(Amira's POV)
The mansion felt too quiet.
Every sound; my footsteps, the ticking clock on the wall, and the hum of the distant city seemed louder than usual. I stood in front of the huge window in my new room, staring out at the sea of lights below. This part of it looked like a different world. A world I wasn't sure I belonged to.
I wrapped my arms around myself and breathed in the faint scent of lemon and leather that lingered in the air. Everything about this house smelled like money, discipline, and control like Leonardo Vance.
I hadn't seen him since he dropped me off earlier that evening. A maid had shown me to my room, handed me a soft robe, and told me dinner would be served by eight o clock. I didn't know what to expect, but part of me hoped he wouldn't come down. Because if he did… I didn't trust myself to look him in the eye without remembering what I'd agreed to.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Leonardo: Dinner is ready. Don't keep me waiting.
No "please." Just an order.
My stomach flipped. I checked my reflection in the mirror, my hair was slightly messy from unpacking, and my simple black dress clung a little too close to my skin. I swallowed hard, then straightened my shoulders.
"You can do this, Amira," I whispered to myself. "It's just dinner. With your… boss."
I walked downstairs, each step echoing on the marble staircase. When I reached the dining room, I froze.
He was already there, seated at the head of the long table. The glow from the chandelier reflected off his crisp white shirt and dark hair. He looked up slowly when I entered, eyes catching mine for a moment that felt far too long.
"You're late," he said simply.
"I..." I opened my mouth to explain but stopped. He didn't seem angry, just… unreadable.
"I'm sorry," I said softly, taking the seat he gestured to, right across from him.
The table between us was filled with elegant dishes I could barely name: grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and a bottle of red wine. It felt wrong eating such expensive food when I still remembered nights I'd gone to bed hungry.
He poured the wine without asking if I wanted any. "You should eat," he said.
I nodded, forcing a small bite of food into my mouth. It tasted incredible, but I could barely swallow. I was too aware of his gaze on me steady, assessing, almost curious.
After a few minutes of silence, he spoke.
"You're quiet."
"I'm… just not used to all this," I admitted. "The house. The food. You."
His eyebrow lifted slightly. "Me?"
"I mean..." I bit my lip, regretting what I said earlier.
For a second, I thought I saw an expression of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone too fast to be sure.
"You'll adjust," he said. "People always do."
There was something about the way he said it like he'd seen it happen before, over and over. Girls like me walking into his world, pretending they could handle it.
I looked up at him. "Why me, Mr. Vance? You could have chosen anyone."
His fork paused midair. He set it down carefully. "Because you said no."
I blinked. "What?"
"The first time we met," he said, leaning back slightly. "You didn't try to impress me. You didn't flirt. You didn't beg. You just wanted a chance. That's… rare."
My heart raced. I didn't know whether to be flattered or afraid.
"Don't overthink it," he added quickly, as if reading my thoughts. "It's just an observation."
"Right," I said quietly, staring down at my plate.
The rest of the dinner passed in awkward silence. Every time I looked up, he was already watching me. I didn't know what he was looking for or if he even knew himself.
Afterward, he stood. "Follow me."
My heart skipped. "Where?"
He didn't answer. I hesitated, then pushed my chair back and followed him out of the dining room. We walked down a long hallway until we reached a heavy door. He opened it.
It was a library. Shelves filled with books, and a fireplace crackling in the corner. The air smelled like old paper and cedarwood.
He turned to face me. "This is where I come to think," he said. "If you need quiet, you can use it too."
"Oh… thank you," I said softly, surprised.
He studied me for a moment. "You look afraid of me."
"I'm not," I lied.
He tilted his head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You should be."
Something in his tone made my breath catch, not because it was threatening, but because it was honest. I didn't understand what kind of danger he meant. Emotional? Personal? Or something exclusive.
He took a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "Remember your boundaries, Amira," he said quietly. "Don't forget what you signed up for."
"I haven't signed yet," I said before I could stop myself.
"You will."He smiled just barely.
Then he turned and left, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall until I was alone.
I sank onto the couch, staring into the fire. My hands trembled, though I didn't know why. "Maybe because he was right or maybe because I was already too deep into something I didn't understand." I thought.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly in the distance. Inside, my heartbeat echoed louder than the rain.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face; the calm, unreadable expression, the way he'd said, "You will."
And deep down, I knew he was right.
Whatever this was between us, it had already started.