Chapter 5 – The Spark

Lana’s POV

The sheets in the guest bed are rumpled. My body feels heavy, satiated, and gloriously powerful.

I woke up smiling.

I know he heard me last night. I didn’t whisper his name for my own pleasure; I whispered it for his ears. I wanted him to feel the exact kind of helpless, agonizing pull I felt when I walked in on my mother and Larry.

He didn’t come in. The door stayed shut.

Control. That is his currency. And last night, I made him use every last bit of it just to keep his distance.

I put on a pair of tiny cotton boy shorts and a slightly sheer white tank top. I need him to look at me, and I need him to see exactly what he’s denying himself.

I pad down to the kitchen. He’s already there, standing at the island, reviewing his tablet. He looks tired. His jaw is tight beneath the perfect stubble. Good.

I grab an apple and lean back against the counter, legs crossed casually at the ankle.

“Morning, Roman,” I chirp, biting into the apple with an unnecessarily loud crunch.

He barely glances up. “Lana. You slept well.” His voice is neutral, flat.

“The best I’ve slept in months. Maybe it was the quiet.” I let my eyes drift toward the guest wing, then back to him. “Or maybe it was the company.”

He slams the tablet down onto the counter. The sound echoes.

“Don’t push it,” he warns.

I grin. Now we’re talking.

I decide to skip the pretense of reading. We sit at the large dining table, two planets orbiting each other at a tense, uncomfortable distance.

I pull my feet onto the seat, wrapping my arms around my knees. The movement makes the tank top ride up, exposing a line of skin above my shorts.

I chew my toast slowly, watching him. He’s not eating. Just drinking black coffee like a poison.

“My mother called,” I state, watching his reaction.

His hand stills, the mug halfway to his lip. “Did she.”

“Yeah. She’s worried about me. Said Larry’s broken up about what happened. Real tearjerker stuff.”

“She’s lying,” he says immediately.

“Of course she is.” I shrug. “But she wants to know where I am. I told her I’m at a friend’s. Safe, discreet, and definitely not married to a billionaire.”

“Keep that lie consistent,” he advises, his eyes hard.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, letting my tank top gape. I know he can see everything.

“So, you two really never fight, do you? You’re so… civilized.”

He stares at me, his gaze finally dropping to my chest, then back up to my face. The flicker of heat is undeniable.

“We have an understanding.”

“An understanding,” I repeat, dragging the word out. “That must be fun.”

I watch him go to the massive glass window in the living area. He stands there, hands in his pockets, looking out at the gardens like they owe him money.

This is my chance.

I walk up behind him, stopping close—but not touching. Just close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off my skin.

“That’s a beautiful view,” I murmur.

He doesn’t move. “It is.”

I pretend to adjust the sheer curtains, moving my hand past his.

My fingers brush the side of his wrist.

It’s accidental. It’s a complete, utter lie.

He freezes. His entire body goes rigid, like a statue carved from steel.

I pull my hand back quickly, whispering, “Oops. Sorry.”

He turns, his eyes dark and furious. He smells like expensive cologne and pure, raw male frustration.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” he grinds out, his voice dangerously low.

I meet his stare, the fear a tiny, exhilarating thrill in my stomach.

“I told you I’m not afraid of you, Roman. Besides,” I whisper, stepping closer, tilting my head. “You must be used to prettier girls trying to flirt.”

I let the question hang there, the air thick with tension.

Then I push the final button. The one I know will wound his ego and reference the one person he can’t stand.

I let my eyes trail down his perfect suit and back up to his face, my voice dripping with mock sincerity.

“Or maybe… older ones?”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. His face is a mask of pure, devastating rage, his nostrils flaring slightly with the effort of holding back.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, the sheer force of his suppressed desire.

He wants to lash out. He wants to grab me. He wants to silence me.

I take one slow step back. I have pushed him to the edge.

My heart is hammering against my ribs, not from fear, but from the intoxicating rush of power.

I smile, cold and satisfied. I know I won the round.

Now, all I have to do is wait for him to break.

Then a quiet voice breaks the air behind me.

“Miss Lana.”

I stop.

Maria stands in the doorway, dish towel in her hand. Her eyes move once between Roman and me, taking in the distance, the charged air, the way my shirt clings to sweat.

“Sir,” she says softly, “you have that conference call in five minutes.”

Roman gives a curt nod and leaves without a word. The click of his shoes fades down the hall.

Then she speaks.

“I’ve seen a lot in this house, Miss Lana. Your mother… she’s not an easy woman. And Roman, he’s not easy either.”

Her voice is calm. Controlled.

But her eyes? Sharp.

“But I won’t pretend I don’t see what you’re doing.”

My stomach twists.

I raise my chin. “I’m not doing anything.”

She nods once. “That’s your story. You’re free to tell it.”

A pause.

Then:

“Just know this… I’ve worked for Roman since before his marriage to your mother. I know what your mother is. I never liked her. I still don’t.”

My brows raise. She continues.

“But I won’t help replace one chaos with another.

To Be Continued…