Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Lorenzo
I watched her take in my penthouse like it was a museum she’d never been allowed to touch.
The way her eyes widened at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the way her fingers hovered over the leather couch without quite touching it, the way she held her breath when she stepped onto the balcony. It was like watching someone discover color for the first time.
And it made me realize something I’d never bothered to think about before.
I took all of this for granted.
Every day, I walked through these rooms without seeing them. The marble countertops, the Italian leather, the custom-built bookcases that I’d never once filled with books I actually read. The view, that fucking view, that I barely glanced at anymore because it was just there. Background noise.
But she saw it.
She saw the beauty. The sheer fucking absurdity of one man living in a space this large, this expensive, while she was, according to my PI’s report, hundreds of miles away from the quaint apartment she grew up in. For her, space like this wasn’t just rare; it was unthinkable.
I felt something twist in my chest. Not guilt, I didn’t do guilt, couldn’t afford it. This feeling was more of a recognition of how blind I’d been.
I’d grown up with money. My father’s money, my family’s legacy, the kind of wealth that came with expectations and obligations and a golden cage.
I’d resented it for most of my life. I’d rebelled against it, tried to carve out my own identity, and built my own business from the ground up to prove that I could succeed without the family name.
But I’d never once stopped to appreciate what it meant to have options, to have safety.
That thought followed me as I led her to my study.
It was the room I spent the most time in when I was home—a corner space with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, a walnut desk that had belonged to my grandfather, and a wall of monitors that I used for work. The room was dark and moody, lit by a single brass lamp in the corner of the desk.
She stopped at the doorway, her eyes scanning the space.
“It smells like you in here,” she said softly.
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”
“I don’t know yet.” She stepped inside, running her hand along the edge of the desk. “It’s… intense.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She turns to face me, and I see the shift in her posture. It’s the very moment she decided to stop being overwhelmed and start being in control.
“If we’re doing this, then I have conditions,” Zara declared confidently.
My lips twitch. “I expected you would.”
“First: no sex.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside, something ruthless coiled and snarled, hungry and unsatisfied.
Every muscle in my body went rigid with the effort it took not to react—to stay where I was, to appear untouchable, unaffected, when what I really wanted was to grab her, to make her see how much I craved her.
I’d wanted her from the moment I saw her at my bar, wild-eyed and crying over a suitcase, her beauty like a dare.
I had fantasized about tasting her, marking her, giving her all the things I kept locked behind my careful restraint.
Now she was here, drawing that line with her voice, and desire turned tangled and raw beneath my skin, battling with another urge that threatened to swallow me whole.
I wanted to keep her happy as much as I wanted to keep her for myself. I told myself I would respect her terms. I wanted to be the man who could, wanted her to trust me more than I wanted to touch her, even when my own body screamed in protest.
I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t think it would be this hard.
“Clarify,” I said, leaning against the edge of the desk. “No sex at all? For the entire duration of the agreement?”
She crossed her arms, her chin lifting. “This is a business arrangement. I’m not going to be your…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Your plaything.”
But I want you to be.
“That’s fair,” I said instead. “Anything else?”
“I want to be able to leave. If I decide I can’t do this anymore, I want an out. No strings, no penalties.”
I studied her, this fierce woman who was trying so hard to be strong. She had no idea how much power she actually had over me. If she walked out of this penthouse right now, I’d follow her. I’d beg. I’d promise her anything.
But I couldn’t tell her that, not yet.
“You can leave whenever you want,” I replied. “No questions asked. No consequences.”
Her eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. “Wait…really?”
“Really. I’m not interested in keeping a prisoner, Zara. I want you here because you choose to be here.”
She swallowed, her throat bobbing. “Okay. Next, you pay for my education.”
“Done.”
“I want to go back to school. Full-time, and you’ll cover tuition, books, living expenses—everything.”
“Okay.”
She blinked. “You’re not going to negotiate?”
