Chapter 17: THE OFFER.

A WEEK LATER

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     I hadn't’ expect the house to feel like this—alive, bustling, transformed. Everywhere I turned, there were staff moving around with purpose, carrying decorations, adjusting floral arrangements, and ensuring that every inch of the house was prepared for the grand ball.

I knew this event was important, but standing in the middle of all the chaos made it feel even grander—like something out of a world I didn’t belong to.

And then, I stepped into the grand ballroom for the first time.

I froze.

The room was massive. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, adorned with intricate chandeliers. Golden-trimmed walls shimmered under the glow of the soft evening light, and floor-to-ceiling windows lined one side of the room, revealing the stunning landscape beyond.

It was breathtaking. Intimidating.

I had spent weeks in this house, yet somehow, I hadn’t even known this room existed.

“Wow…” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Beside me, Isabella laughed softly. “I know, right?” She gestured around the space. “This is why I love coming home. The house is always beautiful, but when there’s an event? It turns into something out of a fairytale.”

I swallowed, still taking everything in. “I had no idea this place was so… grand.”

She grinned. “There are a lot of places you haven’t seen yet.”

That much was clear. But it wasn’t just the ballroom—it was everything. The life these people lived, the world they came from. I was stepping into something so far removed from my own reality.

And I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

The next few hours were filled with dress fittings, fabric selections, and endless choices.

I wasn’t used to this. Having people bring out racks of luxurious gowns for me to pick from? It felt ridiculous—like I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.

Isabella, on the other hand, was completely at ease. She moved through the process with the kind of grace that only someone raised in wealth could.

“This one would look amazing on you,” she said, holding up a sleek, dark gown.

I hesitated. “I don’t know… I feel like I’d trip and embarrass myself.”

She rolled her eyes. “You won’t. Trust me, you’ll look stunning.”

I wasn’t convinced. But the warmth in her voice made me smile.

Despite everything—the extravagance, the overwhelming nature of it all I found that I actually enjoyed spending time with Isabella.

She was easy to talk to, genuine.

She told me about university—the stress, the expectations, but also the fun of it all. I told her about work, how I’d been saving up, how Blake had been good to me as a boss.

But I didn’t mention Alan.

I avoided his name, avoided anything that would lead to that conversation.

It wasn’t even intentional at first, but as the day went on, I realized I was keeping my distance. Not just in conversation—but physically, too.

A week had passed since our last encounter, and he was still cold. Distant. He barely acknowledged me. If he looked at me at all, it was brief, impersonal—like I was nothing.

So I let it go.

Instead, I focused on Blake.

I wasn’t sure if it was a conscious decision, but I found myself spending more time with him. Maybe it was because he was warm where Alan was cold. Maybe it was because, with him, there wasn’t so much uncertainty.

Maybe… it was because Alan noticed.

————

Later that night, after everything, I found myself standing outside Blake’s bedroom door.

I wasn’t sure why I was there. I hadn’t planned on coming, but after the long day, after the chaos of the preparations… I ended up here.

I knocked hesitantly.

“Come in.”

His voice was deep, smooth.

I pushed the door open slowly.

He was sitting on the couch, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top, and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms—revealing his tattoos. The dim lighting of his bedroom cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more dangerously handsome than usual.

His piercing black eyes lifted to meet mine, and for a moment, I forgot why I had even come.

“I didn’t think you’d still be up,” I said softly, unsure of why my voice sounded so breathless.

“I could say the same about you, didn't expect to see you here,” he murmured, his lips curling into that slow, knowing smirk that always did something to my stomach.

I hesitated in the doorway. “Is it a bad time?”

“What? Not at all.” He scoffed. “Come here, Samantha,”  He gestured towards the chair across from him. “Sit.”

His voice was smooth, commanding, but not in a way that demanded—more like he already knew I would listen.

And I did.

I lowered myself into the chair across from him, my fingers curling into my lap to steady myself. There was something about being in his room, just the two of us, that made my pulse unsteady.

“How’s the preparation going?” he asked.

I let out a breath. “Busy. The house feels different with all the staff moving around, setting up decorations, preparing for the ball.”

Blake hummed, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down. “It always feels different before an event like this.” His gaze lingered on me, sharp, unreadable. “Isabel told me you’ve been helpful.”

“She’s been the one helping me,” I admitted. “She knows exactly how everything is supposed to go.”

A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. “That sounds like her.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment, thick and pressing. I could feel his eyes on me, something about his stare making my breath hitch.

Then, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I’ve been thinking.”

I straightened slightly. “About what?”

“I don’t want you working as my caretaker anymore.”

My stomach twisted. “What?”

“I’ve decided to bring in additional staff,” he continued. “People to handle the meals, assist Nadia, manage the house. You won’t need to do that anymore.”

