The crystal chandelier in the dining room cast prismatic rainbows across the mahogany table as Ashley arranged the final place setting. Every detail had to be perfect—Mrs. Ashworth had exacting standards, and Corshlan's mood had been darkening steadily since breakfast. She could feel his eyes on her from where he stood by the window, nursing a glass of whiskey despite the early hour.

"The napkins are crooked," he said without turning around.

Ashley glanced at the perfectly aligned linen napkins, each folded into precise triangles. "They look straight to me."

"Are you questioning my eyesight, Ashley?"

The dangerous quiet in his voice made her stomach clench. She quickly adjusted the napkins, though she couldn't see any difference in their positioning.

"Better," he murmured, finally turning from the window. He'd changed into a different suit—navy blue with subtle pinstripes that emphasized his broad shoulders. The transformation was remarkable; gone was the man who'd held her against the shower wall, replaced by the polished facade he wore for the outside world.

But Ashley could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against his whiskey glass. Mrs. Ashworth's visits always put him on edge, brought out the worst of his controlling tendencies.

"Come here," he commanded, settling into the chair at the head of the table.

Ashley approached cautiously, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. She'd changed into the conservative black dress as instructed, her hair pulled back into a neat chignon that made her look older, more professional.

Corshlan reached out and caught her wrist as she passed, pulling her to stand beside his chair. His thumb found her pulse point, pressing just hard enough to feel her heartbeat accelerate.

"You're nervous," he observed.

"Your mother doesn't like me."

"My mother doesn't know you." His grip tightened fractionally. "She sees you as furniture. Something useful but ultimately replaceable."

The words stung, though Ashley tried not to show it. "Is that what I am?"

His gray eyes fixed on her face with laser-like intensity. "What do you think?"

Before Ashley could answer, the doorbell chimed through the penthouse. Corshlan's grip on her wrist tightened for just a moment—a warning, a reminder of who she belonged to—before he released her.

"Answer it," he said, straightening his tie. "And remember, you're the help. Nothing more."

Ashley nodded and made her way to the foyer, her hands trembling slightly as she opened the heavy oak door. Mrs. Ashworth stood in the hallway like an ice queen in Chanel, her silver hair swept into an elegant updo, her blue eyes cold as winter sky.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Ashworth," Ashley said, stepping back to allow her entry.

The older woman swept past without acknowledgment, her gaze taking in the expensive furnishings with proprietary satisfaction. "Where is my son?"

"In the dining room, ma'am. May I take your coat?"

Mrs. Ashworth shrugged out of her fur coat, barely glancing at Ashley as she handed it over. "Tell the kitchen we'll need champagne with lunch. The Cristal, not that domestic swill."

"Of course, ma'am."

Ashley hung the coat in the hall closet and followed Mrs. Ashworth into the dining room, where Corshlan had risen to greet his mother. The transformation in his demeanor was subtle but complete—his posture straighter, his expression carefully neutral.

"Mother," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "You look lovely."

"As do you, darling." Mrs. Ashworth's voice softened marginally as she studied her son's face. "Though you look tired. Are you sleeping enough?"

"I sleep fine." Corshlan pulled out her chair with practiced courtesy. "Please, sit. I've had cook prepare your favorite."

As his mother settled herself at the table, Corshlan's eyes found Ashley's across the room. The look he gave her was unmistakable—a command wrapped in velvet but no less absolute for its subtlety.

Ashley moved to the sideboard where the champagne was chilling, her movements automatic despite the way her hands shook. She could feel both sets of eyes on her as she worked—Mrs. Ashworth's dismissive gaze and Corshlan's possessive stare.

"Your girl seems competent enough," Mrs. Ashworth commented as Ashley poured the champagne. "How long has she been with you?"

"A while," Corshlan said noncommittally. "She knows how I like things done."

