Chapter Ten: A Message and a Warning

Amelia’s POV

The sharp buzz of my phone dragged me from sleep before the sun had even considered rising.

I groaned, reaching blindly across the tangled sheets of the too-firm hotel bed. My fingers brushed cold glass, and I squinted against the glow of the screen.

One new message.

From him.

Dominic: Sleep.

That was it.

One word.

No punctuation. No explanation. No middle-of-the-night apology or smug comment to remind me he was the one in control.

Just… sleep.

And goddamn it, it worked.

I sat up against the pillows, heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The room was dark, save for the muted glow of city lights leaking through the thin curtains. My pulse thudded in my throat, equal parts fury and something far more dangerous.

What the hell was I doing?

Letting him drive me home.

Letting him look at me like that.

Letting his voice wrap around my name like it meant something.

I hated him.

Didn’t I?

I tossed the phone onto the bed, dragging both hands down my face.

I shouldn’t have let this happen.

Should’ve known better.

I had spent years moving past Dominic Blackwood—the untouchable, smug best friend of my brother, the man who disappeared into boardrooms and penthouses and women he forgot before sunrise. But somehow, one night… one stupid car ride… had me spiraling.

I laid back down, staring at the cracked ceiling, willing my racing mind to shut the hell up. But the damage was done.

I saw him when I closed my eyes.

The sharp line of his jaw in the glow of passing streetlights.

The rough edge in his voice when he told me to get out of the car.

The way he looked like he wanted to ruin me, and maybe… a little like he already had.

I didn’t sleep.

By 6 AM, I gave up.

A hot shower did nothing to quiet my pulse.

Neither did the overpriced latte I grabbed on my walk to the office, though the cold morning air numbed my fingers and dulled the restless ache in my chest.

The city was just starting to wake up, streets slick with dew and headlights cutting through the mist. I took my time, walking slower than usual, both desperate to get there and dreading it all at once.

By the time I stepped off the elevator, nerves twisted so tightly in my stomach it felt like a fist. The office was its usual kind of quiet, the kind that felt a little too sterile, like it was meant to suffocate you.

I slid into my chair, keeping my head down, expecting some kind of fallout.

Nothing.

No email.

No summons.

No icy glare from across the glass walls of his office.

For two whole minutes, I let myself believe maybe I’d imagined it.

And then—his door opened.

Dominic Blackwood stepped out, dressed in black slacks and a charcoal button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms tensed, jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

His gaze found mine, and for half a second, the air between us thickened.

“Meeting room. Five minutes.” His voice was low, rough, lethal.

And then he was gone.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Whatever this was—it wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.