8

Chapter 8 —A Good Father

Narrator:

Aylin left the office with an empty glass in her hand and her breath held.

She still didn't understand how she had gone from preparing to be fired, humiliated, and probably deported... to ending up toasting with whiskey with Roman Adler, as if that madness had been worthy of applause.

The echo of his laughter continued to reverberate in her head. That man never ceased to unsettle her.

She walked down the hall to the kitchen, looking for something to help her ground herself.

She arrived in the kitchen, her pulse still racing, trying to process the impossible. She thought she would walk into the office to receive her final sentence, and she came out with a whiskey in her system and the approval of the Devil himself.

When she walked through the door, Amelia looked up from the tomatoes she was chopping and gave her a broad, almost knowing smile.

“So you survived,” she said, as if she already knew exactly what she had gone in for.

Aylin set the glass on the counter and leaned on it with both hands, still incredulous.

“Not only did I survive... I think he congratulated me.”

Amelia chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“Of course he did. And you deserve it.”

Aylin frowned, confused.

“Excuse me?”

Amelia put the knife aside and looked at her with sincere approval.

“It's been a long time since anyone has set limits on Sasha like you did. Believe me, no one here would have dared to do something like that... let alone pour a bottle of cola on his head.”

Aylin put her hand to her forehead, hiding the smile that threatened to escape.

“I thought he was going to fire me... make me pay for the sculpture and end up on the street.”

Amelia let out a discreet laugh.

“Well, no. Here, dear, those are the things we celebrate. Mr. Adler is not easily surprised... but you did it, and I congratulate you for that.”

Aylin sank into one of the chairs, feeling for the first time that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't so lost in that hell. She ran her fingers thoughtfully along the rim of the glass before looking up at Amelia.

“Amelia... is there anything Sasha would like to do that Mr. Adler won't let her?”

Amelia paused, as if the question had taken her by surprise. She thought for a few seconds before nodding gently.

“Yes, of course there is.”

“And what would that be?”

Amelia sighed, putting the knife aside and leaning on the counter.

“Going to her mother's grave.”

Aylin frowned, puzzled.

“Doesn't he let her?”

“No, Aylin,” Amelia replied, lowering her voice slightly. “Mr. Adler never wanted Sasha to go back there. He says it's better this way, that it's not good for her, but... the girl never stopped wanting to go.”

Aylin nodded slowly, feeling that, for the first time, she understood a little more about Sasha's rebelliousness.

“Do you think if I talk to her, she'll want to go?”

Amelia smiled sadly.

“Of course she wants to. The hard part will be convincing Mr. Adler. He's a good father, you'll see, but I think he's wrong about this. Sasha needs to close that chapter and heal that wound, but no one dares to challenge him, except her, and she's only 13 years old.”

A couple more days had passed and the routine at the mansion seemed to have stabilized... or at least, that's what Aylin tried to believe.

That night, after dealing with Sasha and making sure everything was in order, she decided she deserved a moment of peace. She took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the fatigue from her body, and for a few minutes, she was completely disconnected from the world.

She emerged wrapped only in a towel that barely covered what was necessary, her damp, messy hair falling over her shoulders. She walked barefoot to her room, closing the door without thinking too much about it. But when she turned around, she saw him. Roman Adler was there, standing by the window, as if he owned the air she breathed and the space she occupied.

She let out a gasp and put her hand to her chest, clutching the towel tightly, as if that thin fabric could protect her from the shock... and from him.

“What are you doing here?!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide and her heart pounding in her chest.

Roman was there, leaning casually against the window, but there was nothing casual about his presence.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he said in that low, deep voice that ran through her skin like an invisible touch. “I'm just not used to knocking on the doors of my own house.”

Aylin was breathing heavily, trying to collect her thoughts while he looked at her... and boy, did he look at her. That damn cheek of his.

He didn't need to say anything else. The way his eyes traced every inch of her damp, exposed skin, as if he were in no hurry to undress her with his gaze and devour her without mercy, was enough.

“I would appreciate it if you didn't do that again, Mr. Adler,” she murmured, trying to sound firm, even though she was trembling inside.

Roman nodded slowly, without taking his eyes off her for a second.

“Promise.”

But the way he said it... It only made Aylin realize that, in reality, he wasn't promising anything.

She swallowed, adjusting the towel as if she could make herself invisible under it, but Roman's eyes remained fixed, heavy, shameless.

Trying to regain some composure, she cleared her throat and raised her voice slightly.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Mr. Adler?”

Roman moved away from the window and began to walk toward her. Slowly. In that calculated way of his, as if each step were timed to make her as uncomfortable as possible.

Aylin felt her pulse quicken and her breathing become treacherous. Her body reacted before her logic, and she hated him for it.

When Roman was just inches away, so close she could almost feel the heat emanating from him, he tilted his head slightly and murmured:

“I need you to give me your bank account details. Tomorrow I'll make your monthly deposit.”

Aylin blinked, confused for a second, trying to remember how to speak as he enveloped her with his presence that seemed to devour the air.

“No... I don't have a bank account.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, as if he found that curious.

“You don't?”

“I don't trust banks. I prefer cash, if it's not too much trouble.”

Roman smiled slightly, as if that answer amused him more than it should.

“Cash it will be, then.”

But he didn't move. He didn't step away. He just looked at her for another second, as if recording the scene in his memory to repeat it whenever he wanted.

And Aylin understood that if he wanted to make her life miserable... he was going to enjoy it.

Still trying to maintain her composure, despite having him so close and feeling his gaze undressing her shamelessly, she took a deep breath and dared to ask:

“Mr. Adler... now that I think about it, we never discussed my fees.”

Roman didn't take his eyes off her. In fact, if possible, he held her gaze even more intensely, as if he enjoyed seeing her so vulnerable and yet still brave enough to discuss terms.

“That's right,” he replied calmly, leaning in slightly to speak closer to her. “You'll receive five thousand a month.”

Aylin nodded, surprised. It was a lot of money for a job like this, although...

Roman continued before she could say anything:

“But... ten percent will go directly to pay for the sculpture you broke.”

Aylin opened her mouth, incredulous.

“You're still going to charge me for that?”

Roman smiled slowly, with that delicious arrogance that irritated her so much.

“Of course. You broke something of mine. And here, debts are paid, Aylin.”

She looked down for a second, pressing her lips together, but didn't reply. She knew arguing with him would be pointless.

“As you say, Mr. Adler.”

Roman watched her silently, with that stillness of his that did not herald peace, but rather a contained storm. And then, with a firm hand, he took her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Exactly. As I say.” But that wasn't all.

With his other hand, he slid a finger slowly along the edge of the towel, tracing the line where the fabric barely covered the upper curve of her breasts, as if assessing whether he had the right to go further down, as if the slightest gesture would be enough to strip her of everything. He pulled the fabric a little, just enough to make her hold her breath, thinking he was going to leave her naked. She stood there, caught between vertigo and desire, with the promise burning between them. “And you still haven't started paying me,” he murmured close to her mouth, so close that she could feel his breath brush her lips, warm, dense, laden with intention.

Aylin swallowed, not taking her eyes off those dark eyes that seemed to devour her slowly.

Roman didn't move away. He stayed there, so close, so damn close that if she dared to breathe deeper, their mouths would meet.