CHAPTER 2

Elara's POV,

It was the first day of classes, and I still couldn't stop thinking about him.

Which, in itself, was a problem. Because I don't obsess over men. I don't replay conversations in my head or linger on moments that don't matter. I don't let strangers especially ones I know nothing about, occupy this much space in my thoughts.

And certainly not an older man. Yet, somehow, I couldn't seem to let it go.

The elevator. The way he looked at me. The way he spoke, controlled as though he had already decided something about me before I had even opened my mouth.

It was... unsettling. And completely out of character for me. I exhaled quietly, trying to focus as I walked across campus.

Both Lila and I attended NYU, though our paths rarely crossed academically. I was majoring in Financial Technology as a good Sinclair child. Lila, on the other hand, was a Public Relations major, which suited her perfectly.

We shared only one elective and today wasn't one of those days. My only class ended mid-morning, and by the time I stepped out of the building, I found myself with something I wasn't entirely used to. Time.

I returned to my dorm without much thought, dropping my bag onto the chair before letting myself fall back onto the bed.

The ceiling came into view. Stillness. And then. Him. Again. I closed my eyes briefly, frustrated.

This was ridiculous. I didn't even know his name.

My phone vibrated softly beside me.

I reached for it, more out of distraction than anything else—

And paused.

Ryan.

Something in my chest shifted, familiar and steady. I opened the message.

Hi.

I almost smiled. A second message followed almost immediately.

I'm back in New York, but I'll be in the Hamptons for a couple of days. Let's meet for lunch when I'm back in the city.

Simple. Straightforward.

Very Ryan.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before I replied.

Hi. Yes, of course. Just let me know when you're back in the city.

I stared at the message for a second before sending it. A few moments passed.

Then, He liked my message. That was all. No follow-up. No conversation.

The screen dimmed in my hand. I told myself it didn't matter. This was normal. This was us.

Still, I opened his social media without thinking, scrolling through his recent posts and stories.

The Hamptons. Sunlight. Music. Friends. Laughter that seemed effortless.

He looked... relaxed. Different. Like there was a version of him that existed somewhere outside of the life we shared.

A version I wasn't part of. Something uncomfortable settled in my chest.

Jealousy. The realization came quietly, but it stayed. Ryan had a life. His own world.

And me, I was here.

As Expected by my grandmother. Defined by things that had been decided long before I had a say in them.

I had acquaintances. People from classes. But not really... friends. Not in the way that mattered.

There was Lila, of course. Lila, who existed entirely outside of everything I had been raised to be. Lila, who kept telling me I needed to loosen up.

To live. I exhaled slowly, turning onto my side. She wasn't wrong. I hated that she wasn't wrong.

But growing up under Geneviève Sinclair didn't leave much room for spontaneity.

You didn't just... become someone else.

My phone was still in my hand.

Before I could overthink it, I opened a new message.

Paul, please have the car ready. I'll be heading to the country club shortly.

A spa day.

Something quiet. Relaxing. Familiar.

Then I switched to Lila.

I hesitated for a second—

Before typing:

We're going out tonight.

I stared at the message for a moment after sending it.

A small, unfamiliar feeling settled somewhere beneath everything else.

Not quite excitement.

I wasn't waiting to be told what to do.

Once I arrived at the country club, I went straight to the spa.

A deep tissue massage felt necessary something to ease the tension I hadn't quite been able to shake these past few days.

For a while, it worked. I let myself drift, my mind quieting as skilled hands of Martha worked through the tightness in my shoulders. Instead of thinking about him.

By the time it was over, I felt lighter. More relaxed. And yet, he was still there in my thoughts.

I exhaled softly as I changed into a swimsuit, pushing the thought aside as I made my way toward the underground hot tub.

Maybe this would help. The space was quiet, softly lit, the water warm as I sank into it. I ordered a drink, taking slow sips as I let the heat settle into my skin, willing myself to relax.

My phone buzzed lightly beside me.

Lila.

I opened her messages, reading through the string of texts already filled with plans for the night places, outfits, ideas she was far too excited about.

A small smile tugged at my lips. Her excitement was... contagious.

Maybe this was a good thing. I took another sip of my drink as I relaxed in the warm water.

And then I felt it. Eyes on me. Slowly, I lifted my eyes. And found him.

My breath stilled.

He wasn't in the water.

He stood above, on the balcony that overlooked the pool area, dressed impeccably in a suit as though he belonged to an entirely different world than the one I was in now.

Phone pressed to his ear. Composed and serious. But his eyes. They were on me. He was looking at me, really looking at me.

A slow awareness crept over me, sudden  as I became conscious of the way I was sitting, of the water against my skin, of the thin fabric of my swimsuit.

His expression didn't change. It didn't need to. I could feel it anyway—

The way his gaze moved. Taking me in. He was checking me out and I didn't hate it.