I blinked, my stomach twisting slightly. “Sir, if this is your way of—”

“I’m not letting you go,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I’m offering you something else.”

I swallowed, trying to process what he meant. “What exactly?”

“I want you to work for me, as my personal assistant.”

The air in the room suddenly felt tighter.

I stared at him, unsure if I had heard him correctly.

“You…” My voice trailed off. “You want me to work for you? In your business?”

“Yes.”

I sat there for a moment, my mind catching up with the weight of what he was saying.

“Why?” I finally asked.

His eyes darkened slightly, something amusing flickering across his face. “Because I trust you and Because I know you’d be good at it. You’re smart, capable, and you handle responsibility well. You’ve already proven that.”

Those words sat heavy between us.

I swallowed, caught between shock and uncertainty.

This was a huge step—an entirely different role from what I had been doing. A professional role.

But it also meant working closely with him. Every day.

The idea unsettled me for reasons I couldn’t fully explain.

Blake didn’t press me for an answer right away. He just watched me, his expression being soft.

After a long silence, he spoke again. “Think about it.”

I nodded slowly, still trying to find the right words.

“I will,” I said softly.

Blake nodded once, satisfied.

The air in the room seemed warmer now, tighter. I shifted in my seat, feeling suddenly too aware of how close we were, how slightly intimate this position was becoming.

As I stood up to leave, his hand gently claim mine. He didn’t move, didn’t speak for a moment. Then, slowly, he stood up.

I wasn’t expecting it.

He walked over, standing just a few feet away from me. Close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell with every breath.

I stayed still, my heart hammering against my ribs.

His fingers reached out, brushing against my wrist—light, barely there. But it sent a shock through me, a ripple of something too intense to name.

He stared down at me, with a calm expression, his touch lingering just long enough to make me feel breathless.

“Are you afraid of being around me, working with me?” he asked, voice quieter now, lower.

I swallowed. “No.”

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, watching me, and I felt like he was seeing too much, pulling apart every thought I was trying to hide.

“Good” he replied.

He stepped closer.

My pulse stuttered, breath catching in my throat as his presence filled the space between us. There was something deliberate about the way he moved—controlled, careful, like he was testing some invisible boundary neither of us had acknowledged yet.

Then, without a word, his fingers lifted, brushing against my temple. He tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, his touch light but lingering, enough to send a slow, shivering heat down my spine.

I barely had time to process it before his voice came, quiet, lower now. “Your lips aren’t swollen anymore.”

The statement sent a shock through me.

I blinked up at him, heat rising to my face, my lips parting slightly in surprise.

“Does that mean…” He tilted his head slightly, watching me too closely. “You’re no longer nervous around anyone?” A pause. “Especially me?”

My heart pounded against my ribs.

I knew what he was referring to. That night. Alan.

Blake had noticed. Of course, he had.

I swallowed, steadying myself. “Yes.”

A slow smirk ghosted over his lips. His gaze flickered down to my mouth for the briefest moment before returning to my eyes, something heavy sitting between us.

Then, before I could react, his hands were on my face.

His palms cradled my cheeks, fingers pressing lightly against my skin, holding me there—holding me still.

I forgot how to breathe.

He was looking at me, really looking at me. His thumbs brushed lightly against my cheekbones, slow, warm, leaving a trail of something deep, something pulling, something I didn’t know how to name.

The space between us dissolved, just a breath, just a whisper of air separating us.

I could hear his breathing. Steady. Controlled. My own breath hitched.

His scent filled my lungs—clean, expensive, intoxicating. My skin burned under his touch, my pulse hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

I closed my eyes to savor the moment.

And then, just when the heat became unbearable, he whispered, “That’s good.”

I opened my eyes.

“That’s wonderful,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, lower, like he was fighting something himself and trying to control himself.

But he didn’t move.

Neither did I.

The air between us crackled, something unspoken stretching between us, holding us in place, keeping me trapped in the press of his hands, the pull of his gaze.

I should say something.

I should move.

But my body refused.

Blake’s eyes flickered over my face—my lips, my eyes, lingering like he was memorizing something.

Then, finally, he exhaled slowly, a breath that barely touched my skin but sent another shiver through me.

And then, just like that, he let go.

The absence of his touch sent a wave of something dizzying through me.

I stepped back, needing distance, needing air, needing something to pull myself together.

Blake watched me, his expression calm.

“Think about the job,” he said, his voice too even, too controlled, like the past minute hadn’t just knocked the breath from my lungs.

I forced a nod, even though I wasn’t thinking about the job at all.

“Goodnight” I said quickly.

Then, without another word, I turned and walked out of his room—my skin still burning, my mind still spinning, my heart still racing.....

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