Ashley kept her expression carefully blank as she served the champagne, though something twisted in her chest at being discussed like she wasn't in the room. Mrs. Ashworth barely glanced at her as she accepted the crystal flute.

"I do hope you're not getting too attached," Mrs. Ashworth continued, taking a delicate sip. "Good help is hard to find, but it's dangerous to become dependent on any one person."

Corshlan's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass. "I'll keep that in mind."

Ashley retreated to the kitchen to fetch the first course, her cheeks burning with humiliation. Through the service window, she could hear Mrs. Ashworth's cultured voice continuing the conversation.

"I worry about you, Corshlan. Living alone in this big place with only servants for company. It's not healthy for a man your age."

"I'm hardly a hermit, Mother."

"No, but you're not... social. Not the way you should be. There are several lovely young women in our circle who would make suitable companions."

Ashley's hands stilled on the serving tray. She knew she shouldn't be listening, but she couldn't help herself.

"I'm not interested in companions," Corshlan's voice was carefully controlled. "I have everything I need."

"Do you?" Mrs. Ashworth's tone sharpened. "Because from where I sit, it looks like you're hiding from life. Using work and... other distractions... to avoid dealing with real relationships."

Ashley carried the soup course into the dining room, setting the bowls down with steady hands despite the churning in her stomach. Neither Corshlan nor his mother acknowledged her presence as she served.

"My relationships are none of your concern," Corshlan said quietly.

"Everything about you is my concern. You're my son." Mrs. Ashworth picked up her spoon with elegant precision. "I only want what's best for you."

"And what would that be, exactly?"

"A wife. Children. A normal life instead of this..." She gestured vaguely around the room. "Whatever this is."

Ashley retreated to her post by the sideboard, trying to make herself invisible. But she could feel Corshlan's eyes on her, could sense the dangerous undercurrent building beneath his polite facade.

The lunch continued in stilted conversation, Mrs. Ashworth making subtle digs about Corshlan's lifestyle while he deflected with practiced ease. Ashley served each course in silence, hyperaware of every glance, every loaded pause in the conversation.

It wasn't until dessert that things took a more pointed turn.

"I ran into Margaret Donnelly last week," Mrs. Ashworth said, delicately cutting into her crème brûlée. "Her daughter Caroline just returned from Paris. Lovely girl, very accomplished. I mentioned you might call on her."

Corshlan set down his spoon with deliberate precision. "You had no right to do that."

"I had every right. I'm your mother, and I'm concerned about your isolation." Mrs. Ashworth's blue eyes flashed with steel. "Caroline would be perfect for you. Well-bred, educated, from a good family—"

"I'm not interested in Caroline Donnelly."

"How do you know? You haven't even met her."

"Because I said I'm not interested." Corshlan's voice had dropped to that dangerous quiet that Ashley knew all too well. "I won't be calling on anyone, Mother. Not Caroline Donnelly or anyone else you might have in mind."

Mrs. Ashworth studied her son's face with shrewd eyes. "There's someone else, isn't there?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Ashley felt her heart hammering against her ribs as Corshlan's gaze found hers across the room. For just a moment, his mask slipped, and she saw something raw and possessive in his eyes.

"No," he said finally. "There's no one else."

But Mrs. Ashworth was too clever to be fooled by his denial. Her gaze followed her son's, landing on Ashley with sudden, sharp interest.

"I see," she said slowly. "How... interesting."

Ashley felt heat flood her cheeks under the older woman's scrutiny. Mrs. Ashworth's expression had shifted from dismissive to calculating, and Ashley suddenly felt like prey under the gaze of a predator.

"If you'll excuse me," Mrs. Ashworth said, rising gracefully from her chair. "I need to powder my nose."

She swept from the room with regal bearing, leaving Ashley alone with Corshlan and a silence that crackled with tension.

"Come here," Corshlan said quietly.

Ashley approached on unsteady legs, stopping just within arm's reach of his chair. He studied her face with those storm-gray eyes, his expression unreadable.