And I didn't look away. I should have.

But I didn't. We held each other's gaze across the distance, I felt my insides tingle, with something foreign.

He said something into the phone. Then the call ended.

And just like that, he was gone, he disappeared from my view. The absence was immediate.

I sank slightly deeper into the water, my grip tightening around my glass.

What was wrong with me? He was a stranger. Older. 

And I was, technically betrothed, I shouldn't be noticing him. I shouldn't be wanting his attention.

And yet...

I took another sip of my drink, more out of distraction than anything else.

"Stalking me now? And giving me a show?"

The voice came from behind me. Familiar.

My heart stuttered before I turned.

He stood near the row of lounge chairs, jacket still perfectly in place, as though he had never left that composed, controlled version of himself behind.

Watching me. His gaze moved over me again, slower this time, in a way that made my pulse shift before I could stop it.

Then his eyes lifted back to mine. Waiting.

"I'm not stalking you," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. "Or giving you a show."

One brow lifted slightly. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

A pause.

"Then why is it," he said, his tone even, "that I've never seen you here during the day?"

The question caught me off guard.

"How would you know?" I countered. "Are you always here?"

He didn't answer. Didn't need to. His gaze held mine instead, steady and unreadable, as though the question itself wasn't important.

Only my reaction to it. That felt far more dangerous.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he moved.

He stepped closer, closing the distance with an ease that made it feel like the space had never existed at all. By the time he reached the edge of the hot tub, I was suddenly very aware of how exposed I was of the water, the heat, his eyes, my nipples hardened under his gaze.

He sat down, his eyes darkening slightly. Not too close. But not far enough.

I straightened without meaning to, my fingers tightening subtly around the edge of the tub.

He didn't look at me immediately. Instead, he reached for a glass of water from the small table beside him, taking a slow sip.

As though I wasn't watching him. "You come here often," he said finally.

It wasn't a question. My brows drew together slightly. "Sometimes."

A pause.

He set the glass down, his attention shifting back to me fully this time.

I took that as my moment to move.

I rose from the water slowly, the surface breaking around me, and stepped out of the tub.

He watched. Unblinking. As though missing even a second wasn't an option.

As though he was taking in everything. My pulse shifted under the weight of it.

Then his gaze lifted back to mine. "You shouldn't be here alone," he said.

The words were quiet. But they didn't feel casual.

"Why?" I asked, tilting my head slightly as I squeezed the excess water from my hair. "You don't want to be alone with me?"

His expression didn't change. "Not here." The way he said it made something tighten low in my stomach.

"Why not?" I pressed, lifting my chin as I stepped closer deliberately this time.

The towels were beside him on the lounge chair.

I didn't have a choice. At least, that's what I told myself.

I held his gaze as I approached, water trailing behind me in soft drops against the floor.

His eyes lowered then. Taking in the line of my shoulders, the damp heat of my skin, the space closing between us.

I stopped in front of him. Too close. Close enough to catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne something captivating, expensive, and entirely him.

For a brief second, neither of us moved. Then I reached past him for the towel.

It meant leaning in. Closer.

I didn't realize how close until I felt it the shift in his breathing. Subtle. My presence, right there in his space, affected him more than he intended.

More than he wanted.

I wrapped the towel around myself slowly, but I didn't step back. I stayed where I was.

Standing between his legs. Not touching. But close enough that it felt like we were.

Closer than we should have been. I looked him too,  my eyes unwillingly going to his crotch. He was hard, straining against his trouser. I was really affecting him, it made my pussy flutter, I could feel the wetness pooling between my legs.

His eyes were on me. Just watching. And somehow, that silence felt more intimate than anything else.

"How old are you?" he asked.

His voice was quieter now.

I hesitated. Just for a second. Because I knew the answer mattered.

"Twenty-one," I said. "In two months." I watched him carefully, searching his face for something anything.

But it remained unreadable.

"You're too young for me," he said. There was something in his tone. I swallowed, but I didn't step back.

"I don't care," I said.

There was only one thing I was certain of.

I wanted him.

I knew he wanted me too. I leaned in closer pressing my body to his, his face right in my chest. Only a millimeter from my breasts, my nipples hard and poking through the thin fabric of my swimsuit. I watched him look at my breasts his eyes dilated, his breathing uneven, both of us breathing hard.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I do," I replied my breath caught.

He didn't reach for me. Didn't need to.

The tension did that on its own.

His gaze dropped to my lips this time. I parted my lips waiting for him to kiss me. He doesn't.

Then his eyes returned to mine, sharper now.

More focused. "I need to go." he says then he gets up leaving me standing alone, breathing hard and heavy. My pussy pulsing with need.

I watched him go, I wasn't disappointed in fact I was motivated. He wanted me and I wanted him and I was going to make it happen.