Isabella’s POV
The car ride to Damien’s penthouse felt like the longest of my life.
I sat in the back seat of the sleek black sedan he sent, my hands trembling in my lap. The contract I signed yesterday still felt unreal, like a dream I should have woken from with a racing heart and a guilty ache between my thighs.
But the car was real.
The text from his private number was real.
“Be ready. 8PM sharp. No panties.” —Sir.
And so here I was. Obeying. Wet before I even left my apartment.
The elevator opened directly into his penthouse. I stepped out slowly, heels clicking against black marble. Everything gleamed—glass, steel, low lighting designed to seduce. And then I saw him.
Damien stood near the window, back turned, glass of scotch in his hand. He wore a black button-up shirt, sleev
