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𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗼𝘀𝘀’𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲… 𝘀𝗼 𝗜 𝗴𝗼 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁’𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗜 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝗺. 𝗡𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗱. 𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲. 𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. Steam curls around him. Water slides over muscle like it belongs there. I stop breathing. “Amalie.” My name sounds different in his mouth. Lower. Possessive. “I—I didn’t mean to—” “Stay.” Not loud. Not harsh. Worse. Certain. My body listens before my brain does. I freeze in place. “You walk my halls at night,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “Like you’re looking for something.” “I couldn’t sleep.” His gaze drags over me—slow, deliberate. Like he’s taking his time learning every inch. “Or someone.” Heat floods my chest. He pours a drink. Doesn’t ask. Just holds it out. “Come here.” Not a suggestion. I shouldn’t move. I do anyway. My fingers brush his. Mistake. Something sharp flickers in his eyes. “Sit.” I sit. Of course I do. “Tell me what’s in your head.” “I don’t—” “At the beginning,” he cuts in. So I talk. More than I should. About my life. My failures. The things I don’t say out loud. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t soften. Just watches. Like he’s deciding something. “What do you want?” he asks. “I told you—” “No.” His voice drops. “You gave me the safe answer. I want the real one.” My pulse jumps. “I want to be in control of my life.” Silence. Then— “Good.” That’s it. One word. But it lands like approval. Like I earned something. I shouldn’t care. I do. The room feels tighter now. Hotter. His attention is a physical thing. Pressing in on me. Then he shifts in the water. “Join me.” My breath catches. “What?” “You heard me.” My heart slams against my ribs. “I’m not doing that.” A beat. Then the corner of his mouth lifts—slow, dangerous. “No?” He leans forward slightly. Not touching. Not yet. “Then why are you still here?” I don’t answer. Because I don’t have one. Because leaving feels impossible. He watches me figure that out. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Standing there like you’re about to run… and not moving an inch.” My throat goes dry. “I’m not afraid of you.” “No?” His gaze drops. Slowly. Intentionally. “Then prove it.” My stomach flips. “You’re my boss.” “And yet…” He tilts his head. “You're still here." “I’m not getting in there,” I say, but my voice is thinner now. He studies me. Then— “You think I want perfection?” His tone shifts. Rougher. “I’ve had perfection. It’s boring.” My breath stutters. “Women like you…” His eyes move over me again. Slower this time. Hungrier. “You don’t even know what you look like when someone wants you.” Heat floods everywhere at once. “You’re just saying that.” “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” A pause. Heavy. Charged. Then, quieter— “Come here, Amalie.” Not an order this time. Something worse. An invitation I don’t trust myself to refuse. My body moves before I decide. Because the truth is— I should leave. I should walk away. I should remember exactly who he is. But standing here… with the way he’s looking at me— I don’t want to be the good girl tonight. And he knows it. My nanny contract with the ruthless single daddy says two months. But falling for Roman Barinov feels like signing my soul away.