"She knows," Ashley whispered.

"She suspects." His hand shot out to catch her wrist, thumb finding her pulse point again. "But suspicion isn't knowledge. Not yet."

"What are we going to do?”

We aren't going to do anything. I am going to handle my mother, and you are going to stay exactly where you belong." His grip tightened, just shy of painful. "Do you understand me?"

Ashley nodded, though her heart was still racing. Mrs. Ashworth's calculating look had chilled her to the bone.

"Good girl," Corshlan murmured, his thumb stroking over her pulse. "Now pour me another whiskey. I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

Ashley had just finished pouring his drink when Mrs. Ashworth returned, her expression pleasantly neutral. But Ashley caught the way the older woman's eyes lingered on Corshlan's hand where it still circled Ashley's wrist.

"Well," Mrs. Ashworth said, settling back into her chair. "This has been lovely, but I should be going. I have an appointment with my lawyer this afternoon."

"Anything important?" Corshlan asked, finally releasing Ashley's wrist.

"Oh, just some estate planning. Updating my will, that sort of thing." Mrs. Ashworth's smile was sharp as a blade. "One can never be too careful about protecting family interests."

She rose gracefully, gathering her purse with practiced elegance. "Walk me out, darling?"

Corshlan stood, his movements controlled despite the tension Ashley could see in his shoulders. "Of course."

They moved toward the foyer together, leaving Ashley to clear the table. But she could hear their voices in the hallway, Mrs. Ashworth's cultured tones and Corshlan's carefully neutral responses.

"She's very pretty," Mrs. Ashworth said, her voice carrying clearly through the open doorway.

"Who?"

"Don't play coy with me, Corshlan. Your little maid. How long have you been... employing her?"

There was a long pause before Corshlan answered. "She's been with me for several years. She's very efficient."

"I'm sure she is." Mrs. Ashworth's tone was laden with implication. "But darling, surely you realize how... inappropriate this situation appears?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you? A young, attractive woman living in your home, catering to your every need? People will talk, Corshlan. They already are talking."

Ashley's hands stilled on the crystal she was clearing, her breath catching in her throat.

"Let them talk," Corshlan said quietly. "I've never cared about gossip before."

"Perhaps you should start. Your reputation affects more than just you." Mrs. Ashworth's voice hardened slightly. "The family name means something, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not."

"The family name will survive a few servants' hall rumors."

"Will it? Because from where I stand, this looks like more than just rumors." There was steel in Mrs. Ashworth's voice now. "That girl looks at you like you hung the moon, and you... well, the way you look at her is hardly appropriate for an employer."

Ashley pressed herself against the dining room wall, straining to hear Corshlan's response.

"You're imagining things, Mother."

"Am I? Then you won't mind if I have a little chat with her. Woman to woman. Just to make sure she understands her place in this household."

The silence that followed was so complete that Ashley could hear her own heartbeat. When Corshlan finally spoke, his voice was deadly quiet.

"You will not speak to Ashley about anything other than her duties. Is that understood?"

"Ashley, is it? How... familiar."

"Mother."

"Very well. But Corshlan, darling, consider this a warning. Whatever game you think you're playing with that girl, it needs to stop. Before it destroys everything we've worked to build."

The front door opened and closed, and Ashley heard Corshlan's footsteps returning to the dining room. She busied herself with clearing the table, not trusting herself to meet his eyes.

"Leave it," he said quietly.

Ashley set down the plates she was carrying and turned to face him. His expression was thunderous, all pretense of civility stripped away now that his mother was gone.

"She knows," Ashley repeated.

"She suspects," Corshlan corrected, but there was less certainty in his voice now. "And suspicion makes her dangerous."

He moved to the sideboard and poured himself another whiskey, downing it in one smooth motion. Ashley watched the play of muscles in his throat as he swallowed, mesmerized despite her fear.

