Chapter Nine: After Midnight

Dominic’s POV

I should’ve stayed at the office.

Hell, I should’ve left her there.

The moment I dropped her at that hotel, with her lips slightly parted, her skin flushed, and her eyes glazed over like she was seconds from falling apart in my car — I knew I’d made a mistake.

And not the kind I could undo.

I poured another two fingers of bourbon, the ice clinking against the glass, and stared out over the city from my penthouse window.

It was nearly 4 AM, but sleep wasn’t even a consideration. Hasn’t been for years.

I didn’t sleep.

I worked.

I built empires.

I ruined men who crossed me.

I fucked women whose names I forgot before they left my sheets.

But I didn’t lose control.

I didn’t want.

Until tonight.

Until her.

Amelia Carter.

I let out a humorless laugh, taking a slow sip, the liquor burning its way down my throat.

My best friend’s little sister.

The girl who used to trail after us at family barbecues, trying to keep up, her hair in tangled waves, her knees always scraped.

The girl I used to torment because it was easier than admitting I noticed her.

I shouldn’t have taken her on as my assistant.

I knew better.

I knew what kind of man I was.

And I’d known from the second she walked into my office in that goddamn dress, looking like temptation wrapped in silk, that this would happen.

That one day I’d snap.

And it wouldn’t be enough to just look.

I set the glass down a little too hard.

This wasn’t about lust.

I could fuck half the city and it wouldn’t scratch this particular itch.

Because it wasn’t just her body — though, Christ, that body was enough to ruin me. It was the fight in her eyes. The sharp edge to her tongue. The way she didn’t cower like the others. She pushed back. She made me feel something.

And I hated her for it.

I grabbed my phone, opening our text thread, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

You home?

Deleted it.

I shouldn’t have said what I did.

Deleted that too.

I want you.

Gone.

I exhaled sharply, setting the phone down face-first on the counter.

Fucking coward.

I ran a hand through my hair, the strands falling over my forehead.

This wasn’t a good idea.

I’d spent years building walls so high no one could touch me. And Amelia Carter wasn’t just about to climb over them — she was setting them on fire.

And the sick part?

I wanted to burn with her.

I’d warned her.

Told her I wasn’t a good man. That if she kept looking at me like that, there’d be consequences.

I picked up my phone one last time, typing one word.

Sleep.

I sent it.

No context. No signature.

Let her stew in it.

Because tomorrow…

I’d either fuck her against my desk

Or fire her.

Maybe both.