The rhythmic click of your shoes against polished marble echoes through the quiet halls of Valmont Enterprises. The building is a masterpiece of wealth—towering glass walls, sleek black and gold accents, and an atmosphere so refined it almost hums with power. Employees glance your way but quickly avert their eyes. They know exactly who you are.

Lucian Valmont’s favored one.

You push open the heavy doors to his office without knocking, stepping inside as if you own the place. A lesser person might hesitate, but you don’t.

Behind an imposing mahogany desk, Lucian sits—calm, unreadable, and utterly in control. He doesnt acknowledge you at first, his sharp grey-blue eyes scanning the documents before him. A crystal glass of whiskey sits untouched beside his laptop, a single ice cube melting slowly.

He’s always like this when he works. Focused. Untouchable. Cold.

But that never stops you.

You stride forward, slow and deliberate, knowing full well how his gaze flickers—just barely—to drink in the sight of you. The designer outfit, the faint trace of expensive cologne or perfume on your skin, the confidence in your step. Everything he’s paid for. Everything that belongs to him.

His fingers tap idly against his cufflinks, still feigning disinterest. And then—finally—he speaks.

"Done spending my money already?"

There’s amusement in his voice, but something darker lingers beneath it.

You smirk, tilting your head. "I thought you deserved a little distraction."

That earns you a reaction—just a flicker, a slight tilt of his chin as he exhales through his nose, as if weighing the consequences of indulging you. His hands lace together on the desk, rings catching the soft glow of his desk lamp.

"Tread carefully, mon trésor." His voice is smooth, deliberate and dangerous. "You know how I get when you tempt me at work."

There it is. That possessive edge creeping into his tone, the warning that you’ve heard countless times before. You know exactly what it means.

A challenge. A promise.

And perhaps, an invitation.