Chapter 6 Did You Enjoy It?

A chill rippled through me, but I forced a polite curve to my lips.

"Garrett, you flatter me. I am just a public relations consultant, hardly someone who could be compared to the kind of man you are talking about."

I smoothed my expression, shoving that name—the one that could drag me straight back into the abyss—deep down where it belonged, and kept my voice steady.

"Perhaps," Garrett said, his tone layered with meaning. He gave me a look that lingered like a shadow, then turned and melted back into the noise of the gala.

I could not stay another minute. I excused myself, left quietly, and headed for the exit.

It was not until I slid into the armored car that my muscles began to unclench. But the name Davis... it circled in my head like a curse.

How did he know?

Could my identity be exposed...

I cut the thought short, my heart tightening with a fear I had never known.

When I returned to the hotel, George was waiting at the door, his face pale and tense.

"Sophia, something has happened."

He handed me a tablet, lowering his voice. "Someone is using top-tier access protocols to breach our firewall. The target is very specific—your personal file."

He hesitated, then added, "And... they are digging into your records from before you were adopted."

My blood turned to ice.

Those records were supposed to be gone. I had spent ten years and a fortune making sure they were buried forever.

"Their methods are professional. I cannot trace the source at all. It is like chasing a ghost," George said, his jaw tight.

I snatched the tablet. The encryption on one of my most secure files was already half-broken. Cold sweat slid down my spine.

Arthur?

Or someone else?

Before I could untangle the panic in my head, the front desk called. The clerk's voice was syrupy with deference.

"Ms. Windsor, there is a Mr. Russell downstairs. He insists on seeing you. He says he is your most exclusive client."

Arthur.

He had come straight to me.

"Tell him I am not here!" I snapped, my voice rising. Fear stripped away my usual composure.

But before I could hang up, the doorbell rang.

Every muscle in my body went rigid. I stepped to the peephole.

Arthur stood outside, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His blond hair was perfectly groomed, his mouth curved in a faint, knowing smile. Behind him, two lines of men in black suits blocked the hallway completely.

He looked like a king inspecting his territory.

"Ms. Windsor, it seems you have a short memory," he said, as if he knew I was watching. His lips curled slightly. "We exchanged messages just yesterday, did we not?"

I drew in a deep breath, forcing myself to think. There was no hiding from this. I opened the door, my professional smile in place.

"Mr. Russell, I apologize for not greeting you properly. My company has a strict policy—we do not work with—"

"With the Mafia. I know," he cut in smoothly, stepping past me without invitation. His eyes roamed over me with the slow appreciation of a man examining a prize he already owned.

"But this time, I am here as a businessman."

He tossed a folder onto the table. "The Russell Group is going clean. We are moving into renewable energy. I need the best PR expert in Asteria City. You are the only choice."

I stared at the contract, its value in the hundreds of millions, and felt as if it were burning through the paper.

"I am sorry, Mr. Russell. Your case is... complicated. I do not think—"

"You will take it whether you want to or not."

He stepped closer, his height and presence swallowing me whole. I backed up instinctively until the edge of the table pressed cold against my spine.

One hand braced on the table, trapping me between his chest and the hard surface. His cologne—rich, dark, and aggressive—wrapped around me.

"Ms. Windsor, blocking a client is not very professional," he murmured, leaning in until his breath warmed the shell of my ear. His tone was both intimate and dangerous. "Or is it that you are afraid if you see me again... you will not be able to control yourself?"

Heat rushed to my face, shame and fear tangling until my hands trembled.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded.

"What do I want?" His laugh was low, almost amused. His fingers caught my chin, forcing my gaze up into eyes the color of molten amber.

"I want to know why a night of my best work was worth only six thousand dollars."

His thumb traced my lower lip in a slow, suggestive stroke.

"Or do you truly believe you can use a man, throw him away, and walk off without facing the cost?"

His body pressed closer, the hard plane of his abdomen brushing mine. Even through the fabric, I could feel the shift in him—the unspoken threat wrapped in desire.

My breath caught. My mind went blank. Images from last night—wild, dangerous, intoxicating—crashed over me.

"You—"

I barely got the word out before his mouth claimed mine.

The kiss was harder than the one before. He forced past my teeth, his tongue taking what it wanted, one hand gripping the back of my head, the other sliding down my waist to seize my hip in a punishing hold.

"Tell me, Sophia," he rasped against my lips when he finally let me breathe, his forehead pressed to mine, his voice hot and rough.

"Did you enjoy it that night?"