The Billionaire's Asset: Cashing Out Freedom

The door slid open with a soft hydraulic hiss.

The noise from the hallway rushed in, then was cut off as the door closed behind him, sealing the room in a sudden, heavy silence.

Claudius stood there. He radiated cold. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees, sucking the oxygen out of the air. The scent of expensive champagne and cloying perfume assaulted his senses.

Zoe was facing the door. She saw him. Her eyes went wide, pupils dilating in sheer terror. The glass of champagne in her hand slipped. It shattered on the floor, the crystal exploding like a gunshot.

Jensen rushed past Claudius. He grabbed Zoe, efficient and ruthless. He clamped a hand over her mouth before she could scream. He dragged her toward the corner, neutralizing the witness.

The three male models looked at Claudius. They saw the suit-bespoke, charcoal grey, worth more than their combined annual income. They saw the violence in his eyes, a promise of pain that required no words.

They didn't need to be told. They scrambled, grabbing their clothes, tripping over each other in their haste, and bolted out the door like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Dylan didn't hear them leave. The music was still playing, a slow, sensual rhythm that filled the void.

She was standing in the middle of the room, blindfolded with a strip of black silk. Her arms were outstretched, fingers dancing in the empty air.

"Why so quiet?" she laughed, her voice husky, slurring slightly. "Where are you, pretty boys?"

Pretty boys.

A vein in Claudius's temple pulsed, throbbing against the skin.

He waved his hand at Jensen. "Get out."

Jensen dragged a struggling Zoe out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Silence. Only the music and the sound of Claudius's controlled breathing remained.

Dylan frowned behind the silk mask. "Zoe?"

She took a step forward, unsteady on her heels. Her hand brushed against fabric. Fine, Italian wool.

She ran her hand up the lapel, feeling the texture, the stiffness of the interfacing.

"Oh," she purred, a playful smile curving her lips. "A new one? This feels expensive."

She thought he was a stripper. She thought he was paid to be there.

Claudius stood rigid. He didn't breathe. He wanted to see how far she would go. He wanted to see the depth of her betrayal.

Dylan's fingers found his tie. She tugged, pulling him slightly closer.

"You're tense," she whispered, her other hand drifting to his shoulder, squeezing the hard muscle there.

She leaned in. She sniffed his neck, inhaling deeply.

Cedar. Tobacco. A hint of rain and cold air.

She paused. Her smile faltered.

"You smell like him," she murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper, tinged with a sudden, confusing melancholy. "My defaulted asset of an ex."

Claudius's jaw tightened so hard his teeth ached. Defaulted asset.

"But you're warmer," Dylan said, shaking her head as if to clear the memory. "He was an iceberg. He never burned like this."

She flattened her palm against his chest. She could feel his heart beating. It was slow, heavy, powerful-like a war drum.

"Let's see what we have here."

Her hand moved down. Toward his belt. Her fingers grazed the metal buckle.

Claudius moved.

He grabbed her wrist. His grip was steel, unyielding and bruising.

Dylan sucked in a sharp breath. "Strong punch. Are you the top here?"

Claudius leaned down. His lips brushed her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"Do you really not know who I am?"

His voice was gravel and thunder, a sound that vibrated through her bones.

Dylan froze. The blood drained from her face. The alcohol haze evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold shot of adrenaline.

She tried to rip the blindfold off.

Claudius caught her other hand. He pinned both her wrists against the wall above her head, trapping her.

He pressed his body against hers. Hard. Dominating. Imprinting his anger onto her.

The door banged open.