He heard a noise.


    The man lifted his gaze, dark and intense, settling it on Isadora.


    She''d just stepped out of the shower, her skin still dewy with lingering warmth. The loose robe slipped over her shoulders, revealing a hint of delicate corbone and the gentle curve of her neck. Her legs, long and smooth, caught the soft light, her bare feet pale against the polished wood, toes blushing faintly pink.


    Victor''s eyes darkened, a sly curve appearing at the edge of his lips. "You like to draw?"


    Isadora avoided his burning stare, her voice carefully neutral. "Just flipping through some magazines. What are you doing here?"


    Victor closed the magazine with a slow, deliberate snap and set it on the table. He watched her with azy sort of confidence. "What, am I not wee?"


    She crossed to her writing desk, slipping a folder discreetly into a drawer. But before she could move away, Victor crossed the room in two strides. He boxed her in, hands braced on either side, his head resting with casual familiarity on her shoulder. The scent of her skin and the soft hint of gardenia from her bath mingled in the air between them.


    Isadora reflexively tensed.


    Victor arched a brow, his handsome features teasing. "One day apart and your body forgets who I am already?"


    She dropped her gaze. "I''m not feeling well."


    "Hurt fromst night, is that it?"


    Isadora ignored his insinuation, pushing his hand off the desk and stepping away from the heavy presence of his body.


    But Victor caught the subtle defiance in the set of her shoulders. In one swift motion, he pulled her back.


    She stumbled into his arms.


    Victor sat down in her desk chair, settling her onto hisp, his fingers idly toying with a lock of her damp hair. His hand traced her corbone, asionally brushing against the soft fullness beneath her robe.


    A shiver shot through Isadora—her mind wanted to push him away, but her body responded all the same.


    She drew a steadying breath and brushed his hand aside. "Don''t... touch me."


    Victor gently turned her face back to him, his fingers pressing into her soft cheek. "What''s gotten into you?"


    "Nothing. I just... not today."


    He let out a careless chuckle, lips curving. "Who said I was going to do anything?"


    Isadora felt a tightness in her chest. She''d never been one to leave things unresolved, but the words she needed *break up*-felt impossibly heavy, stuck in her throat.


    "I''m going to get some water," she said, slipping from hisp and heading to the fridge. She grabbed a cold bottle of water, unscrewing the cap with trembling fingers.


    On the desk, her phone lit up with a crimson notification.


    Victor''s gaze shifted from her slender back to the glowing device. An unsaved number shed on the screen: *Isadora, I''m sorry. Come back to me.*


    His expression darkened instantly.


    He picked up the phone, scrolling through the messages.


    *Happy birthday!*


    *I''ll change. I''ll change everything. Can you forgive me?*


    Victor tossed the phone back onto the desk, the gesture careless but his jaw taut.


    He stood and crossed the room, scooping Isadora up without warning. As he carried her toward the bedroom, her slippers fell away, her bare legs kicking in protest.


    "Victor! What are you doing?"


    He tossed her onto the bed.


    With long fingers, he unfastened the sapphire buttons of his shirt, revealing lean, defined muscles and a quiet, predatory power.


    Isadora, sprawled on the bed, her robe slipping off one shoulder, braced herself upright. Her eyes held a glint of frost. "Is that all I am to you?"


    Victor''s gaze was sharp, unreadable, his voice low and rough. "Funny. Last night, you didn''t seem to mind."