CHAPTER 3 - Home Rules

The city looked different from Sebastian Velez’s car.

Not smaller, exactly. Just… owned.

Every building we passed, every light that flickered against the night, felt like it answered to him.

He sat beside me in the back seat, his long frame relaxed but coiled, like a predator conserving energy until the moment to strike. He didn’t speak for most of the ride. Didn’t need to. His silence was a kind of pressure, one that pushed me deeper into my seat, made me hyperaware of every breath I took.

When the driver finally turned into the underground parking of a glass-and-steel tower that seemed to scrape the stars, Sebastian looked at me for the first time since we’d left the hotel.

“You’ll find,” he said, “that I don’t keep things small. Not homes, not business… not expectations.”

The words sank into my skin like heat.

The elevator ride to the penthouse was silent except for the soft hum of the machinery. But I could feel him behind me — close enough that the warmth of his body brushed my back.

The air between us felt alive, charged.

When the doors opened, he stepped ahead of me, gesturing inside. “Welcome home, Mrs. Velez.”

The penthouse was vast and sleek, all dark marble and glass walls with the city glittering beyond. It smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne — his cologne — the same scent that clung to my jacket after our first meeting.

“Your room is here,” he said, moving toward a set of double doors.

I frowned. “My room?”

He turned, one brow arched. “Did you think you’d be sleeping apart from me?”

My pulse jumped. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” His voice was low, edged in amusement. “You signed a contract, Ocean.  That means my bed. My rules.”

Inside, the bedroom was almost intimidating in its perfection — a massive bed draped in charcoal silk sheets, dim lighting that seemed designed to cast shadows exactly where you didn’t want them, and a wall of windows overlooking the city.

I felt him move closer behind me. Not touching, but so near my skin felt electrified.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his breath grazing my ear.

“I’m… processing.”

He chuckled softly. “Good. Process this—”

He stepped around me until he was in front, his hand sliding under my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes were darker here, under the soft light, like they’d pulled in all the shadows of the room.

“This isn’t a place where you hide from me, Ocean. I see you. Every thought, every flinch, every spark of curiosity you’re trying to smother.”

“I’m not curious,” I lied.

His mouth curved in a slow, dangerous smile. “You will be.”

He reached up and slipped my coat from my shoulders, letting it fall in a pool of fabric at my feet. His fingers brushed my arms — not quite a caress, not quite an order — and goosebumps rippled down my skin.

“Look at you,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Still pretending you don’t know what I want from you.”

I swallowed. “What do you want?”

His hand traced the line of my jaw, down to my throat, pausing there with just enough pressure to make me hyperaware of how easily he could close the distance between us.

“Everything,” he said. “Every look, every shiver, every inch of you that says ‘no’ while the rest of you burns to say ‘yes.’”

My heart was pounding now, too fast, too loud.

He stepped back suddenly, as if granting me a reprieve. “Go shower. You’ll find silk in the wardrobe. Wear it.”

“And if I don’t?” I asked, testing him.

He didn’t smile this time. “Then I’ll choose for you. And you won’t like what I pick.”

The shower was glass-walled and almost indecent in its openness. Steam curled against the mirrors, but I kept catching glimpses of the city lights outside, as if they were watching too.

When I emerged, the silk slip he’d mentioned was waiting on the bed. Black. Barely-there straps. Dangerous in its simplicity.

I put it on.

He was standing by the window when I came out, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something amber. He turned when he heard me, and for a moment he didn’t speak. Just let his eyes move over me, slow enough that my skin heated under the attention.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

I hated that the praise made something tighten in my stomach.

He set the glass aside and crossed the room, stopping just close enough that the silk between us felt like no barrier at all. His fingers brushed my shoulder, trailing down my arm, and then he caught my wrist, guiding my hand to his chest.

His heartbeat was steady, unhurried. Dominant.

“This is how it works,” he said quietly. “I set the pace. I decide how close. I decide when.”

“And if I say no?” My voice was barely more than a whisper.

His gaze held mine, and for a long moment, neither of us moved. Then he leaned in, so close I could feel the warmth of his lips near my ear.

“Then I wait,” he said. “But I don’t walk away.”

The rest of the night was a game of proximity. He didn’t kiss me. Didn’t even take more than those lingering touches — a hand at the small of my back as he led me to the balcony, fingers brushing my hair aside when I turned away, the ghost of a touch at my hip when I passed too close.

It was maddening. Every look, every subtle contact, only wound me tighter. And he knew it.

By the time he finally told me to get in his bed, my legs felt unsteady. I slid under the sheets, the silk cool against my skin, my body thrumming with awareness.

Sebastian turned off the light, and in the darkness, his voice came from just inches away.

“Sleep well, Mrs. Velez,” he said. “You’ll need your strength.”