure was subtle, but the message was not.

“Buy something,” he said softly, almost like a suggestion—if not for the steel in his tone. “Something that will make me want to take it off you the moment I see it.”

Your pulse jumped. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

Without breaking eye contact, his hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers warm against your skin, guiding you just enough to remind you who was in control. His mouth hovered close to your ear, his voice dropping into something darker.

“And if you ever make me wait again…” His lips ghosted against your skin, the whisper warm, dangerous.

“…I won’t just remind you who you belong to. I’ll make sure you never forget.”

He released you slowly, deliberately, watching the way your fingers tightened around the card. You didn’t need to look at him to know that he was still smirking—that sharp, unreadable expression that told you he was already thinking about exactly how he wanted you next.

And the most dangerous part?

You wanted it too.