A massive bedroom. The kind of place where the price tag doesn't get mentioned. Cream walls, dark hardwood floors, a designer armchair in the corner that probably cost more than my monthly rent. High ceilings, understated chandelier. The whole room could've swallowed my entire apartment—living room, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, all of it.
I sat up, memories trickling back.
Enzo barging into my place. The fight. The sex. Him saying I was his now, that I couldn't live in that shithole anymore.
I remembered being scooped up and stuffed into a black sedan. His chest against my face, steady heartbeat. The drive lasted forever or five minutes, I couldn't tell—I'd drifted in and out in his arms.
Something about this being my home now. Maybe he'd said it. Maybe I'd dreamed it.
Turned out it was real.
I climbed out of bed, found my way down a long hallway to the first floor.
Open concept. Living room and kitchen flowing together. Dark rug, leather sectional around a fireplace.
I was still taking it all in when a voice came from behind me.
"You're up."
Enzo. From the kitchen. I turned. He stood by the coffee maker in a black pullover and gray joggers, barefoot. First time I'd seen him out of a suit. Years younger like this. Less intimidating. Something else I couldn't name.
He walked over with two mugs and handed me one. "You can go back to bed. No rush."
"What about the club? I have work."
"Not anymore." He sipped his coffee. "Your contract's done. Drew won't charge you the penalty. You're finished with that place."
My mouth opened, but he didn't give me space to speak.
"The deed transfers this week. This place is yours."
Relief washed through me at never having to go back to that goddamn basement. But unease crept in right behind it.
Enzo was steamrolling my entire life without asking. No room for me to choose anything.
"You could've at least asked."
He set his mug down, stepped close.
Too tall. I had to crane my neck to see his face.
"Chloe." His voice dropped. "This is nothing to me. You'll have more. We can fight about it if you want—you're hot when you're pissed."
Heat flooded my face. I looked away. "I didn't do anything to earn this."
"You made me want you. That's enough."
His fingers caught my chin, turned my face back. He leaned down, eyes half-closed, stupidly attractive. But I stepped back, dodged the kiss.
"Controlling."
"Thanks." A smile. Not annoyed at all.
"For a big-ticket client, your service attitude sucks."
Enzo rarely smiled. When he did, it never meant relaxation—usually meant things were about to get ugly.
But this smile was different. Easy. Warm. Made my heart lurch.
