Back in my room, I collapse onto the bed, phone clutched tight in my fist. My chest aches with guilt and relief and something like grief. I replay the last five minutes on a loop—what I did, what could have happened, the sound of my father’s voice and the image of Leon’s hands, the way each of them wants to carve me into something useful. I want to scream, to cry, to undo every choice that led me here.
Except I can’t. I can only lie there, waiting for the consequences I know are coming, wishing for once that someone would ask what I want, instead of what I’m willing to give up.
The line I crossed is behind me now. All that’s left is to see how far I’ll fall.
I lie on my bed, pulse still fluttering, the weight of what I’ve done pressing down on my chest. The room feels colder now,vast and unfriendly, shadows stretching long across the floor. I stare at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing, but the fear refuses to let go. Every sound in the hallway makes me jump, convinced that Leon will burst in, demanding answers I’m not ready to give.
My phone is still warm in my hand—a silent witness, a loaded gun. I want to throw it across the room, to undo the last half hour, but I can’t.
All I can do is wait, heart hammering, caught between guilt and dread, wishing for any escape.
Chapter Twenty - Leon
One of the senior staff inform me that Suzy is snooping in my office. I leave it just long enough she thinks she’s gotten away with it, before I summon her.
The moment I step into my office, I know something is wrong. The air feels different—charged, as if the room itself is holding its breath.
Suzy sits on the edge of my desk, legs swinging idly, skirt slipping up over her knees. She looks up at me with a smile that is not a smile at all—a flash of teeth, a warning, a dare. Her eyes are bright with something I can’t quite name: mischief, maybe, or the edge of something darker.
I close the door quietly, the click loud in the hush. I don’t cross to her yet, watching instead, as if she’s some wild animal I might spook, or might bite if I get too close. I can’t read her—her expression is carefully arranged, all indifference and subtle threat.
“Did you need something yesterday?” I ask, voice flat and measured. I force myself not to show the tension winding through my body.
She shrugs, picks up a pen from the desk, and twirls it between her fingers. “Just a novel,” she says, her tone light, a mockery of domesticity. “You work too much, Leon. Isn’t this what you wanted? All your enemies at bay, a perfect wife to keep your desk tidy and your bed warm?”
There’s a glitter in her eyes, something sharp and sly. Every time I try to get a read on her, she slips away, answering questions with questions, letting silence stretch until I’m forced to fill it.
She’s playing with me—baiting me, prodding at my patience, always just out of reach. The undercurrent is unmistakable: she’s hiding something, and she wants me to know it.
I take a slow step closer, refusing to be rattled. “You’ve never kept anything tidy in your life,” I murmur, letting my gaze travel over her, daring her to flinch. “I’m not sure about the wife part.”
She grins, teeth flashing. “Maybe you should’ve read the fine print.”
Her teasing is a blade, and I can’t help but let it slide beneath my skin. Every word she throws is a challenge, every shift of her body calculated to provoke.
I see her glance at the drawer she shouldn’t know about, the faint tremor in her hand when she sets the pen down, the restless swing of her ankles. I know she’s avoiding something, but I don’t know what—and it drives me wild.
I move closer, bracing my hands on the desk on either side of her hips, trapping her in place. She leans back on her palms, crossing her ankles, eyes flicking up at me from under her lashes.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, a warning and a promise.
She only smirks, tilting her head so our faces are a breath apart. “You like danger,” she whispers, lips almost brushing mine. Her defiance sparks something in me: hot, fierce, impossible to resist. I should step back, demand the truth, force her to confess whatever it is she’s hiding.
The tension snaps. I catch her by the waist, dragging her flush against me, forcing her thighs apart so I can step between them.
She laughs, breathless and wild, and wraps her arms around my neck, yanking me down until my mouth crashes against hers. There’s nothing soft in the way we kiss—no caution, no restraint. Just hunger, dark and urgent, a need that drowns out thought.
Her hands are in my hair, nails biting my scalp, her legs locking around my hips. I grip her thighs, hiking her skirt higher, baring smooth skin to my touch. She’s molten beneath me, heat and danger and everything I’ve ever wanted to possess.
I shove the papers and pens aside, the desk trembling beneath us, my hands slipping under her skirt to grip the bare curve of her ass.
She meets me with matching ferocity, kissing me back hard, biting at my lip, her breath hot and uneven.
Suzy breaks away just long enough to murmur, “Go on, then. Show me what you want, Leon.”
I don’t need another invitation. My mouth is at her throat, kissing, biting, leaving marks I hope will last. I drag her panties down, tearing them from her hips in one rough movement, tossing them aside.
My fingers find her slick and ready, and I press two inside her without preamble, curling to find the spot that makes her gasp and arch, her nails scoring lines into my shoulders.
