Chapter 3

　　Kayla's POV

　　The elevator ride to the top floor felt like a trip to the moon. When the doors finally slid open, the carpeted hallway was silent, lined with heavy doors that looked like VIP entrances. Sarah checked her watch, squeezed my shoulder, and pointed straight to room 2401.

　　"Go on," Sarah whispered, her sass entirely replaced by sudden seriousness. "Don't look back!."

　　I walked toward the door, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every step felt heavier than the last. I raised my hand, my knuckles stopping just inches away from the wood. My heart raced so fast I thought it might actually stop. And as I stood there in the quiet of the hallway, I realized there was no going back.

　　So, I knocked.

　　The door opened, revealing a man who seemed to command the very air in the room-Lucien Throne.

　　He was breathtakingly tall, with broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly black tailored suit, dark hair swept back, and a jawline that could cut glass. But it was his eyes that froze me in place: cold, piercing, and a deep, stormy grey.

　　He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my simple, modest dress which was hardly what he expected from a girl sent by Sarah. His voice was a low, deep sound that vibrated in my chest.

　　"Are you the one?"

　　Unable to find my voice, I simply nodded.

　　"Get in," he commanded, stepping aside. I obeyed, walking into the room.

　　Inside, I moved to the corner, arms tightly folded across my chest, shy and vulnerable.

　　My hesitation clearly irritated him. He let out a sharp, irritated breath and began to close the distance between us. I stepped back until my back hit the hard surface of the wall.

　　He reached out, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate line along my cheek, his touch cold.

　　"You're wasting my time!" he murmured.

　　He didn't wait for a response before his hands moved to my clothes. As he began to undress me, panic surged. "Wait," I stammered, my throat dry. "I… I'm a virgin. I've never done this before."

　　His hands stilled. He pulled back, his brow furrowing. "What?"

　　The gravity of what I just said hit me, and in a moment of absolute terror, I tried to cover it up. "I..I just said that, I didn't mean..."

　　His suddenly came up, his fingers gripping my chin firmly, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Do you think I'm a joke? Do you think I have time for games?"

　　Before I could answer, he shoved me toward the bed and descended on me, his lips crashing against mine. The kiss was so intoxicating, that it made me crumble instantly. I felt myself melting, my own body betraying me.

　　He removed his own clothes with efficient, impatient movements while my heart beat faster against my ribs like a drum.

　　He pinned both my hands above my head, trapping me, and began to trail kisses down my neck to my collarbone. A moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. I went stiff, desperate not to enjoy the sensation, but his mouth moved lower, finding the curve of my breast. My moan grew louder, sharper, and I heard his low, satisfied growl.

　　When he finally entered me, I gasped, a sharp cry tearing through the quiet room. He began to move, his pace rough and demanding, yet his rhythm was captivating.

　　He seemed surprised by me, his eyes darkening as he leaned into the tightness he found. I was overwhelmed, the pleasure hitting me in waves until I finally shattered, gasping for air. He pushed harder, harder, until he reached his own release, a low, deep, "Oh, fuck…" escaping him as he collapsed against me.

　　He slid out, his breathing rough. He glanced down, noticing the faint, undeniable stain of blood on the sheets.

　　He stared at it for a long, silent moment, his grey eyes softened with sudden, dark realization.

　　"You really are a virgin," he whispered, his voice barely audible before he turned away and drifted into a heavy, exhausted sleep.

　　And I too was drained and tired that I fell asleep immediately.

　　Lucien's POV

　　I woke up in the middle of the night and stared at the ceiling, the silence of the room heavy. Beside me, she was curled up into the sheets, fast asleep.

　　My pulse was still coming down, my mind struggling to process what had just happened.

　　The sex… it had been completely off script.

　　She was clumsy, her body stiff and entirely uncoordinated at first. She lacked the polished, practiced rhythm of the women I usually paid for.

　　There were no calculated moans. Every flinch, every breath had felt raw, terrified, and entirely inexperienced. It had driven me insane in a way I hadn't expected, but none of it added up.

　　I slipped out of bed, grabbing my phone from the nightstand. I dialed my fixer, Marcus. He picked up on the second ring.

　　"Sir?"

　　"The girl you sent," I said, keeping my voice low, as I glanced back at the bed. "Are you absolutely sure she's a professional?"

　　There was a beat of panicked silence on the other end. "Y-yes, Mr. Thorne," Marcus stuttered, his confidence instantly crumbling. "Sarah, the stripper at the club, set it up. She swore the girl knew the deal. Is… is there a problem, sir?"

　　My gaze drifted from her exhausted face down to the unmistakable faint stain of red still on the white sheets.

　　"No," I said flatly, my jaw clenching. "No problem."

　　I ended the call, tossing the phone onto the armchair. I walked back over to the bed and stared down at her.

　　She looked so damn innocent. And I knew she wasn't a hooker, it was very obvious that she was new.

　　I let out a heavy sigh, pulled a thick envelope of cash from my inner coat pocket, and dropped it onto the nightstand. It was far more than the agreed upon rate.

　　Without another look back, I threw on my clothes, adjusted my tie, and walked out the door.