As I lie beneath him, my heart is heavy with a mix of numbness and longing.

Alan's dark eyes bear into mine, burning with an intensity that terrifies me.

His hands, gentle yet firm, explore my curves with obsession. The way he moves is different now—no longer the frantic wildness as before, but a slow, deliberate rhythm that sends shivers through my body. Each thrust is careful, as if he fears breaking something fragile.

I'm already carrying his child.

The thought should bring comfort, but it doesn't. Not when Alan continues to claim me as though I belong to him—and, in his mind, I do.

He trapped me in his grip, forced me to marry him, and took me every night until I carried his child.

He's gentle with me now, his hands caressing, not forcing. But that's the only difference—everything else is still the same.

He still won't let me go.

Afterward, he pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me like a protective cocoon. "I can't wait to meet our child."

His words, which are meant to soothe, only stir something ugly inside me.

It is maddening. I don't understand him—how he can go from aloof to gentle in the span of a heartbeat.

To the world, Alan Royce is a cold-hearted, ruthless CEO, a man who could destroy someone with just a glance. Yet with me, he is someone else entirely.

He never scolds me, not even a harsh word. His gaze always burns with an emotion I can't decipher, and his words—when he speaks to me—are laced with an almost unbearable tenderness.

But he will never let me go.

My voice trembles as I break the silence, unable to hold back the storm any longer. "What do you want from me, Alan?"

His arms tighten around me, breath brushing against my ear, "Don't you know, Christa?"

Each word he utters drips with possession.

"All I've ever wanted is you."

Desperation claws at me.

How did it come to this?

I came to Royce Group just to find the truth about my father. When did everything start to blur into this nightmare?

It all started that day...

......

"Your father was murdered."

The words struck me like a bolt of lightning, freezing me in place as a cold sweat broke out across my skin.

"If you want the truth, go inside Royce Group."

I stared at the screen, fingers trembling around the phone. I read the words again, hoping they would make sense. They didn't. The bluntness, the cold certainty, felt too deliberate—too personal—to be a random prank.

No name. No signature.

Just a cryptic warning.

"...Christa, what's wrong?"

The concerned voice of my colleague, Evelyn, cut through the fog of my thoughts, bringing me back to reality.

"Nothing," I replied, offering her a forced smile.

But even as I said the words, my mind was reeling, still trapped in the echo of that message. I forced myself to breathe deeply, to push the knot in my stomach aside. For now, there was work to do.

Royce Group's office was everything I'd imagined—sleek, modern, and intimidating. Tall glass windows overlooked the city, and the hum of busy professionals filled the air, their voices sharp and purposeful.

I glanced at the cluttered pile of papers in front of me, trying to focus on the mundane tasks at hand.

My laptop sat open, the blinking cursor mocking my attempt to concentrate. As an intern, I often felt invisible here—just another face in the crowd.

Here I am, right in the heart of the Royce Group.

My father. Murdered.

The words played over and over in my mind.

Someone knew something about my father's disappearance—and they wanted me to find out.

Why now? Who would send this? And, most terrifying of all—how did he (or she?) know about my father?

It had been years since I last saw him—my father, Dr. Daniel Hayes. When I was just twelve years old, he disappeared without a trace. No warnings, no goodbyes, just a void that swallowed everything I had once known. I never got answers. Only empty promises from the police and whispered speculations that led nowhere.

Everyone around me, even my mother, had given up looking.

But not me.

"Stay away from them, Christa."

Mum's voice echoed in my mind. I could almost hear the tremor in her words, the urgency that had never left her when she warned me about this place.

"Don't trust anyone in Royce Group, especially not the ones at the top."

But I must come.

Royce Group. The very place where my father's last known traces had been.

If only I could get close enough to find out the truth behind his disappearance...

"Catherine's at it again," Evelyn curled her lips into an amused smirk as she typed away.

I raised an eyebrow, curious. Evelyn was one of the few who'd made an effort to talk to me since I came here.

"What do you mean?"

"She's been trying to get into Alan Royce's good graces again. "

Her lips twisted into a cynical smile. "Last time she cornered him in the elevator—can you imagine? The man has no patience for her antics."

My stomach tightened at the mention of my name.

Alan Royce, the CEO.

He was a name everyone whispered about, a man whose presence could silence entire rooms. I had heard of his reputation—a ruthless businessman, the icy leader who ruled the company with a cold, unyielding fist.

"Sounds like she has no idea what she's dealing with," I said.

Evelyn chuckled. "I think she knows exactly what she's doing. It's just... the man doesn't care. Alan doesn't have time for people like her. He's too focused. Too... untouchable."

"Christa!"

A sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

I jumped, startled by the sudden interruption. Looking up, I saw Catherine Bellamy—head of the department—looming over my desk with an expression that was half stern, half cold. In her mid-thirties, her round face was framed by layers of carefully styled red hair. The faint scent of expensive perfume clung to her, but it couldn't mask the sharp, judgmental glint in her eyes.

