Amira's POV)
I barely slept that night.
The message on my phone replayed in my mind over and over again:
> "Sleeping with the boss never ends well."
I'd tried to ignore it and believe it was just a cruel prank. But the fear wouldn't leave. Someone at the company knew something—or thought they did. And that meant I had to be more careful.
By morning, I'd made up my mind to talk to Mr. Vance. Maybe it was time to quit. Maybe walking away was the only way to protect myself.
But when I stepped into his office that morning, he was already waiting.
"Close the door," he said.
His tone was calm, but his eyes—those sharp gray eyes—were darker than usual. I obeyed silently.
He motioned for me to sit. I did, hands folded tightly in my lap. The air felt heavy between us.
"There are too many eyes watching us," he began. "And I don't like being watched."
I swallowed hard. "Neither do I."
He looked at me then, long and steady. "Good. Because from now on, there are going to be rules."
I blinked. "Rules?"
"Yes," he said simply. "Rules that will protect both of us."
Something in his voice made my heart race. It wasn't cold—it was controlled. Too controlled. Like he was trying to keep something deeper from slipping through.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands clasped. "Rule one—you don't come to my office unless I call for you."
"Okay," I whispered.
"Rule two—you leave the mansion by seven every morning and come back after work. No one should think you live there permanently."
That stung. I nodded slowly. "Understood."
"Rule three—you don't talk to the press. Ever. If anyone asks questions about your job, you tell them nothing."
"I wasn't planning to," I murmured.
His gaze flicked to my bracelet—the one he'd left on my bed. "And you don't wear gifts from me in public."
My eyes widened. "So it was from you."
He didn't deny it. "That was a mistake."
Something in my chest twisted. "A mistake?"
He looked away for the first time. "It wasn't appropriate."
I forced a small, painful smile. "You mean it was too personal."
He didn't answer. The silence between us said enough.
Finally, he spoke again. "Rule four—you keep your distance. At work, we're employer and employee. That's all."
My throat tightened. "And outside of work?"
His jaw tensed. For a long time, he said nothing. Then, quietly—
"Outside of work, you remember rule four."
The words hit harder than I expected. I nodded, staring at the floor. "Anything else?"
He stood slowly and walked around the desk until he was standing right beside me. The scent of his cologne—clean, sharp, and warm—made it hard to breathe.
"Yes," he said softly. "One more rule."
I looked up. "What's that?"
"Don't look at me like that."
I frowned. "Like what?"
"Like you're trying to figure me out." His voice dropped lower. "You won't like what you find."
My heart pounded in my chest. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.
"I wasn't—"
"Yes, you were."
He took a slow breath and stepped back, breaking the tension. "That's all for now. You can go."
I stood quickly, trying to steady myself. But before I reached the door, he said quietly, "Amira."
I stopped.
His tone softened, almost unwillingly. "Don't let the whispers get to you. They'll stop eventually."
I turned around slowly. "And if they don't?"
He hesitated. "Then I'll make them stop."
Something about the way he said it—so certain, so calm—made my chest tighten. I wanted to ask what he meant, but his expression warned me not to.
That evening, when I got home, the mansion felt colder than usual.
I followed his new rules. I went straight to my room, changed into something comfortable, and avoided the library, where I knew he sometimes worked late.
But as I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind wouldn't stop replaying his words.
"Don't look at me like that."
What did he mean by that?
I didn't even realize I was thinking about him until my phone buzzed again.
> Leonardo: Are you awake?
My heart jumped. I typed quickly:
> Amira: Yes.
> Leonardo: Come downstairs. The library.
I hesitated for a long moment. The rules said I shouldn't go to him unless he called. But he was calling.
I threw on a cardigan and made my way downstairs. The house was quiet except for the faint ticking of the hallway clock. When I reached the library, the door was slightly open.
He was there, sitting on the couch by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked softly.
He nodded toward the chair across from him. "Sit."
I sat, heart pounding.
He studied me in silence for a moment, then said, "You're following the rules."
"Yes."
"Good."
I waited, expecting him to say something else, but he didn't. He just watched me—calm, unreadable.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Why did you ask me to come here?"
He took a sip of his drink. "Because I wanted to see if you would."
My brow furrowed. "You're testing me?"
"Maybe."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is the world," he said quietly. "But you're still in it."
I stood, frustrated. "If this is about power, Mr. Vance, you already have it. You don't need to play games."
He set his glass down and looked up at me—eyes steady, voice low. "I'm not playing games, Amira. I'm trying not to break my own rules."
For a moment, we just stared at each other. The air between us thickened with something I didn't want to name.
Then he stood and stepped closer, just enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
"Go to bed," he said finally, his voice rougher than before. "Before I forget rule four."
I swallowed hard. "Goodnight, Mr. Vance."
He didn't answer. He just watched me walk away, silent and composed like he was still in control.
But as I closed the door behind me, I heard the faint clink of glass and his quiet, strained voice.
"Damn it.
That night, lying in bed, I couldn't sleep again. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—his expression, his tone, the storm he was trying to hide.
And for the first time, I realized something terrifying.
The rules weren't to protect me.
They were to protect him.
Because whatever he was feeling… he didn't want it to show.