The Velvet Prison

Kale's POV

The leather interior of Jace’s luxury sports car smelled like cedar and whatever expensive cologne rich guys wear. It was thick in the air and honestly messing with my head. I pressed my forehead to the passenger window and watched the neon lights of LA smear across the glass.

My old canvas backpack was shoved between my feet on the floor. It had maybe three shirts, a hoodie, and a toothbrush I grabbed on the way out of my cramped apartment.

We hadn’t said a word in twenty minutes. The engine had this low hum that I felt through my shoes. I swallowed and shifted, then risked a look at him.

Jace drove with one hand on the wheel like he wasn’t even trying. Before we left the JMC garage he had made a quick stop in his private dressing suite to change out of his formal office attire, swapping his crisp white button down shirt for a tightly fitted, charcoal black designer polo.

I hated that I noticed. My mouth went dry anyway. The fabric pulled across his chest and shoulders like it was losing a fight. Every time he turned the wheel, the veins in his forearms moved under his skin and my brain just glitched. His nipples strained against the shirt like it was about to rip.

Seriously, Kale, get a grip. My fingers twisted in my hoodie and I could feel my face heating up. He looked stupid good and that was the problem. The kind of guy you see on ads. The kind you think about at 2am and regret in the morning. Trapped in a car this small with his smell everywhere wasn’t helping my self-control.

Jace didn’t say anything. He just had this slow smirk, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. He accelerated smoothly, pulling the sports car into the private, heavily guarded underground parking entrance of an ultra-modern skyscraper located in the heart of the most expensive district in the city.

The gate opened without a sound and we rolled into a private elevator bay for the penthouse. He cut the engine and the car went quiet. Too quiet.

“Grab your bag, Kale,” Jace said, voice low as he pushed his door open and stepped out.

I grabbed my backpack with hands that wouldn’t stay steady, pushed the door open, and jogged to keep up. We walked into a mirrored elevator and Jace took out a silver keycard, tapped it.

The elevator moved instantly, shooting upward toward the top floor with an incredibly smooth speed.

When the doors finally slid open with a soft, electronic chime, I stepped out onto the polished marble floors of the penthouse, and my jaw practically hit the ground.

The space was absolutely massive, featuring towering floor to ceiling glass windows that provided a breathtaking, view of the entire sparkling city skyline below.

It was beautiful and also completely empty. Everything was white, black, and chrome. Sharp furniture, clean lines, nothing personal. No photos, no clutter, no life. It didn’t feel like somewhere people lived. It felt like a place you tour and then leave.

“This is your place while you’re under my contract,” Jace said. His shoes clicked on the marble as he walked to the windows and looked out like he owned the skyline. “Monarch Studios owns the whole top floor. You’ll have privacy. No distractions from your old life. No neighbors. Nothing to mess with your focus.”

I dropped my backpack on the white leather couch. It looked cheap and wrong there. I walked to the glass window and stood a few feet from him, staring down at the streets. The view was crazy, but the empty space made my chest feel tight and lonely.

“It’s big,” I said, trying to sound casual to cover it up. “And cold... Do all your places look like a fridge, Jace?”

He made a low sound that might’ve been a laugh. He turned and looked at me, eyes dragging over my face and my arms crossed over my chest. That stare always made my breathing go weird. He stepped closer until the city lights behind him disappeared and all I saw was him.

“You’ll adjust to the cold,” Jace said, voice dropping. He reached out, his warm, large hand coming to rest firmly against the cold glass window right next to my head, trapping me between his massive body and the view of the city. “This is a clean slate. Same as your career. I took you out of that apartment for a reason. I’m putting money into your voice. I need you focused.”

Being that close was a problem. Heat rolled off him and I could see his chest move under the polo. My heart was pounding against my ribs, and I had to force myself not to reach out and wrap my fingers around his thick biceps.

I wanted him to touch me, to drop that cool composure, and to show me exactly what those massive arms could do when he wasn't playing the role of a professional producer.

“I signed it, right?” I said, voice coming out shaky, trying my best to sound tough while my insides were melting into pure liquid desire. “I’m here. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Jace’s eyes dropped down to my lips for a long second, his dangerous smirk widening as he picked up on my sheer desperation. He leaned down just an inch closer, his hot breath brushing against my ear, making my entire lower half twitch with sudden, unbearable heat.

“Good,” Jace said, dropping his hand and stepping back toward the elevator. “Your gear and food come in the morning. Sleep, Kale. You’re with me now, and I’m going to push you.”

The doors closed and I was alone in the big, silent apartment. I let out a deep sigh and sank onto the edge of the cold couch. It hit me then that this was real. No going back.