Flames POV
It was just. self-release. I repeatedly told myself in my heart. That's all. Just a stupid reaction. Habit. My body does what it knows how to do when pressure builds up too high.
It wasn't about him.
I wasn't thinking of Ash. Not really.
It was just the tension. The silence. The damn glint in his eye when he spoke back to me. The curve of his form. That wasn't real desire—that was defiance. I always break defiance.
So I broke it. That's all.
Wiped my fingers on a towel, wincing at the wet shame sparkling on my skin. My legs felt weak, but I got them to move. Stood up. Glanced in the mirror—hair all rumpled, lips red, eyes. vacant.
"It didn't mean anything," I whispered to my reflection.
The light started flickering. Turned it off.
Huddled under the sheets a couple of minutes later, still raw, I pressed my face into the pillow.
My last thought as I drifted off?
His name.
And I swore I hadn't meant to consider it.
---
Morning arrived like a slap.
A vicious stab of sunlight knifed through the blinds, slashing across my eyes and pulling me out of sleep. I groaned, rolling onto my side, the dull twist of agitation still coiled tight in my bones. And that's when I saw him.
Ash.
He was stretched on the far-end couch, his long legs occupying all the space, a newspaper thrown over his face as if he belonged here—like this was his room, not mine. My haven. My one untainted place.
Violation had a face, and it was his.
Is this how you're going to run an empire?" His voice floated lazily from behind the newspaper, low, bored, and unmistakably male. "Sleeping in after 8 like some pampered heiress?"
The nerve made my blood boil. I ripped the duvet off with a vengeance, sitting up in a whirlwind of rumpled sheets and indignation. My robe was just out of reach, but modesty was the least of my worries.
"What the hell are you doing in my room?" I barked, my voice cutting through the air. "Who the hell let you in?"
He didn't flinch so much as an inch. Didn't even look at me. One ankle lazily crossed over the other as if he had all eternity.
"Your guards," he said with a low chuckle. "I instructed them to redeploy. Useless meat sticks. I'm here now."
The flames of anger simmered beneath my skin.
"You dismissed my guards?" I growled. "Who do you think you are?"
This time the newspaper lowered—just low enough for one of his storm-gray eyes to peer over the top, unflinching and unreadable. Cool, calculating. Lethal.
"I'm the one who's been assigned to keep you alive," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And if you want my opinion, they can't even watch the bloody hallway."
I snatched my robe from the armrest, pushing into it with rigid movements. The belt tightened at my waist, each tug a strangled scream. I did not care if it was a drama. I did not care if I appeared as though I was about to throw him out the window. I was done.
"Get out," I hissed through clenched teeth.
But he did not move.
Did not blink.
I'm under strict orders to stay close," he said flatly. "Until you're informed otherwise, I don't leave your side."
"I will shoot you, Ash."
That did it.
A slow, annoying smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The kind that knew too much. The kind that got under your skin and stayed.
He stood, unfolding himself like a blade being drawn. Looming. Deadly. Unfazed.
"Fine," he said simply. "I'll go. For now.".
As he passed, he leaned in—close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath on my ear, close enough to make my traitorous heart skip.
"But you'll get used to me being here, Flames — Don." he murmured. "Sooner or later."
And just like that, he was gone.
The door clicked shut.
And I was there, left behind, heart racing against my ribs, robe sticky on my skin, the memory of his presence still lingering on the air like smoke.
—
At the company
I didn't wait for him.
My heels struck the marble like warning shots. Every technician, executive, and assistant stiffened the moment they saw me. Fear did what loyalty never could—it made people efficient.
Ash followed, a breath behind me. Silently Watching. Like he should. Always.
This is where we make lies lovely," I said to him, motioning outside the glass chamber where a team of scientists piled truth in advertising. "To the world, we're saviors. Revolutionary. But don't get mixed up, Ash."
I stopped—turned to him.
"They only see what I allow."
He didn't blink. "Understood."
Good.
We passed glass-walled offices filled with too scrubbed smiles to be real. They lowered their heads as I came near. They knew who signed their checks—and what happened when I stopped.
At the end of the hall, I pressed my thumb against a hidden scanner. A steel door disengaged, opening with a hiss like air through teeth.
Ash followed me into the unmarked elevator.
"Where are we headed?" he said.
I looked up at him—cold smile, hot eyes. "Where the truth is. And sometimes dies."
The trip downstairs was silent.
The doors opened onto a world built of shadow and compliance. Crates lined the floor—each marked with fake pharmaceutical codes. Men pulled product with precise, militarized rhythm. Guards stood like statues, guns low but ready.
"This is where healing ends," I breathed. "And real power begins."
Ash didn't utter a word. But his eyes? Calculating. Measuring. Noted.
"You disapprove?" I asked.
"I don't judge," he said. "I protect."
I smiled. "Keep doing that. And don't get sentimental. You'll lose fingers."
We went deeper into the underbelly. One corridor ended in a private room. The man inside knelt between two guards—sweaty, pale, stupid with fear.
A late payment.
A mistake.
I didn't shout. I didn't need to.
"Do you know what your delay cost me?" I demanded, icy calm.
"I—I was going to repair it—"
"I don't require intent," I stated. "I require repercussions."
I spared a glance for Ash. "Let us call this… an audition."
He never flinched when I raised the pistol and fired clean through the man's kneecap.
The cry that ensued was wet and gruesome.
"Clean that up," I told the guards. "Tell the rest—my time is money. And I don't make change."
Ash's jaw tightened. That was all.
"Still finding pleasure in being my shadow?" I asked.
His eyes met mine, unwavering. "Pleasure isn't the word I'd use."
I smiled. "Good."
We moved into the next room—a counting room bathed in cold light and the scent of paper and sweat. Machines devoured dirty bills with mechanical hunger. My men worked in silence. Order was religion here.
"Morning, Don," a man said, nerves jittering in his voice.
"How much?"
"Four-point-two million counted so far. Two more by night."
"Acceptable."
He hesitated.
"What?"
"A van passed by. Police. They said it was random."
I didn't move. "And you believed them?"
"No. We just watched."
"Have Martinez send them donuts next time. I hate nosy bastards on an empty stomach."
"Yes, Don."
"And the rat?"
"Black room. Still breathing."
Perfect.
Ash didn't ask questions as I led him deeper in. He'd learned not to.
As we stepped closer, the corridor was quieter. Colder. Secrets didn't echo here.
I stopped in front of the last door.
"You've said very little," I said not looking at Ash.
"I learn more when I listen."
I nodded my head. "Let's see what you've learned."
Inside, the traitor sat bound, eyes wide open, lip bleeding.
"Please—please, Don—I didn't mean—"
I held up a hand. "Don't insult me with lies."
I circled him slowly, letting my presence alone strip him bare inch by inch.
Then, I turned to Ash.
"I could kill him myself," I said. "But I need to know if I was given a weapon… or a liability."
Ash didn't hesitate.
"Understood."
He stepped forward—blade bared before the traitor could plead. One swift clean cut across the throat. No fuss. No theatrics.
The silence that followed was a victory.
I nodded once. "You'll do."