The night had been a slow-motion torture.
Kyle hadn't touched me—not in the way I expected. But he had stayed close. His heat was a constant weight against my back, his steady, calm breathing a reminder that he wasn't bothered by this at all. Every time I tried to edge toward the side of the bed, his arm would drape over my waist, heavy and possessive, pulling me back into the hollow of his chest without him even opening his eyes.
I'd spent hours flushed, my skin buzzing from the sheer intimacy of it, staring at the moonlight on the marble floor and hating how safe I felt in the arms of a monster.
When the sun finally hit the floor, I felt the bed shift.
I scrambled to the other side, clutching the silk sheet to my chest, my face hot. Kyle was sitting up, looking perfectly composed. His hair was slightly tousled, but his eyes were as sharp and cold as the diamonds around my neck.
"Sleep well, Valentina?" he asked, his voice a low, morning rasp that made my stomach flip.
"I didn't sleep at all," I snapped, my loud mouth returning the second I had some distance. "It's hard to rest when you're being used as a human body pillow by an arrogant prick."
Kyle let out a dry, dark chuckle. He stood up, completely unbothered by his lack of a shirt, and walked toward the window. "You spent most of the night pressing closer to me for warmth, Val. Don't start lying now. It's a bad look for a professional."
"I was cold! The AC in this place is as ice-cold as your heart," I shot back, standing up and trying to look dignified in my wrinkled silk slip. "Don't think that because I didn't push you off the bed, anything has changed. I still want out. I still hate you."
Kyle turned around. The sun caught the hard lines of his jaw, making him look devastatingly handsome and utterly unreachable. He walked toward me, his steps slow and deliberate. I backed up until my calves hit the bed, but he didn't stop until he was standing right over me.
He reached out, his thumb tracing the reddened skin where the collar had rubbed against my neck during the night. The touch was light, almost tender, until he gripped my chin and forced me to look up.
"Let's get one thing straight before the coffee is served," he said, his voice dropping to that terrifying, arrogant whisper. "Last night wasn't about romance. It wasn't about 'getting to know' each other. You were in that bed because I wanted you where I could see you. Nothing more."
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, but this time it wasn't from heat—it was from the sting of his words. "Believe me, I know. I don't want your affection, Kyle. I want my life back."
"This is your life now," he countered, his eyes dropping to my lips with a look of pure, clinical ownership. "Don't mistake my proximity for a weakness, Val. And don't start imagining some fairytale where the thief melts the billionaire's heart. I don't have a heart to melt. I have an empire to run and a target to protect."
He leaned down, his lips ghosting over mine, close enough that I could taste the threat in his breath.
"You're a high-priced asset, Valentina. I'm keeping you close because you're valuable, not because you're special. Remember that the next time you think about blushing when I touch you."
He let go of my jaw and walked toward the bathroom without a second glance. "The stylists will be here in an hour. We're going to the port office. Dress like someone who isn't planning a getaway, or I'll have the guards carry you there in a crate."
The door shut behind him, leaving me standing alone in the sunlight. My neck stung, my heart was racing, and for the first time, the "loud mouth" I relied on felt completely empty.
He was right. This wasn't a game of love. It was a game of power—and Kyle Vanguard was playing for keeps.