"What did she mean about updating her will?" Ashley asked.

Corshlan's laugh was bitter. "Insurance. She's making sure I stay in line, reminding me what I have to lose if I displease her."

"Would she really disinherit you?"

"In a heartbeat. My mother is many things, but sentimental isn't one of them." He set down his glass and turned to face her fully. "Which is why we need to be more careful. More... discrete."

Ashley nodded, though something twisted in her chest at his words. More discrete meant more lies, more pretending, more hiding what was between them in shadows and stolen moments.

"Come here," Corshlan said softly.

Ashley crossed to him, drawn by the magnetic pull she'd never been able to resist. His hands came up to frame her face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones with devastating gentleness.

"Don't look so worried," he murmured. "I won't let her hurt you."

"I'm not worried about me."

"No?" His lips curved into something that might have been a smile. "Then what are you worried about?"

"You. What you might lose because of me."

Something flickered in his gray eyes—surprise, perhaps, or something deeper. "Ashley..."

"Maybe she's right. Maybe I should—"

He silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips, the touch electric despite its gentleness.

"Don't," he said quietly. "Don't even think it."

"But if being with me costs you everything—"

"Then it costs me everything." His hands tightened on her face, and suddenly there was fire in his eyes, burning away the careful control. "Do you think I care about money? About the family name or my mother's approval?"

Ashley stared at him, stunned by the raw emotion in his voice.

"You are mine, Ashley Morrison. You have been since the day I found you crying in your aunt's garden. And I will burn the world down before I let anyone take you away from me."

The words should have terrified her. Should have sent her running for the nearest exit. Instead, they sent heat pooling low in her stomach, a dark thrill that she'd been fighting for years.

"Corshlan..."

"Say it," he commanded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"I'm yours," she breathed, and felt something inside her chest crack open at the admission.

His mouth was inches from hers now, his breath warm against her lips. For a moment, Ashley thought he might close the distance, might finally cross the line they'd been dancing around for years.

Instead, he stepped back, the moment shattered like crystal hitting stone.

"Good," he said, his voice carefully controlled once more. "Remember that. No matter what poison my mother tries to pour into your ears, remember that you belong here. With me."

Ashley nodded, though she felt strangely bereft without his touch.

"Now go upstairs and rest," Corshlan said, turning back to his whiskey. "I have some calls to make."

Ashley knew a dismissal when she heard one. She gathered her composure and headed for the door, pausing only when his voice stopped her.

"Ashley?"

She turned back to find him watching her with those storm-gray eyes.

"Next time my mother visits, you'll serve dinner in that red dress. The one with the low neckline."

Heat flooded Ashley's cheeks. "Sir, that's hardly appropriate—"

"I don't recall asking for your opinion on appropriateness." His smile was sharp as broken glass. "I want her to see exactly what she's dealing with. Let her draw her own conclusions."

Ashley felt her breath catch at the implication. He was going to use her as a weapon against his mother, a way to stake his claim without words.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Because this is only the beginning, Ashley. My mother has declared war, whether she realizes it or not. And I intend to win."

Ashley fled upstairs, her heart hammering against her ribs. Behind her, she could hear Corshlan making his phone calls, his voice cold and precise as he began planning his counterattack.

She'd always known that loving Corshlan Ashworth was dangerous. But she was beginning to realize that being loved by him might be even more so.

The war for her soul had begun, and she was the prize they were fighting over. The terrifying thing was, she wasn't sure she wanted to be saved anymore.

The morning sun streaming through the penthouse windows did nothing to warm the chill that had settled over Ashley's shoulders as she prepared Corshlan's breakfast. Three days had passed since Mrs. Ashworth's visit, and something had shifted inside her during those long, silent hours. The way his mother had looked right through her, discussed her like furniture, had awakened something rebellious in Ashley's chest.

She wasn't just some piece of property to be moved around at will.