I shook my head. “I have more money than I know what to do with. If you want to use it to better yourself, I’m not going to stop you.”
She stared at me for a long moment, searching for something in my eyes. I let her look. I had nothing to hide, at least not about this.
“There’s more,” she said, now beginning to realize just how much control she held.
“Tell me.”
“I need to know that I can trust you. That you’re not going to hurt me, or use me, or—” Her voice cracked.
I pushed off the desk, closing the distance between us in two steps. She didn’t back away. She held her ground, her dark eyes fixed on mine.
“Zara.” I reached out, my fingers brushing her jawline. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to take care of you. I want to give you everything. If that’s not enough, I’ll find a way to give you more.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. You are a drug, Zara Cruz, and I am high just off the sight of you.”
She shivered under my touch, and I felt a surge of satisfaction. She wasn’t immune to me. She was fighting it, but she felt it too.
“Um… okay, one more condition,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“What?”
“If I ever change my mind about the no-sex thing…” she trailed off, her cheeks flushing.
Something hot and electric coiled in my chest. “Then you tell me. And I’ll be more than happy to accommodate.”
She pulled away, breaking the contact, and I let her. I had time. I could be patient.
For her, I would learn.
We spent another hour hammering out the details.
She was surprisingly sharp. For someone who’d walked into my penthouse looking like a lost puppy, she had a steel spine when it came to protecting herself. She negotiated for a subway pass for work and a clause that specified she could host her siblings on holidays.
But when she brought up the subway, I cocked my head. “You will have a driver; I will not have you taking the subway.”
She folded her arms, steady as a fortress. “I don’t need someone driving me around.” Her chin tipped up, daring me to refuse.
For a moment, I let the silence hang, testing her before moving on. “And the holidays? You want them here, with me around?”
“Yes. It’s non-negotiable,” she said. For once, there was no tremor in her voice, only intent.
I felt something like admiration prickle beneath my skin. I gave a slow nod, giving ground an inch at a time. “Alright. You get your education and your sibling is welcome to visit at anytime, I will cover all expenses. But if you need more, you tell me.”
I watched her carefully, wondering if she recognized that a part of my resistance was theater, as much for me as for her. She didn’t back down, and I found I liked her even more for it.
She kept looking at me like she was waiting for the catch. Like there had to be a trap somewhere, a hidden cost she hadn’t thought of.
But there was no catch.
I would have given her everything she asked for and more. If she’d asked for the penthouse itself, I would have handed her the deed. If she’d asked for my company, my future, my soul—I would have put it in writing.
Because that’s what obsession did to a man.
It made you want to give the object of your obsession everything they wanted, just so they’d stay.
I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out the contract.
It was thick, printed on heavy paper, bound in a dark folder. My lawyer had drafted it in just a few hours—an unprecedented speed, but one I’d paid handsomely for.
Zara’s eyes widened when I placed it on the desk.
“You already have a contract drawn up?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
“I do,” I said, making a note of the additions before continuing. “But I want you to read it carefully. And if you want, you can have a lawyer review it.”
She let out a laugh—a short, bitter sound that caught me off guard.
“A lawyer?” She repeated with a laugh. “Lorenzo, I can barely afford a taxi, let alone a lawyer.”
My entire body went taut. “I’ll pay for it.”
“Don’t bother.” She picked up the contract and scanned the first page. “You’ve already agreed to everything I asked. I believe you.”
“Zara—”
“I said I believe you.” She met my eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that made my heart stutter. “Don’t prove me wrong.”
She bit the end of the pen, pausing for a moment more before signing.
Her name was small and neat at the bottom of the page, Zara Cruz, and she pressed the pen down with a finality that echoed in the quiet room.
I signed below her.
When I looked up, she was watching me, her expression unreadable.
“Now what?” she asked.
I smiled, slow and dark.
She didn’t know what she’d just agreed to.
But I would show her.
I would show her everything.