Chapter Four: The Cage

Zara’s POV

My feet are killing me by the time the clock hit eight-thirty, but I keep typing. The Harrington proposal stares back at me from the screen, marked up with more red ink than black. Valerio had thrown three more files at me after lunch, each one more complex than the last. He was testing me, pushing, and waiting for me to crack.

I won’t give him that satisfaction.

The office has been quiet for some hours now. Most of the floor was dark except for the glow spilling out from Valerio’s glass office and the small lamp on my desk. I can feel him watching me through the transparent wall. Every time I glance up, his eyes are already on mine, intense and unsettled like I was a problem he needs to dissect.

My phone lights up beside the keyboard. Mrs. Rivera again with updates on Liam.

Mrs. Rivera: Liam is asleep now. He drew a picture of a big building and said it’s where you work. He wants to show you tomorrow.

Guilt twists sharp in my chest, and I reply quickly.

Me: Thank you. I’ll be home soon. Kiss him for me.

I set my phone, but a calendar notification pops up on my screen before I turn it over.

Valerio Cruz: appointment with Dr. Arnolds, Corporate Health, 4pm Thursday.

I memorize the time and swipe it off, rubbing off the tension in my temples.

Three years of careful distance, and just two days in this building feel like walking on fire. Every time he says my name, every time his gaze lingers too long, memories flood in uninvited. His hands on my waist. His mouth on my neck. The way he used to groan my name like it belonged to him when he was deep inside me.

Stop it, Zara.

I stand up, stretch my back, and carry the updated Harrington file towards his office. His door is open, and he’s seated behind his desk, jacket off, tie loosened, with his sleeves rolled up. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and a dangerous amount of tanned skin shows at his collar.

I knock once on the doorframe even though he can clearly see me. “You wanted the revisions.”

He looks up. His eyes drag down my body slowly and deliberately, before settling on my face. “Come in. Close the door.”

I close the door, heart beating too fast. The click of the door sounds final and too intimate. I’m probably overthinking it.

He takes the file but doesn’t open it right away. Instead, he leans back in his chair, studying me with a hooded gaze like I was the only thing worth looking at in the entire city.

“You’ve been here twelve hours,” he says. “Most people would be complaining by now.”

“I’m not most people.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and vanishes so fast I almost miss it. “So you keep saying. It is starting to sound like performance rather than personality.”

He stands up and comes around the desk, taking the file from my hands. When our fingers brush, electricity shoots up my arm. I pull back too quickly, and he notices. He opens the file, flipping through my notes. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I can hear my own pulse in my ears.

“This is excellent work,” he says finally. “Almost too excellent.”

There it is again. That suspicion wrapped in a compliment.

“I told you I’m good at my job.”

He sets the file down and steps closer. Close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with whiskey. I tilt my head to meet his eyes.

“What else are you good at?” he says, his voice low and deep.

The words land between us like a live wire. My breath catches, and goosebumps trail my skin. His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers. His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for me, but is fighting it.

“You should go home,” he says roughly. “It’s late.”

“I still have two more reports to review.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’d rather finish tonight.”

His eyes darken. “Always pushing back. Why is that, Zara?”

The way he says my name sends heat pooling low in my belly. Dangerous. Forbidden. I take a small step back, but he follows, crowding me against the edge of his desk without touching me.

“I don’t like unfinished work,” I say.

“Cazzate(Bullshit).” The Italian rolls of his tongue softly, almost intimate. “There’s something between us. You feel it too. Don’t lie to me.”

My back presses against the desk. He’s so close now. If I breathe too deeply, my breasts will brush his chest. The no-office-romance hangs between us, and we both know he’s breaking it just by standing this close to me.

“I’m just here for the job, Mr. Cruz,” I whisper.

His hand comes up, bracing on the desk beside me, caging me in. “Valerio,” he corrects, voice dropping even lower. “When we’re alone, you call me Valerio.”

My stomach flips. That was how he used to say it before, right before he’d lift me onto this very desk and—

I turn my head slightly, trying to regain control. “That’s not appropriate.”

“Neither is the way you look at me.” His breath brushes my ear. “Neither is the way I keep thinking about bending you over this desk.”

Heat floods my face and between my legs. I clench my thighs together, hating how my body responds to him instantly, like no time had passed at all.

“You have a rule,” I remind him, voice shaky.

“I know my own damn rule.” Frustration edges his words. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting to break it every time you walk into a room.”

God help me, I want him to. I want him to close that last inch, kiss me like he used to, hands rough and possessive. I want to tell him about Liam. About everything.

Instead, I place a hand on his chest, light but firm. His heart hammers under my palm, strong and fast.

“We can’t,” I say quietly.

His eyes search mine. For a long moment, I think he might ignore me, push, and take. The old Adrian would have.

But this version steps back and drags a hand through his hair, looking angry at himself.

“Go home, Zara,” he says. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

I don’t argue. I gather my things with trembling hands and head for the door.

At the threshold, I look back. He’s watching me, fists clenched at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back.

“Goodnight… Valerio.”

His eyes flash at the use of his first name, and something raw and hungry crosses his face.

I slip out before he can respond. Behind me, I hear his office door slam shut, hard enough that the glass rattles.

The elevator ride down feels endless. My body is on fire. My heart is breaking all over again. When I finally reach my car in the underground garage, I sit behind the wheel for a long minute, forehead pressed against the steering wheel.

This is only day two.

Day two, and I am already losing control, and Valerio is already looking at me like he wants to devour me. I start the engine and pull out into the night, the city lights blurring past.

The man who used to love me more than anything is starting to want me again, without knowing why. And I don’t know how long I can keep it up.

But one thing is becoming terrifyingly clear.

Valerio Cruz is beginning to feel the pull of everything they tried to erase.

And when he finally remembers… or when I finally tell him the truth…nothing in this empire will ever be the same.