Weeks after.
Every day, Aidan saw her — quiet, sweet, dressed in clothes that didn't hug her body. But he noticed her body. Every damn curve. Every flutter of her lashes. Every small, unconscious lip bite.
And it drove him insane.
He started watching her more than he should. Cancelled meetings just to pass her desk. Moved his own schedule just to be around her.
It wasn't desire anymore. It was hunger.
A dull ache in his chest that only got louder the more he saw her.
And then, it happened.
Zara was laughing — with another man.
It was a young executive, maybe late 20s, harmless. But the way she threw her head back and smiled — that smile — it wasn't his.
And Aidan saw red.
He called her into his office, locked the door behind her, and stared.
She looked nervous. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Why were you laughing with him?" he asked.
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I asked a question."
"I—he said something funny. It wasn't a crime."
Aidan stepped forward, eyes dark. "You don't laugh like that around men."
Zara looked up at him, defiant. "You don't own me."
"No," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But I will."
Then, without warning, his hand slid around her waist and pulled her flush against him. His lips hovered an inch from hers, his breath hot and angry.
"I'm warning you, Zara," he whispered. "Don't make me want you more than I already do."
And with that… he let her go.
But not before brushing his fingers down her spine — like a silent promise.