"Yes, Ms. Bellamy?" I asked, trying to steady my breath.

She clicked her tongue and narrowed her eyes.

"Still here, are you? The top floor is waiting for those files. They should have been on the desk by now. Don't waste anyone's time, Christa."

Her voice was cool, almost too composed, but there was an unmistakable edge to it that made it clear she wasn't joking.

I nodded quickly, grabbing the files from my desk. "Of course, Ms. Bellamy. I'll have them ready."

She gave a half-smile, one that didn't reach her eyes.

"Good. Just remember, you're lucky to be here. People like you don't just walk into Royce Group. Don't forget that."

She turned on her heel, her stilettos clicking sharply against the marble floor as she walked away.

I took a deep breath, trying to force myself to focus. This was more than just a job for me. This was the only lead I had on my father's disappearance. I couldn't afford to mess this up—not with everything that was at stake.

I rushed toward the elevator, balancing a stack of files in my arms, each paper threatening to slip out of place. As I reached the door to the top-floor meeting room, I took a deep breath and pushed it open.

The sound of voices and murmurs seeped through the crack. The kind of voices you hear in serious discussions. Important discussions.

And the instant I swung the door open, the entire room fell silent.

It was as if the air had been sucked out, and I was left standing in the middle of an oppressive stillness.

Every eye in the room turned toward me—cold, hard, questioning. The top executives of Royce Group, all men and women who had the power to make or break careers with a single word, sat in a semicircle.

The door slammed shut behind me, and in that split second, I realized my mistake.

This wasn't just a regular meeting. No, this was deliberate. My boss, Catherine Bellamy—she'd set me up.

The silence was suffocating. My body froze, my fingers tightening around the files in my arms.

"I'm... sorry, I came to deliver the files..."I stammered, my cheeks burning as I clutched the files to my chest like a shield.

Then I took a quick glance around the room, trying to find the one person who might cut me some slack. That's when I saw this man.

He didn't speak, didn't need to. The silence around him was oppressive, as if the room was waiting for his command. And in that moment, I realized: no one here moved without his say-so.

His dark, perfectly tailored suit hugged his broad shoulders and tapered frame. The sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones were as precise as if they'd been carved by an artist. His hair was as black as night, with a slight wave falling just above his brow. But it was his eyes—deep and piercing—that truly captivated anyone who dared to meet his gaze.

"Who are you?" Suddenly, a stern voice sliced through the tension like a blade.

A woman sat near the handsome man at the head of the table, posture impeccably straight, a tailored navy dress hugging her figure.

Sophia Morgan. Head of the R&D department and one of Royce Group's top executives.

I recognized her from the employee directory, though I'd never spoken to her directly.

"You're now allowed to be here," she said coldly.

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered, clutching the files tighter to my chest."I was told to deliver these files to the top floor immediately."

Her perfectly shaped brows arched.

Before I could muster another apology, another voice cut in.

"You're scaring her, Sophia."

The man who spoke leaned back in his chair, his sharp features softened by the faint trace of a smile. James Parker—Royce Group's CFO. I'd overheard his name more than once in the office, always spoken with respect.

"She's clearly new here. Mistakes happen." His gaze flicked toward me, offering a reassuring smile, easing the tightening in my chest.

"Don't be ridiculous. Mistakes are not allowed at Royce Group."

Sophia bristled, then she turned to the handsome man at the head of the table, her expression softening in an instant.

"Especially in a meeting like this," Sophia continued, her voice softening further as if addressing him alone. "Alan's time is far too valuable."

Her words landed like a thunderclap.

Alan Royce.

I froze, the name reverberating in my mind.

The CEO of Royce Group. The man at the center of this empire. The man who could silence a room with a single glance.

And now, that gaze was fixed on me.

He hadn't said a word, but the room seemed to revolve around him. His dark eyes, piercing and dark, rested on me with a weight that made my knees feel weak. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting casually on the table, the other steepled beneath his chin. The silence was deafening, as though everyone in the room was waiting for his verdict.

"Christa Hayes."

He finally spoke, his voice a deep, velvet timbre.

For a moment, I was stunned. Then I saw it—his gaze had flickered briefly at the small badge clipped to my chest, the one that bore my name in neat, printed letters.

His gaze met mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. No words, no gestures. The weight of his stare pressed down on me, suffocating, as though I could no longer draw breath without his permission.

"Yes,"

I replied, fists clenched at my sides.

Alan Royce.

He was the key. The key to everything.

The truth about my father's disappearance, the answers to questions that had haunted me for over a decade.

No matter how dangerous, no matter the cost, I had to get closer.

Closer to the man who held all the answers.

Closer to the man who could destroy me with a word.

All of it was within reach—if I dared to take the risk.