The air in the room was thick too still, too quiet. The hum of the city below was nothing more than a faint murmur, swallowed by the heavy silence between us. Slavvy stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, his sharp profile cast against the fading light.
"I've been thinking about you," he said finally, voice low and calm, but carrying an undertone that made my pulse stutter. "Since the first day you walked in."
The words hit me harder than I expected. He didn't say them like a confession. He said them like a fact.
"I don't understand," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why me?"
His eyes shifted toward me, dark and unreadable. "Maybe because you don't belong here… yet you walked straight in."
Something in the way he said it made the hairs on my arms rise. I could feel the weight of his gaze not invasive, but assessing, like he was trying to decide if I was a puzzle worth solving or a risk worth taking.
"Slavvy…" I began, unsure where to go from there.
He turned fully then, stepping closer not enough to invade my space, but close enough that the air seemed to tighten between us. "You don't have to be afraid of me," he said quietly. "If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be standing here."
The statement was meant to reassure, but it didn't. It reminded me exactly what kind of man he was. His calm wasn't kindness it was control.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
His eyes flickered something sharp beneath the surface. "Trust," he said after a pause. "And honesty. Two things I don't get easily."
My breath caught. The way he spoke made it sound like a vow and a warning in one.
He took a slow breath, his tone softening slightly. "You don't have to give me an answer now. Just know that I don't waste words or time."
For a moment, we just stood there. The silence between us wasn't empty it pulsed with questions neither of us dared to ask. I could feel the pull of his world tugging at me, dark and magnetic.
"I should probably go home soon," I murmured, glancing toward the clock.
He nodded slightly, though the faint twitch of his jaw betrayed reluctance. "Can't keep the family waiting," he said, half to himself. "We'll see each other soon. The project gives us an excuse."
His tone made it sound less like a statement and more like a decision already made.
Before I could reply, a sharp knock broke the quiet.
"Come in," Slavvy said, his voice clipped.
The door opened to reveal the same man from before tall, dressed in black, his expression composed. "Sir, Mr. Domikov is here to see you."
Slavvy's gaze hardened instantly, all warmth gone. "I said I wasn't to be disturbed."
"He insisted, sir," the man replied, unfazed.
For a second, Slavvy said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly, his composure snapping back into place. "Tell him to wait in the east hall."
The man nodded once and disappeared.
The moment he left, the room felt colder. Slavvy slipped a small silver object a key, maybe into his pocket. His movements were smooth, deliberate. Every gesture meant something.
"I have to handle something," he said, tone unreadable. "Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
And then he was gone.
The door closed with a quiet click that felt louder than it should've. The silence that followed pressed against me like a weight.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, my fingers gripping the fabric of my skirt. The walls seemed to hum with tension, the faint buzz of hidden machinery or maybe just my imagination. Time dragged.
Half past five.
I stood and tried the door. Locked. My pulse quickened. Was this normal? Or was I supposed to feel like a bird in a gilded cage?
I paced the room, forcing myself to breathe slowly, evenly. The floor-to-ceiling window offered a view of the city lights blinking through the haze, a thousand stories playing out below, none of them mine.
When the door finally opened, it wasn't Slavvy. It was his guard.
"Ma'am," he said with a polite nod. "Sir asked me to take you home."
Relief washed through me, leaving behind only questions. "Thank you," I murmured.
The drive was silent, the city a blur of color and motion. The man didn't speak until we stopped in front of my gate.
"Be careful, ma'am," he said, his voice even. "The boss… he means what he says. Always."
I nodded, unsure how to respond.
When I stepped into my house, the air felt lighter—almost fragile. I caught sight of myself in the mirror: wide eyes, flushed cheeks, uncertainty written all over my face.
I should've felt safe. I didn't.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew I had crossed into something I couldn't easily walk away from.