Ashley cracked eggs into the pan with more force than necessary, her movements sharp and agitated. The memory of Mrs. Ashworth's dismissive tone echoed in her head, followed by Corshlan's casual agreement that she was merely "the help."

"You're burning the eggs," Corshlan's voice cut through her thoughts like ice.

Ashley glanced down at the pan and saw the edges browning too quickly. Instead of adjusting the heat immediately, she let them cook a moment longer, a small act of defiance that sent adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"I said you're burning the eggs."

"I heard you the first time." Ashley finally adjusted the heat, but didn't turn around to face him. She could feel his presence in the doorway like a storm cloud gathering strength.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Ashley continued stirring the eggs, her jaw set in stubborn lines. "I'm busy."

The silence that followed made her skin prickle with awareness. She heard his footsteps on the marble floor, measured and deliberate, before his hand closed around her wrist and spun her to face him.

His gray eyes were dark as thunderclouds, his jaw clenched tight. "What did you just say to me?"

Ashley lifted her chin, meeting his stare without flinching. "I said I'm busy. Maybe you should learn some patience."

His fingers tightened around her wrist, finding her pulse point and pressing just hard enough to make her aware of how fast her heart was beating. "Patience?"

"Yes. The world doesn't revolve around your every whim, Corshlan."

She'd never used his first name so casually before, never dropped the respectful "sir" that he expected. The effect was immediate and electric. His eyes flashed with something dangerous, and his free hand reached behind her to turn off the burner.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice dropping to that deadly quiet tone.

"No."

The word hung between them like a gauntlet thrown down. Ashley saw surprise flicker across his features before it was replaced by something much more dangerous.

"No?" He repeated the word like he'd never heard it before.

"You heard me. I'm not your trained dog to heel whenever you snap your fingers." The words tumbled out of Ashley's mouth, fueled by three days of simmering resentment. "I have thoughts and feelings and opinions, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

Corshlan released her wrist only to cup her face between his hands, his touch firm enough to keep her from turning away. "Is that what you think you've been doing? Pretending?"

"Haven't I?" Ashley's voice rose, her composure finally cracking. "Pretending to be invisible when your mother visits? Pretending not to exist when it's convenient for you? Pretending that I don't matter?"

"You matter more than—"

"Than what? Than my next breath? Than your own life?" Ashley pushed against his chest, but he didn't budge. "Those are just words, Corshlan. Pretty words that don't mean anything when you treat me like I'm disposable."

His hands slid from her face to her shoulders, gripping tight enough to leave marks. "Disposable?"

"What else would you call it? I serve your breakfast, wash your back, dress you like a doll, and then disappear whenever it might be inconvenient for someone to know I exist."

"That's not—"

"It's not what? It's not the truth?" Ashley's voice cracked with emotion. "Your mother spent an entire lunch talking about finding you a suitable wife while I served her food and pretended not to exist. And you let her."

Corshlan's expression went completely blank, which Ashley had learned was far more dangerous than his anger. When he spoke, his voice was conversational, almost pleasant "I see. You're upset about my mother's visit."

"I'm upset about being treated like I don't matter."

"And how exactly do you think you should be treated?" He tilted his head, studying her face like she was a particularly interesting specimen. "What is it you want from me, Ashley?"

The question caught her off guard. What did she want? Recognition? Respect? Love that didn't come wrapped in chains and conditions?

"I want to matter," she said finally. "I want to be more than just your dirty little secret."

Something flickered in his eyes at that. "Secret?"

"Isn't that what I am? Something to be hidden away, brought out only when you need me?"

Corshlan was quiet for a long moment, his hands still gripping her shoulders. When he finally spoke, his voice was deadly calm.

"Upstairs. Now."

"No."

This time the word came out stronger, more defiant. Ashley crossed her arms over her chest, standing her ground even as every instinct screamed at her to run.

"I'm not going anywhere with you until you acknowledge what I am to you."

