Trapped Under My Billionaire

The neon and gold glow seeping in from the city outside was now being reflected against the glass walls of the 87th floor of Graves Enterprises. Iris Vale sat poised in front of her computer with her fingers poised like a poised butterfly waiting to take flight over the keyboard while her heart was thumping erratically in her chest like a bird trapped in a cage beating its wings in a frantic attempt to escape. She had never sent that email. Yet there it sat in her sent box perfectly typed, worded just right, a simple request for the quarterly reports which would need to be compiled for tomorrows meeting. It had been sent three minutes ago. The unsent draft sat blank before her.

Peering out from behind her computer screen at the eerily empty analysts' pool, she could tell that most of the floor was long gone, out and about in the city. The only sounds that filled the floor were the steady hum of the air conditioning, and the faint drone of a distant vacuum cleaner. No one could see her. No one knew that she was still here and no one had any possible access to her computer.

A cold shiver crept up her spine. The third one this week. Files she hadn't even started looked over had been sorted on her desk. A spam call that she had deleted from her phone without touching the screen. Her standard black coffee, with a splash of milk and one sugar was sitting on her desk and still steaming hot, even though she hadn't left her computer that morning.

Leaning back, the squeak of her desk chair grating on the quiet floor, she stood up with shaking knees and straightened her pencil skirt. Twenty six and successfully managing to be as invisible as possible; Brown hair pulled back in a severely neat bun, a swipe of powder across her face and a bland, gray blouse paired with a navy pencil skirt. Competent and bland. She'd learned after the accident that stole her memories like shards of glass that she needed to be nothing more. Keeping the marks on her wrists covered up with long sleeves and maintaining a sweet polite smile with a neutral tone and blank expression, she needed to be safe, unseen and unheard.

Someone had seen her.

Her cell phone vibrated on the desk, buzzing impatiently. An unknown number. She let it ring. It buzzed again. Then again. On the fourth buzz, she answered, her voice cracked, a hoarse whisper, "Who is this?"

A moment of silence, then a slow, velvety smooth voice that felt like ice sliding against her skin spoke, "Still working late, Iris?"

Her breath caught in her throat and she froze. The voice was unknown to her, yet a tremor ran through her body, a terrifying, exhilarating mixture of pure shock and unnerving familiarity. "How do you know my name? Who is this?"

A dark, soft chuckle drifted through the line. "I know everything about you, Iris. I know how you chew on your bottom lip when you're concentrating. I know that you take twenty seven steps from the elevator to your desk. I know that the scar on your left wrist is hidden under your sleeve."

Her free hand shot up, her fingers brushing against the faint, faded line of the scar on her wrist from a accident years ago which had shattered her memories into fragmented, nightmarish flashbacks. "This is not funny. If this is some kind of prank..."

"It's not a prank," his voice cut, all traces of amusement gone and a hard edge replacing it. "You're not safe alone on this floor. Take the executive elevator up to the penthouse. Now."

The line went dead.

Iris stared at the cell phone in her hand, her chest heaving, her body screaming at her to run, call security, do something , anything other than what he commanded. But her feet seemed to move on their own, taking her in the direction of the private elevator at the end of the hall; a privilege never afforded to a mere analyst. The door slid open as if it had been waiting for her. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She stepped inside, her large green eyes wide and her pale face mirrored in the side glass; her hands trembling uncontrollably as the perfectly smooth, straight ascent carried her directly to the penthouse.

The doors hissed open to a massive, luxurious office adorned in rich dark wood and soft leather; the view of the city lights a breathtaking, dizzying spectacle. Behind an ebony desk that gleamed like polished black obsidian sat a man who seemed to absorb the space around him.

Lucien Graves.

She had only ever seen him in the company's corporate videos or on rare fleeting occasions down in the lobby; Tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp, intelligent features, steel gray eyes, immaculately styled dark hair, and a suit that looked as if it had been tailored by an angel. He was young, younger than she'd expected; perhaps early thirties, with an aura of untamed power that filled the room.

He offered no greeting, no smile, simply met her gaze and held it, pinning her in place with an unreadable flicker that danced across his features for a split second; a hint of possession, relief, or perhaps something darker, before his expression settled back into an impenetrable mask of glacial composure.

"Iris," he said, his voice still the smooth, cold silk it had been on the phone. He rose from his desk with a fluid movement that seemed like that of a predator circling its prey. "You came."

"I didn't have a choice," she snapped, her voice wavering between fury and terror as she clenched her fists in her lap and forced herself to stand straighter on her wobbly legs. "What in God's name is going on? How did you get into my email, my phone, my life?"

Lucien took a few slow steps forward until he was within feet of her, close enough for her to smell the subtle hint of sandalwood, and something undeniably him. His gaze swept over her, lingering on her lips, her throat, the frantic rise and fall of her chest. "Because you belong here. With me. Under me."

A shiver coursed through her, a confusing, tantalizing blend of fear and forbidden excitement. She stumbled back, her shoulders grazing the closing elevator doors. "I'm just a junior analyst. I don't even work in your department. You're crazy. I'm leaving."

"You are not." His voice was unwavering, absolute. He extended a hand, his fingers hovering inches from her face, and the air between them crackled with an unseen energy. "You're working for me now. Directly. On the executive floor. I've already secured an apartment for you. No one will bother you anymore."

Her eyes widened in pure shock and defiance, a fire kindled in her chest. "You can't just do this! I have rights! I'll quit, I'll go to HR, this is harassment!"

Lucien's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Controlled rage flared within him, but for a single, fleeting moment, a flicker of vulnerability appeared on his face; his eyes deepened with an ancient, unspoken pain, the pain of years spent waiting. "You won't quit, Iris. You can't. I've waited too long for this. For you."

"Waited?" Her voice cracked, raw and unsteady. "I don't even know you."

"But I know you, Iris Vale." He closed the distance between them again, towering over her, and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His touch was scorching, sending a bolt of pure, undeniable electricity through her, and she hated the traitorous betrayal of her body and nipples hardening beneath her blouse, her breath hitching. "I have known you a lot longer than you think. The accident may have stolen your memories, but it didn't steal mine. I've been keeping you safe in the shadows, anticipating your needs and removing any potential obstacles before they even presented themselves. I've handled this world for you, so that you didn't have to."

The tears of anger and fear welled in her eyes, and she forced them not to spill. She grew as tough as the muscle she pushed against; there was no movement, the man would not be moved from her hands. This was obsessed, stalking... Let go of me.

He held her wrists firmly, not gently, and drew her closer until there was nothing but skin between them. His heart hammered her until both their hearts were racing against one another; he released feelings that she could not understand-a wild, primal lust, protectiveness fierce and dangerous, a love as black as it was terrifying. Never… you belong to me, Iris… I guard what I possess. Even from me.

She felt conflict immediately, she felt danger screamed in her mind; she felt a need-a weird, conflicting thrum of want against her pounding heart-while her soul seemed to reach toward this monstrous man. Dangers surrounded her… she was no longer free; he was dangerous; her past was unknown… entwined in his; and Iris strained in his grip, but he held her with a steadiness that would not waver.

You will not give in to me… Lucien’s voice, low and a promise of the dangers to come, filled her mind. I expect nothing less, but you will learn. This was destined to be.