Amira's POV)
The next few days were quiet. Too quiet.
Leonardo barely spoke to me except for work-related things, and even then, his voice stayed perfectly professional—cold, measured, and unreadable.
He had drawn the line, and I was doing everything I could not to cross it.
I left the mansion early, came home late, and stayed in my room. I avoided the library, avoided his gaze, and avoided the way my heart reacted whenever he was near.
But pretending was harder than I thought.
Because every morning, I still caught glimpses of him in his sharp suit, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the hallway, and the way his voice deepened when he spoke on the phone.
And every time, my heart betrayed me.
By Friday, I thought I was finally getting the hang of following the rules. Then he called me into his office.
"Close the door," he said, not looking up from his laptop.
I obeyed, my pulse instantly rising.
When he finally lifted his eyes, I noticed something different in his expression—something thoughtful. "There's an event tomorrow evening," he said. "A charity gala. You'll be attending with me."
I froze. "What?"
"You heard me."
"But that's—" I stopped myself, then added carefully, "That's against your rules."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "Sometimes, rules change."
My mind spun. "Why me? You could take anyone—an executive, a business partner, even a model."
"I didn't ask anyone else," he said simply.
I searched his face, trying to understand. "Is this… business?"
His lips twitched slightly, not quite a smile. "Everything I do is business, Miss Daniels."
I didn't believe him. Not completely.
That night, I stood in front of the mirror in my room, staring at the elegant black dress the housekeeper had delivered. It was a simple but stunning off-shoulder, smooth satin, the kind of dress that made you feel like someone else entirely.
A small note lay on the bed beside it.
> "Wear this. 7 p.m. – L"
I sighed, pressing the fabric against my chest. What was I doing? I wasn't part of his world. I was just a girl who'd grown up counting every naira, eating dinner by candlelight when the power went out.
Now I was supposed to stand beside a billionaire in front of cameras and CEOs.
I didn't know whether to feel honored or terrified. Maybe both.
The next evening, when I walked downstairs, Leonardo was waiting near the main entrance, dressed in a dark suit that looked like it had been tailored by angels.
For a second, he just looked at me. His eyes moved slowly from my hair to my shoes, and when they met mine again, something flickered there—something he didn't bother to hide.
"You look…" He hesitated. "…appropriate."
I almost laughed. Appropriate. That was his way of saying I looked good.
"Thank you," I said softly.
He offered his arm. "Let's go."
I hesitated for a moment before taking it. His arm was warm, steady, and reassuring. I told myself it meant nothing and it was just for show. But my heart didn't listen.
The gala was held in one of the city's most luxurious hotels. The moment we stepped inside, flashes went off. Cameras, Journalists, and photographers calling his name.
I flinched instinctively, but Leonardo's grip tightened slightly around my hand. "Ignore them," he murmured. "Keep your head up."
I did as he said, trying to appear calm, but inside, my chest was pounding.
He guided me through the crowd, greeting people I'd only ever seen in magazines—politicians, actors, and business moguls. Everyone smiled politely at him, but their eyes kept drifting to me.
"Who's she?" I heard one woman whisper behind me.
"New assistant, maybe? Or something more?" Another voice answered, dripping with curiosity.
I tried not to react, but Leonardo must've heard them too. His arm tensed slightly.
He leaned close enough for only me to hear. "Don't let them get to you."
I nodded, forcing a smile.
A waiter passed by, offering champagne. I shook my head, but Leonardo took two glasses and handed me one.
"Relax," he said quietly.
I sipped slowly, the bubbles tickling my throat.
For a while, we mingled. He talked business effortlessly—confident, sharp, and commanding attention without trying. I stood quietly beside him, nodding when introduced, trying not to feel out of place.
But after an hour, I began to notice the looks again. A few women whispering behind their fans and men glancing curiously between us. The same question seemed to hang in the air—who is she?
When the music started, Leonardo leaned toward me. "Let's give them something to talk about."
Before I could respond, he took my hand and led me to the dance floor.
My heart skipped. "What are you doing?"
"Breaking a rule," he said, eyes glinting.
He placed one hand lightly at my waist, the other holding mine. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me.
"I don't know how to dance like this," I whispered.
"Then follow my lead."
And I did.
His movements were slow and precise. I felt every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of distance that wasn't really distance at all. Around us, people watched. Some whispered. Some smiled. But I barely noticed them.
All I could see was him—his sharp jawline, the faint shadow of a smile, and the way his eyes softened when he looked at me.
"This isn't professional," I said quietly, trying to sound firm.
"I told you," he murmured, "rules change."
For a long, suspended moment, we just swayed, the world blurring around us. The music, the lights, and the whispers were all fading.
Then someone's camera flashed, breaking the spell.
He let go instantly, his expression turning hard again. "That's enough."
The warmth between us vanished, replaced by cold silence.
He turned to the crowd, nodded politely, then said under his breath, "Let's go."
We left the gala early, the cameras still flashing as we stepped into his car. The moment the door closed, the air felt heavy again.
I stared out the window, my hands trembling slightly. "You didn't have to do that."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "Maybe I did."
I looked at him, confused. "Why?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I don't like seeing people look at you like you don't belong."
Something in my chest cracked open. "And do I?"
He turned toward me, his voice low and rough. "You do now."
The car fell silent again, but this time, it wasn't cold. It was charged.
When we reached the mansion, he walked me to the door. For a moment, we just stood there—too close, too aware.
"Goodnight, Mr. Vance," I whispered.
He looked down at me, eyes dark and unreadable. "Goodnight, Amira."
But as I turned to leave, he caught my wrist gently. I froze.
"Next time," he said quietly, "don't wear black. It makes it harder for me to pretend not to look at you."
I stared at him, speechless.
Then he released me and walked away, leaving me standing there—heart racing, confused, and terrified of how much I wanted to break every rule too.