Chapter 5

• The moment I walked into his room, Mr. Dante was on his bed, typing away on his phone like he was closing a million-dollar deal.
• My eyes flickering over the space. His room was spacious, modern, and—of course—immaculate.
• Dark tones dominated the decor, sleek furniture blending seamlessly into the luxurious setting.
• I cleared my throat. No response.
• I tried again. Still nothing.
• "Uhh, sir, I-I uhm…" Oh, for fuck’s sake, why am I stuttering?
• He finally spoke, still not looking up. "What is it? Cat got your tongue?" His voice was low, smooth, and way too dangerous for my fragile sanity.
• I swallowed hard. "Uhmm, I-I'm grateful for the clothes you bought me, but I uhh… I don’t think I can wear them," I mumbled, suddenly regretting my life choices.
• His fingers paused. "Why? Do you want to go naked then? I mean, if that’s what you want, I won’t stop you—"
• "NO, SIR!" I shrieked before he could finish that scandalous suggestion.
• Finally, he set his phone down, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. I immediately wished he’d go back to ignoring me.
• His eyes had the kind of intensity that made you rethink every decision that led to this moment.
• He stood up. I stepped back. He took another step. I followed suit—backward, obviously—until my back smacked against the wall.
• Trapped.
• Well, shit.
• He leaned in, his hands caging me in on either side of my head. The rich, intoxicating scent of his cologne invaded my senses, making my brain short-circuit.
• "You have two options, Ayla," he murmured, his lips way too close to my ear. "Wear the clothes I bought you, or stay naked. Which is it?"
• "T-the clothes, sir," I squeaked, my voice barely above a whisper.
• His lips twitched into a wicked smirk. "Good girl."
• I almost passed out on the spot.
• Desperate to reclaim a shred of my dignity, I blurted, "B-but why did you buy me those… panties and lingerie?"
• His eyes darkened. "What, you’d rather walk around my house with no panties on?" His voice dropped an octave. "You wouldn’t want that, Ayla. There are… consequences for that."
• My entire body shivered. And not because I was cold.
• "Eyes up, look at me" he ordered. "You will always look at me when I speak to you."
• I snapped my gaze up, my breath catching when I saw the dark amusement dancing in his stormy gray eyes. He was enjoying this.
• He pulled back, and I let out a shaky exhale, realizing I had been holding it.
• "Now, what exactly is wrong with this dress?" He eyed me like I was being ridiculous. "It looks fine to me. And for work, you’ll be in professional attire. I also bought comfortable pajamas, shorts, nightgowns, shirts, skirts—you name it."
• Professional attire? Oh, he meant those scandalous skirts and blouses that made me look like some high-class escort?
• I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a single finger, silencing me before I could even start.
• "This conversation is over, Ayla. You may leave now."
• I blinked. He just… dismissed me? Like I was some peasant in his kingdom?
• Fuming, I stomped back to my room and threw myself onto the bed.
• Fine. If he wanted me to wear the damn clothes, then so be it.
• I spent the next hour trying them on. To my horror—and slight excitement—they fit perfectly.
• The man clearly had an eye for sizing. There were also luxury skincare products, designer heels, and… an iPhone?
• I gasped. A freaking iPhone.
• Am I dreaming? Because last time I checked, my life was a shitshow.
• If I hadn’t met Mr. Dante, I could’ve ended up as David’s personal plaything,—or worse, jailed for even trying to defend myself. Maybe, just maybe, my luck was finally changing.
• I spent the next half hour taking pictures of myself in different outfits. Then my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten.
• Since I hadn’t officially started work yet, I figured I could wear whatever I wanted.
• So, naturally, I chose the shortest pair of denim bum shorts I could find and a black crop top. No bra.
• I turned to the mirror. Damn. The shorts made my ass look phenomenal.
• One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was shaking my ass in front of the mirror, twerking like I was auditioning for a music video.
• I was so into it that I didn’t hear the door open.
• A deep throat-clearing shattered my bubble.
• I froze.
• Slowly—very slowly—I turned my head.
• Mr. Dante stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glued to my ass.
• Oh. My. God.
• Before I could react, my foot slipped, and I went crashing to the floor.
• "Ouch!" I groaned, clutching my now-throbbing head.
• He strode over, crouching down beside me. His expression was unreadable, but the corner of his lips twitched like he was fighting a smirk.
• "You should ask one of the staff for an ice pack," he said smoothly. "And next time you want to twerk, close your door. Wouldn’t want any more accidents, would we?"
• I wanted to die. Right here. Right now.
• "I—I understand," I stammered.
• He tilted his head. "Words, Ayla."
• "Y-yes, sir."
• "Good girl. Have you eaten lunch?" he asked.
• "No, sir," I mumbled.
• "And why is that? Too busy shaking that ass?" He said it so nonchalantly that I almost choked on air.
• I swallowed hard, refusing to meet his gaze.
• "When I ask a question, I expect an answer, Ayla."
• "I'm sorry. No sir."
• "Go eat."
• I scrambled to my feet and fled the scene.
• After lunch, I returned to my room and passed out. Not my fault, the bed was so soft, felt like I was sleeping on a cloud.
• But hours later, I woke up to… loud moaning.
• My brows furrowed. Was I imagining things?
• The moans grew louder.
• I sat up. Oh.
• Ohhh.
• OH SHIT.
• The noises were coming from his room.
• Curiosity took over. Against my better judgment, I tiptoed toward his door and pressed my ear against it like the world’s nosiest creep.
• "Yes, Damien! Oh my God, ahhh!"
• I slapped a hand over my mouth. Holy hell.
• She was loud. Like, loud loud. Like she-wants-the-neighbors-to-know-she’s-getting-destroyed loud.
• And for some unhinged reason, my core clenched at the thought of him doing that to me.
• Get a grip, Ayla.
• Just as I was about to retreat, the door flew open.
• I lost my balance and face-planted onto the floor.
• Silence.
• I looked up, my face burning.
• Mr. Dante stood there, shirtless, his chest glistening with sweat, his pants hanging dangerously low. He looked wrecked. And pissed.
• My heart pounded.
• His jaw clenched. "Ayla."
• I let out a nervous laugh. "Hi?"
• His nostrils flared.
• I was so dead.