Rita woke to the first light of dawn filtering through the hotel curtains, a soft golden glow that made the memory of last night feel like a dream. Her body still tingled from the intensity of the night with Alexander, and though she tried to convince herself it was a one-time thing, the heat in her chest told a different story.
She dressed quickly, pulling on a simple blouse and jeans, trying to regain a sense of control over her life. Yet every movement reminded her of him—of the way he had held her, the way he had claimed her attention so completely. She had barely slept, her mind replaying his dark, intense gaze and the calm, deliberate dominance in his voice.
By the time she stepped into the lobby, Alexander was already waiting, leaning against the wall near the elevators. His suit was crisp, his tie perfectly knotted, and his eyes immediately found hers, a quiet possessiveness in their depths that made her heart skip.
"Good morning," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Did you sleep at all?"
Rita felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "Not much," she admitted softly, looking down at her hands.
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming yet comforting. "I thought not," he said almost to himself, a small smirk curling his lips. "You were… very memorable last night."
Her stomach twisted. The words were simple, but the weight behind them left her breathless. "Alexander… we shouldn't—"
He cut her off with a raised hand, calm but firm. "We don't get to decide that, Rita. I don't let go of what I want."
A shiver ran down her spine. His obsession was clear, and though part of her wanted to resist, part of her—an unspoken, buried part—thrilled at the thought that someone like him could care, could want her this fiercely.
The ride to his office was silent, tension thick in the confined space. The city sped past in a blur of lights and movement, but inside the car, the world felt suspended, centered entirely on the storm brewing between them.
Alexander didn't speak much, but when he did, it was with a precision that made her catch her breath. "I expect you to see me again," he said finally, eyes locked on hers in the rearview mirror. "Soon. Very soon."
Rita's pulse quickened. She wanted to protest, to assert her independence, but the words lodged in her throat. "I… I'll think about it," she murmured.
The office building loomed before them, a sleek tower of glass and steel. Alexander stepped out first, his hand brushing hers almost imperceptibly—a subtle claim, a reminder that last night was not a mistake in his mind. She followed, her heels clicking against the marble floor, each sound echoing like a heartbeat in her chest.
Inside, his office was a study in luxury and control. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, and the light glinted off polished surfaces and expensive art. He motioned for her to sit, but she hesitated, unsure why she felt nervous in the presence of a man she had only just begun to know.
"Coffee?" he asked, already moving to the sleek espresso machine in the corner.
"Yes… please," she said softly, sitting down on the edge of the leather chair, careful not to get too close.
As he prepared their drinks, the door opened, and a voice rang through the room. "Alexander! You're here!"
Rita looked up, and there she was—Clara Winslow, tall, perfectly poised, and impeccably dressed. Her eyes immediately landed on Rita, and the faintest smirk curved her lips.
"Who's this?" Clara asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes sharp with curiosity and subtle challenge.
Alexander didn't hesitate. "Rita, this is Clara. Clara, this is Rita." His tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of ownership in the way he said her name.
Clara's gaze flicked over Rita like a hawk sizing up prey. "Interesting," she said finally, her voice smooth and slightly teasing. "I'll admit, I wasn't expecting… someone like you to be in my office."
Rita felt her stomach knot. She wanted to retreat, to vanish into the background, but Alexander's presence beside her was a protective shield she hadn't expected. His eyes, dark and intense, met hers, and she felt an unspoken message: I've got you.
The morning passed in a blur of meetings and introductions, with Clara hovering slightly too close, her presence a constant reminder of the social circles Alexander inhabited effortlessly. Yet no matter how polished and poised Clara was, Alexander's attention never wavered from Rita. Every subtle glance, every slight movement, was calculated to ensure she knew she had his focus entirely.
By lunch, Rita was exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally. The tension between them was palpable, and though she had hoped to maintain some semblance of normalcy, it was clear Alexander had no intention of letting last night fade into a memory.
He led her to a quiet corner of the office lounge. "You're thinking about her, aren't you?" he asked softly, not accusing, but stating a fact.
Rita hesitated. "It's… complicated," she admitted. "She seems… confident, experienced. I don't even know why you—"
He cut her off, placing a finger gently under her chin, tilting her face up so their eyes met. "Stop. Don't compare yourself to anyone," he said, his voice low, dangerous in its intensity. "There is no one else, Rita. Only you. Understand?"
Her breath hitched. She wanted to argue, to say it wasn't that simple, but the sincerity in his eyes made her shiver. "I… I understand," she whispered finally.
He let her go, leaning back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on hers. "Good. Because I won't let anything or anyone come between us. Not her, not your past, not your fears. You're mine."
The words left her stunned, her chest tight, yet a strange warmth bloomed inside her. Part of her feared the intensity, the obsession, but another part of her—one she had buried deep—thrived on it.
Clara, watching from across the room, smirked faintly. "Interesting," she said under her breath, though Alexander didn't flinch. His focus never wavered.
The rest of the day passed with more tension, more subtle dominance, and more reminders that Alexander's obsession wasn't just a fleeting infatuation—it was a claim, deliberate and undeniable. By the time Rita left the office, she was both exhilarated and terrified.
She didn't notice Alexander watching her from the window, rain beginning to drizzle outside again, his dark eyes fixed, calculating, obsessively protective. One glance at her made it clear: he wouldn't let her go. Not now. Not ever.
And as she walked into the city streets, her heart still pounding from the day's events, Rita knew something she hadn't admitted even to herself: she wanted him to fight for her, even if it scared her.
Because Alexander Cole didn't just want her—he needed her, and nothing, not Clara, not circumstance, would stand in his way.