"What you are to me?" Corshlan's laugh was sharp and humorless. "You want acknowledgment? Fine. Let me show you exactly what you are to me."

Before Ashley could react, he'd lifted her effortlessly, throwing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. She pounded her fists against his back, kicking and struggling as he carried her toward the stairs.

"Put me down! You can't just—"

His hand came down hard on her backside, the sharp slap echoing through the penthouse. "I can do whatever I want. You seem to have forgotten that."

"I haven't forgotten anything!" Ashley continued fighting as he climbed the stairs, her anger making her reckless. "You're the one who's forgotten that I'm a human being, not a possession!"

"Human being?" He pushed open the bedroom door with his shoulder, carrying her inside. "Is that what you think you are?"

He set her down beside the bed, but before Ashley could escape, his hands were on her again, gripping her wrists and holding them at her sides.

"You want to know what you are to me?" His voice was soft now, dangerous in its quietness. "You are the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I sleep. You are the reason I breathe, the reason my heart beats, the reason I get up every morning and face a world that would destroy me without blinking."

Ashley struggled against his grip, but his fingers only tightened. "Let go of me."

"You are my obsession," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "My addiction. My reason for existing. Every decision I make, every move I plan, every breath I take is centered around you."

"Stop—"

"You think I'm ashamed of you? You think I hide you because I don't value you?" His laugh was bitter. "I hide you because you are the most precious thing in my world, and this world destroys everything precious it touches."

Ashley felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. "That's not love. That's possession."

"Yes," he agreed simply. "It is. And if that makes me a monster, then I'm a monster. But you made me this way, Ashley Morrison. You and your sweet smiles and your gentle touches and your way of looking at me like I'm worth saving."

He released one of her wrists to cup her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone with devastating gentleness.

"So don't talk to me about being disposable. Don't tell me you don't matter. You matter so much that the thought of losing you makes me capable of things that would terrify you."

Ashley stared up at him, seeing the raw truth in his storm-gray eyes. But her rebellious mood was too strong to be soothed by possessive declarations.

"Then prove it," she challenged. "Stop hiding me. Stop treating me like something to be ashamed of."

Corshlan's eyes narrowed. "You're walking on very thin ice."

"Good. Maybe it's time something around here cracked."

For a moment, they stared at each other in tense silence. Ashley could see the war raging behind his eyes—fury and  desire and something darker that made her pulse race with equal parts fear and anticipation.

"You want to act like a defiant child?" he asked finally. "Fine. Strip."

The command hit Ashley like a slap. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. I won't strip for you like some... some..." She struggled for words, her face flushing with anger and embarrassment.

Corshlan's expression went dangerously calm. "Like some what, Ashley?"

"Like some whore you can order around!"

The words hung in the air between them like a curse. Ashley immediately regretted them, but it was too late to take them back.

"A whore?" Corshlan's voice was deadly quiet. "Is that what you think you are to me?"

"Isn't it? You want me to strip on command, to service your needs, to disappear when it's convenient—"

He silenced her with his mouth, his kiss brutal and demanding. Ashley tried to pull away, but his hands fisted in her hair, holding her captive as he claimed her lips with a possessiveness that stole her breath.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of them were breathing hard.

"You are not a whore," he said against her lips. "You are mine. There's a difference."

"I won't strip for you," Ashley said stubbornly, though her voice had lost some of its defiance.

"No?" His hands moved to the neckline of her dress, fingers tracing the fabric. "Then I'll have to find other ways to remind you who you belong to."

Before Ashley could protest, his mouth was on her throat, lips and teeth working against the sensitive skin just below her ear. She gasped, her hands coming up to push against his chest, but the touch was half-hearted at best.

"This is what you are to me," he murmured against her neck, his voice rough with desire. "Not a whore. Not a possession. Mine. Completely and utterly mine."

His teeth grazed her pulse point, and Ashley couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through her. "Corshlan..."

