Chapter 11 ATHENA
ATHENA
I I don’t know how long I was out, but the moment a harsh flash of light sliced across my eyelids, I jolted awake. The world spun, blurred shapes bleeding into one another until finally, my vision settled.
A stranger stood by the window. A woman. Blonde hair spilling down her back, lean frame, plain jeans, and a button-up shirt. Her expression? Pure annoyance.
“Finally. The princess woke,” she said flatly, her voice brimming with irritation as if being in the same room as me was some kind of punishment.
I blinked, trying to make sense of my surroundings.
This room was large and open, painted in soft, sterile cream.
Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with natural light. Where the hell was I?
“Nic was worried you might not wake up soon,” the woman added carelessly, her tone sharp, almost mocking.
That name—Nic. She said it like she knew him, like he was more than just her boss. Like she was part of his world.
“Unfortunately, you’re awake,” she said with a little shrug, like it was a shame I hadn’t just stayed unconscious. ‘‘He is waiting for you.’’
“Excuse me?” I stared at her.
She didn’t answer. Just turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Charming.
—
His office was as dull as he was. Gray walls, impersonal and sterile.
A massive black desk at the center, polished to perfection.
A single couch, probably never used. But one wall caught my attention—an entire display of liquor bottles, arranged with clinical precision.
Whiskey, mostly. All expensive, all bitter. Just like him.
And there he was. Nic—if that was even his real name.
He sat behind the desk, flipping through a file as if I weren’t even in the room.
His face was as unreadable as ever. Sharp cheekbones, neatly trimmed beard, eyes like winter—cold, unmoved, piercing.
I crossed my arms and flopped onto the couch across from him, finally earning his attention.
He set the papers aside, those calculating eyes locking on mine.
“You finally woke up,” he said calmly.
“Unfortunately,” I shot back with a smile as fake as it was sharp. “You know, I can’t believe I ever thought you were attractive.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. His brow lifted, head tilted.
“You found me attractive, huh?”
“Past tense,” I snapped. “Before you showed me what kind of manipulative asshole you really are.”
His smile was lazy and unbothered. The kind of smile that made you want to slap it off his face.
“Interesting,” he murmured, tapping a pen against the desk. “Where does that leave your precious boyfriend, then? What was his name… Mason?”
A jolt of heat surged up my spine. He had no right to bring Mason into this or speak his name. If I’d known the last time I saw Mason would be the last time, I never would’ve said what I did.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said flatly. Why I felt the need to explain myself to him of all people, I didn’t know.
“Mmm,” he mused, leaning back. “Makes sense now.”
“What do you want from me?” I cut him off, unwilling to let him toy with my emotions. “And while we’re at it, you might want to have a word with your housekeeper. She’s terrible at her job.”
“She’s not a housekeeper, and you’re not a guest.” His voice dropped, low and threatening. “Or do you need a reminder of your place here? Maybe a return trip to the basement?”
“If it means I don’t have to see your smug, ugly face, then by all means, please.”
His jaw ticked. Got him.
He stood slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, straightening his already-perfect tie. The power shifted in the room with the movement, but I refused to show even a flicker of fear.
“Linda will prepare you for dinner tonight,” he said.
“No.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“And my answer’s still no.”
The shift in his expression was subtle, but unmistakable.
He moved like a predator—slow, quiet, deliberate.
He circled the couch, each step closer until his presence was a weight on my skin.
He leaned over the backrest, hands planted on either side of me.
I could feel his breath on my neck. His scent, masculine and overpowering, wrapped around me like a noose.
“You’re pushing your luck, dollface,” he growled against my skin. “I don’t want to show you what I do to people who mistake my patience for weakness.”
He brushed his fingers over my shoulder. I jerked forward, like he’d burned me.
“Do not touch me.”
“Why?” His lips were a whisper against my ear. “You liked my touch not that long ago.”
I spun toward him, eyes blazing. “Is that your thing? Forcing yourself on women? That’s what gets you off?”
His jaw flexed hard. “I’ve never forced myself on anyone, and I won’t start with you. You’re not that special.”
“Then get the hell away from me.”
For once, he listened. He pulled back, only to reappear in front of me a second later—towering over me, my face now level with his belt. I refused to look away. He used two fingers to tilt my chin up, and I couldn’t escape his stare. His grip was firm and possessive.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, voice low, rough, intimate. “The next time I touch you, it’ll be because you ask me to, and you’ll be begging me not to stop.”
“In your dreams.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smirk.
“I’ll make you eat those words, sweetheart. Mark my fucking words.”
Then he turned his back on me, dismissive to the last second.
“Now get out of my office,” he said flatly. “Linda will prepare you for dinner.”
I stood up so fast I almost knocked the couch over, biting down every scream clawing its way up my throat. I didn’t have the energy to spit all the venom he deserved, but in my mind, I pictured him crumpled on the floor, bleeding, dead.
I slammed the door behind me with every ounce of rage I had left.