His to Love, Not to Claim

Aria couldn't sleep.

The guest room she now occupied on the 48th floor of Voss Tower was bigger than her entire apartment back home. The sheets were silk, the pillows plush, the walls clean and silent but she felt like a trespasser in someone else's dream.

Or maybe nightmare.

She rolled to her side and gently touched her stomach. It wasn't showing yet, but she could feel the weight of it. Not the baby not yet but the decision. The life. The burden.

She'd made her choice when she said yes to Dominic Voss.

A man whose name people whispered.
A man whose eyes said run while his hands offered help.

Why?

Why would someone like him help someone like her?

The next morning, she was called upstairs to the penthouse the real Voss domain. Aria stepped off the elevator and into a world of glass, chrome, and shadows.

He stood near the window again, just like yesterday, like the city was his to judge.

"You slept," he said without turning.

"I... tried," she murmured.

"You'll get used to silence. Eventually."

He finally turned, eyes scanning her like she was a math problem to solve.

"No makeup. No jewelry. No perfume."
He walked toward her slowly.
"No lies. No drama. No men."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You work for me now, Aria. In my world, that means full discretion. No gossip. No distractions." His voice dropped. "And absolutely no visitors."

"You mean... like dating?"

"I mean like breathing next to anyone I haven't vetted."

Her throat dried. "What exactly do you do, Mr. Voss?"

He studied her. "Let's just say my businesses have many faces. You'll only see the clean one."

"And the others?"

"You're not here to look under masks, Miss Carter. You're here to wear one."
Aria's first job was managing the flow of Dominic's meetings, calls, and calendar all from a secured office within the penthouse. But her second job, unofficial and unspoken, was keeping her head down and her mouth shut.

Except... he kept pulling her in.

One afternoon, she caught him staring at her as she organized files on the glass desk.

"Do you know what your eyes do when you lie?" he asked.

She jumped slightly. "Excuse me?"

"They twitch. Just slightly. Right there."
He motioned to the corner of her left eye.

"I'm not lying."

"Now you are," he said coolly.
Later that night, as she made herself tea in the stainless-steel kitchen, Dominic walked in shirt sleeves rolled, dark tattoos peeking again from his forearm. She couldn't help but glance.

"What do they mean?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Your tattoos."

He leaned against the counter across from her, his voice lower now. "They're reminders."

"Of?"

He looked at her, unreadable.

"Who I used to be," he said. "And what I'll never be again."

The silence was thick. Tense. Not dangerous, but charged. Then, his eyes dropped to her hand resting protectively over her stomach.

"I told you I don't do love, Aria."

"I didn't ask you to," she replied softly.

He stared at her for a long second.

"Good," he said, walking away. "Because love gets people killed."