"Say it," he commanded, his mouth moving lower, finding the spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Say you're mine."

"I'm not—"

His teeth bit down gently, and Ashley's protest died in her throat. "Try again."

"This isn't fair," she whispered.

"Fair?" He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Nothing about what I feel for you is fair, Ashley. It's consuming and obsessive and probably unhealthy. But it's real."

He kissed her again, softer this time but no less possessive. Ashley felt her resolve wavering under the onslaught of sensations.

"Say it," he repeated against her lips.

"I'm yours," she breathed, the admission pulled from somewhere deep inside her.

"Again."

"I'm yours."

Something shifted in his expression at her surrender. The dangerous edge softened, replaced by something equally intense but less frightening.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hands gentle now as they framed her face. "That's all I needed to hear."

He kissed her once more, long and deep, before pulling back to study her face. Ashley stared up at him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her neck marked from his teeth.

"I should be angry with you," he said conversationally, his thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. "Your little rebellion today was... ill-advised."

"I was angry."

"I know. And I understand why. But Ashley..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You can't fight me. Not because I won't let you, but because it will destroy us both."

Ashley opened her mouth to argue, but he pressed a finger to her lips.

"I'm not a gentle man. I'm not patient or understanding or any of the things you probably deserve. I'm possessive and controlling and when you push me, I push back. Hard."

"I know what you are."

"Do you?" His hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with practiced efficiency. "Because sometimes I think you forget. Sometimes I think you take what we have for granted."

Ashley watched in fascination as he shrugged out of his shirt, revealing the scarred expanse of his chest. She'd seen his body countless times, but never like this. Never with this charged atmosphere crackling between them.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for bed." His hands moved to his belt, and Ashley felt her breath catch.

"It's still morning."

"Is it?" He glanced at the window where the sun was indeed still climbing toward its zenith. "So it is. But I'm tired, and I think you could use some rest too. Your little tantrum this morning must have been exhausting."

Ashley backed toward the door, but Corshlan's voice stopped her.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room."

"No, you're not." He finished undressing with the same casual confidence he'd always displayed, completely unselfconscious in his nudity. "You're staying here. With me."

"I can't—"

"You can and you will." He pulled back the silk sheets, settling into bed with fluid grace. "Come here, Ashley."

She stood frozen by the door, torn between the desire to run and the magnetic pull that had always existed between them.

"I said come here."

The command in his voice was irresistible. Ashley found herself moving toward the bed despite her better judgment.

"I'm not taking my clothes off," she said stubbornly.

Corshlan's smile was sharp as broken glass. "We'll see."

When she was within arm's reach, he caught her wrist and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. Ashley struggled briefly, but his arms came around her like steel bands, holding her against his chest.

"Let me go."

"No." His hands found the zipper of her dress, sliding it down with practiced ease despite her protests. "I told you I'd find other ways to remind you who you belong to."

"Corshlan, please—"

"Shh." The dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling around her waist. "Just let me hold you."

His hands were warm against her bare skin, his touch surprisingly gentle after the violence of their confrontation. Ashley found herself relaxing despite herself, her body molding to his with familiar ease.

"This is what you are to me," he murmured against her hair, his arms tightening around her. "Not a whore or a possession or a dirty secret. You're my peace, Ashley. The only thing in this world that makes sense."

Ashley felt tears slip down her cheeks at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. "Then why do you hide me?"

"Because peace is fragile. And my world destroys fragile things." His lips found her temple, pressing a soft kiss there. "But maybe... maybe it's time to stop hiding. Maybe it's time to let the world see what it's trying to take from me."

"What do you mean?"

But Corshlan was already drifting toward sleep, his breathing evening out as exhaustion overtook him. Ashley lay pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her own body gradually surrendering to the warmth and security of his embrace.

Despite everything—the fight, the commands, the possessive declarations—this felt right. Being in his arms, skin against skin, his breath warm against her hair. This was where she belonged, where she'd always belonged.

