Chapter 5: A Year of Torment

ISLA'S POV

I believed he would become a distant memory, a passionate one-night stand that was too intense to be labeled a mistake but not meant to be repeated.

I was wrong. Julian Wolfe is not the kind of man I can just write off.

A year ago, that morning, I quietly left his luxurious Notting Hill town house. My hair was a mess, my body still marked with traces of his release, and my breath shallow from the stupid decision to leave without saying goodbye.

I thought it was the safest move because I’d gotten too close to the edge. And in my eyes, Julian was too perfect to be anything but addictive.

Julian Wolfe was everything I craved and feared in a single, devastating form. Dominant, mature, attentive, and he knew my body better than anyone ever had.

For a year, I tried to kill the memory. But like its signature scent of bergamot, cedarwood and a hint of dark musk: it clung to me.

Now he’s back. In a goddamn boardroom.

***

The office was like Vogue meets Forbes—Urban luxury with minimalist power. Marble floors, gold accents, and a sweeping view of the London skyline that could steal anyone’s breath.

And right in the middle of it all, he stood the power player in the company I idolized. Executive Marketing Director of the Preston Group.

Black tailored suit, gray shirt, a Swiss watch so expensive it didn’t even need a name. He walked toward me like time had never passed.

“Welcome,” he said, that deep voice piercing my memory like a needle through satin.

He shook my hand, his thumb brushing the back of mine. It was a subtle gesture, unseen by anyone else, but enough to make my knees weak.

“So, you’re working with Nola?” he asked, his British accent smooth, low, with a dangerous undertone.

I nodded. Because Julian’s voice, his lips, his touch was short-circuiting every nerve in my body.

His eyes narrowed just slightly. That d*mn faint smirk appeared, only making him hotter.

“Good. We’ll be reviewing Eleanor Rowe’s relaunch proposal at noon. Join us. We need fresh perspectives.”

I nodded again. Too scared to speak. Because if I opened my mouth, I might beg him to kiss me.

“I look forward to working with you, Isla.”

The words were formal. But his eyes told a different story. Those dark eyes stripped me bare in a single glance: eyes I’d seen staring down at me as he made me kneel, as he kissed my ribs like they were a melody.

I forced a polite smile. “Likewise, Mr. Wolfe.”

As he turned and walked away, I finally exhaled. My body felt flushed and unfamiliar beneath my professional clothes.

God, he still owns me.

***

“Maya. I’m spiraling.”

Maya shot me a look from behind her DJ booth. “Don’t tell me it’s him again.”

I dropped onto the red velvet couch in the corner of her music studio. “He’s back. In a suit. As my boss.”

Maya nearly dropped her headphones. Then she sat next to me, gripping a mug of tea. “Wait, what? Julian Wolfe is your boss? The human vibrator?”

I nodded, my shoulders slumping like I’d just lost a war. “He said ‘welcome’ like he was welcoming me back into his bed. Like he didn’t once tie my hands and call me ‘sweetheart’ while I begged him not to stop.”

Maya rubbed her temples. “Tell me you didn’t moan.”

I stared at the ceiling. “Barely. But my thighs definitely did.”

She half-laughed, half-groaned. “You’re hopeless.”

I went on softer now. “I haven’t slept with anyone since him. Every guy I meet, I secretly hope they’ll pin me to a mirror and whisper rules before kissing me senseless.”

Maya blinked. “Okay. That’s deeper than I expected.”

I sighed, pressing my fingers to my forehead. “I don't love him. But no one touches me like he did. No one listens like he did. It's like the set the bar so high, I can't even see it anymore.”

“Closure,” Maya mumbled, hugging a pillow. “You need closure.”

I glanced over at her. “Closure? You mean f*ck him again?”

Maya raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I was going to suggest tea and journaling, but sure, let’s go with that.”

I laughed bitterly. “I need to get him out of my system. Or I’ll keep fantasizing about him tying me to his desk chair and—”

Maya cut me off, smothering her ears with the pillow. “Stop. Just stop. And what if he’s even better than you remember?”

I licked my lips. “Then maybe I’ll be his fantasy, too. But at least I’ll be able to work without picturing him every time I see the d*mn executive chair.”

Maya shook her head, then pulled me into a hug. “Fine. Just promise me two things: don’t get caught, and don’t catch feelings.”

I gave her a crooked smile. “This is strictly business. A final indulgence. Nothing more.”

Maya narrowed her eyes. “And how do you plan to start?”

I stared up at the ceiling with a wicked grin. “Maybe… I’ll wear that same lavender blouse. The one he ripped off. See if he remembers how it tastes.”