Chapter 5: “Under Me”

Clara's POV.

When the car finally pulled up beneath the grand, brightly lit canopy at the tower’s main entrance, my eyes caught the glowing logo on the side of the building.

Cross Tower.

I stared at it for a moment. Of course he owned the whole damn building. Because apparently owning more money than some countries wasn't enough.

As the vehicle came to a complete stop, Julian got out of the car without waiting for me. I stepped out behind him into the covered driveway and immediately kicked off my heels with a sigh of relief. The wet straps had been digging into my skin the entire drive here, and I could not stand them for another second.

Carrying my shoes in one hand, my bare feet met the cool, pristine floor of the lobby. Three women in identical black uniform dresses stood in a perfect line beside the private penthouse elevator.

The moment the glass doors slid open for us, they all bowed their heads toward the floor.

“Welcome back, Master Cross.”

My legs froze on the Marble floor.

Master Cross?

Julian ignored them completely and stepped straight into the elevator. Snapping out of my shock, I quickly followed him inside.

The ride up was completely silent, broken only by the low hum of the lift.

When the doors opened at the top, we stepped directly into the penthouse. The elevator opened right into a massive, open-concept foyer. The living room beyond it was huge and spotless, cold, sharp, and modern, like an expensive man cave. I could tell right away that this house lacked a woman’s touch.

Julian tossed his key cards onto a console table by the entrance. The plastic clicked loudly against the glass. Then he headed straight up the floating staircase in the middle of the room without looking back.

The floor tiles were ice-cold against my feet as I hurried to keep up with his pace.

He stopped at the double doors of the master suite. I stayed two steps behind him, my palms sweaty against the fabric of my skirt.

“Please. Where is my room?” I asked calmly.

“You are looking at it, little Sterling.”

Then he stepped inside.

Julian walked directly to a brushed-steel panel built into the wall inside his massive walk-in closet, entered a code into the digital safe, and dropped the black flash drive inside. The heavy bolt engaged with a metallic clunk.

Then he reached into a drawer in his walk-in closet, pulled out a black silk button-down shirt, and tossed it toward me. It landed over my face.

“Wear it.” He said.

I yanked the shirt off my face, threw it onto the floor, and glared at him.

“I am not sleeping in your bed, Julian. Or in your clothes.”

He ignored my words and reached for the wall panel.

“Alexa, set the mode.” He commanded.

The overhead lights cut out instantly. Deep crimson light flooded the room from the ceiling. A low, heavy bass vibrated through the room as soft music played from the speakers in the ceiling.

“And why are you turning on red lights?” I asked, still standing in the doorway.

A synthetic female voice spoke from the ceiling speakers.

“Master Cross does not like bright lights.”

I froze.

What the fuck did the AI just call him?

Did it just say Master Cross?

The words sat heavily in my thoughts as I stared into the dark room. The all-female staff downstairs had used that same exact title, and now even the house system did too. It was like this whole place worshipped him.

I wondered how many women had been in this dark room calling him that.

Yuck. 🤢

The thought of it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I picked up the silk shirt from the floor, my fingers tightening around the fabric.

“I need something else to wear,” I said. “At least underwear or something.”

Julian didn’t argue. He opened another drawer, pulled out a pair of black boxer briefs, and tossed them toward me. I caught them mid-air and stared down at them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered under my breath.

The longer I stood there, the more the reality of how I ended up in this mess stung.

“Where’s your bathroom?” I asked.

Julian simply pointed to the door right beside the massive king-size bed.

I stepped inside, shut the door a little harder than I meant to, and dropped his clothes on the sink counter. Then I started peeling off my damp things. I took off my wet skirt and underwear first.

Then I picked up the boxer briefs, held them up for a second, and sighed. They looked thin and nowhere near my size.

I pulled them on anyway. The stretchy fabric clung tightly across my hips and stretched tight over my ass, the waistband digging in just enough to outline every curve. They’d have to do, but I felt ridiculously exposed.

I reached behind my back and unclipped my bra.

“Stupid thing,” I muttered under my breath.

I tossed it onto the pile of my wet clothes on the floor, then slipped into Julian’s button-down shirt. The silk fell just to the tops of my thighs, cool and smooth against my skin. My legs were completely exposed. It carried the faint scent of cedar and his cologne with every shift of the fabric.

When I pushed the door open, Julian was already standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading to the balcony of his master suite, watching lightning split the sky. He was shirtless, holding a glass of scotch in one hand.

He turned around, and his entire body went rigid the second his eyes landed on me.

The red crimson light caught the sharp line of his jaw. His pupils expanded until the blue of his eyes almost completely vanished.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his gaze lingering on my body beneath the silk. “You look good in my clothes, fake wife.”

I crossed my arms over the front of the shirt, trying to cover myself. My pulse spiked with every breath as Julian stalked toward me.

“Do not touch me,” I hissed.

“You signed my contract, Clara. You belong to me now. I can touch you where I want and whenever I want.”

A sharp gasp tore from my throat. I spun around and bolted for the door, but my bare foot slipped on the hardwood.

His hand locked around my wrist. With one strong pull, he twisted me around until my back hit the mattress.

Before I could even draw breath to scream, his weight followed me down. He pinned my hips against the velvet duvet. His chest pressed flat against mine, trapping the air inside my lungs.

“Get used to this position,” he whispered. His lips hovered a fraction of an inch from mine, his breath hot against my mouth. “Because you are going to be under me a lot from now on.”

My breasts pressed against his hard chest. Every muscle in his shoulders stayed locked, a solid wall of heat holding me flat against the bed while rain battered the glass behind him.

He did not lean down for a kiss. He did not reach for the buttons of the shirt. He simply held me there under his heavy weight, staring down into my face until my hands began to shake against the sheets. I couldn’t tell what he was looking for in me, whether he was searching for something or waiting for something to break. The longer he stared, the more I felt like I was coming apart under him.

The clock on the nightstand kept ticking.

Each second felt louder than the last, like it was counting down to something I couldn’t see but could feel creeping closer.

His thumb began tracing slow, heavy circles along my waist. The low bass from the speakers pulsed through the room, vibrating through the mattress and into my ribs until it felt like my own heartbeat had been replaced by something mechanical and relentless.

Julian stayed pressed against me, unmoving except for the slow, deliberate motion of his hand. I could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, the quiet control in the way he held me there, and it made my skin prickle with a strange mix of fear and something I didn’t want to admit.

My own body was betraying me. Every part he touched felt warm, almost unbearable, and I hated myself for it. I wanted to shove him away, to fight him, to keep hating him the way I was supposed to.

So why did a part of me want him to keep holding me?

The thought horrified me.

Then the pressure vanished. He rolled onto the side of the bed and faced the window, but his heavy forearm remained across my waist, locking me to the mattress.

“Sleep,” he commanded. His voice sounded thick and rough.

I lay perfectly still in the crimson darkness, watching the red light pulse against the wall. My chest stayed tight beneath the weight of his arm, every breath shallow and careful.