The rebellion that had burned so bright that morning was fading, replaced by something deeper and more complex. Love, maybe. Or obsession. Or both twisted together until they were impossible to separate.

Ashley closed her eyes and let sleep claim her, wrapped in the dangerous comfort of Corshlan Ashworth's arms.

---

Ashley woke to the sound of running water and the absence of warmth beside her. The afternoon sun was slanting through the windows, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. She sat up slowly, her body stiff from sleeping so deeply, and realized she was alone in the bed.

The bathroom door was open, steam drifting out along with the sound of the shower. Corshlan's voice carried through the humid air, speaking in low, clipped tones on his phone.

"I don't care what the police think they know. Clean it up... No, I said clean it up. Completely. I don't want any traces left... Because I told you to, that's why."

Ashley pulled the sheet around herself and padded to the window, looking out at the city spread below. The tenderness from this morning felt like a dream now, already fading in the harsh light of reality.

"You're awake."

She turned to find Corshlan standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from the shower. The gentleness she'd glimpsed earlier was gone, replaced by his usual mask of controlled authority.

"Get dressed," he said, moving to his closet. "I have meetings this afternoon, and I need you to take notes."

Ashley blinked, thrown by the sudden return to normalcy. "Corshlan—"

"Sir," he corrected automatically, pulling out a suit. "And hurry up. We're already running late."

The casual dismissal hit her like a slap. Ashley clutched the sheet tighter around herself, anger beginning to simmer in her chest again.

"That's it? We're just going to pretend this morning never happened?"

Corshlan didn't even glance at her as he began dressing. "This morning was a lapse in judgment on both our parts. It won't happen again."

"A lapse in judgment?" Ashley's voice rose despite her efforts to stay calm. "Is that what you call it?"

"I call it what it was. You were emotional, I was... indulgent. Now we're both back where we belong."

Ashley stared at him, seeing the walls slam back into place with brutal efficiency. This was classic Corshlan—give her a glimpse of something deeper, then snatch it away before she could get too comfortable.

"Where we belong," she repeated slowly.

"Yes." He straightened his tie without looking at her. "You have work to do, Ashley. I suggest you get to it."

The message was clear: their moment of intimacy was over. They were back to being boss and employee, nothing more.

Ashley gathered her torn dress from the floor, her movements sharp with suppressed anger. But she didn't say anything. What was there to say? This was who Corshlan Ashworth was—a man who showed you heaven just long enough to make the return to earth that much more painful.

"The red folder on my desk has the notes from the Torrino meeting," he said as she reached the door. "Review them before we leave."

Ashley paused in the doorway, her hand on the frame. "Of course, sir. Anything else?"

Something flickered in his expression at her formal tone, but it was gone too quickly to interpret.

"No. That's all."

Ashley nodded and walked out, her bare feet silent on the marble floors. Behind her, she heard him making another phone call, his voice already shifted back into business mode.

By the time she reached her own room, the tears had started. She sank onto her bed, still clutching her ruined dress, and let them fall. This was the pattern with Corshlan—moments of devastating intimacy followed by cold withdrawal. He would pull her close just long enough to remind her what she was missing, then push her away again.

But this morning had been different somehow. The way he'd looked at her, the things he'd said... for a few precious hours, she'd felt like she mattered. Like she was more than just a convenience.

Now she was back to being "the help."

Ashley wiped her eyes and stood up, moving to her closet with mechanical precision. She had work to do, notes to review, a role to play. The dutiful assistant who lived to serve her employer's every need.

But something had changed this morning, even if Corshlan wanted to pretend otherwise. Ashley had glimpsed the man behind the monster, seen the depth of his need for her. And despite his casual dismissal, she could still feel the marks his teeth had left on her throat.

He could pretend all he wanted. But they both knew the truth now.

The question was: what was she going to do about it?