The morning after wasn't soft.
There were no lazy smiles, no whispered apologies, no tangled sheets soaked in sunlight.
There was only Rafael.
Standing shirtless at the edge of the bedroom, jaw sharp, hands tucked into his slacks, and staring at her like she was the only thing he'd ever claimed that truly mattered.
Aaria sat up slowly, her body sore in all the places he had touched, kissed, and broken her open the night before.
"Do you always stare like that?" she asked, voice hoarse.
"Only at what I own."
Her stomach twisted, but she didn't deny it. Not anymore. Last night had shattered whatever fragile resistance she'd been clinging to.
She wasn't just with Rafael now.
She was his.
He walked toward her slowly, leaned over, and placed a kiss at her collarbone.
Then his phone rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
This time, he picked it up, jaw tightening.
Aaria watched his eyes darken as he listened. He said nothing. Just ended the call, slid the phone into his pocket, and turned back to her with a look she couldn't read.
"What happened?" she asked.
"There are rumors," he said. "Whispers from last night. Someone took photos of us entering the penthouse."
Her chest went cold. "And?"
"And now your name is trending."
Intern in CEO's bed.
The college girl and the billionaire.
How she bought her power.
Aaria's throat clenched.
"Of course," she muttered. "This was always going to happen."
Rafael's expression shifted into something lethal.
"No, Aaria. They made the mistake. And now I will remind them what it costs to touch what's mine."
"You can't just—"
But he was already dialing someone.
"Gabriel. Find out who leaked it. Fire them. Sue them. End their career so publicly their children will be blacklisted."
Her mouth fell open.
"You're serious."
"I don't make threats," he said. "I set fire."
That afternoon, Aaria's name vanished from the trending list. A suspicious 'data breach' was blamed for the photos. Three media outlets issued apologies. Two bloggers deactivated overnight.
And Rafael?
He sat in his office like a king who'd just burned a village to protect his queen.
But Aaria… was no longer sure what she was being protected from.
Or for.
Later that night, she found herself wandering the hallway of his penthouse again. One door she hadn't opened yet—the one across from her room.
She turned the knob.
It wasn't locked.
Inside: black walls, a glass desk, shelves of weapons—not guns, but knives. Blades. Files. Dossiers.
And on the wall opposite the desk… photos.
Of her.
Different places. Different outfits. Some from before she even joined the internship.
Her blood turned to ice.
"Beautiful, aren't you?"
Rafael's voice echoed from the doorway.
She spun around. "What the hell is this?"
He stepped in, calm. Collected. Cold.
"I needed to know who you were."
"Before you even met me?"
His silence was answer enough.
"You were watching me."
"I was protecting you."
"You were tracking me."
He stepped closer. "You think I waited for you to fall into my world by accident?"
"You manipulated me—"
"No," he cut her off. "I built a world where you could finally be seen. Where your past couldn't find you. Where I could."
She didn't know if she wanted to run or scream or fall into his arms and never leave again.
Because somehow, his madness made her feel safe.
And that terrified her more than anything.