Noah woke to sunlight cutting through the cream-colored curtains like a blade.
Her room was quiet. Too quiet. Every surface was spotless, every corner cold. The whole place felt like a showroom. There were no memories here. No fingerprints. No mess. Just someone else's idea of perfection — and she didn't fit the design.
Throwing on a tank top and low-rise jeans, she let her hair fall wild and free, like her attitude. She wasn't here to impress anyone.
Downstairs, the clink of silverware and soft music floated from the massive dining room. She found her mother seated at the head of the table, sipping from a porcelain cup like a queen playing house.
Nick was already there.
Slouched in a chair, wearing only black sweatpants and no shirt, he looked as if he'd rolled straight out of someone's bed — or maybe someone's nightmare. His chest was lean, cut, a map of muscle and shadows. A fading bruise bloomed across his ribs, and a long scar curved just above his hip like a question mark no one dared to answer.
He didn't look at her when she entered, but he didn't need to. She felt his eyes under her skin.
> "Sleep well?" Rafaella asked.
> "Like a prisoner on death row," Noah muttered, grabbing a piece of toast.
Nick smirked without lifting his head. "Careful. This house has ears."
> "Then maybe it should learn not to listen," she said flatly.
That got his attention.
He looked up — really looked — and this time their eyes met with heat. Not anger. Not attraction. Something darker. Something that pulled.
> "You like breaking rules, don't you?" he asked.
> "Only the stupid ones," she said, sitting across from him.
> "In this house," Nick murmured, voice low and slow, "all the rules are stupid."
---
After breakfast, she wandered the halls. Marble, mirrors, money. Everything screamed control.
She paused at the garage door — curious.
Inside were four luxury cars, all black, polished until they gleamed like obsidian. But one stood out: a cherry-red Mustang with black racing stripes. It looked out of place. Loud. Aggressive.
Just like him.
> "Touch it and die."
She turned. Nick stood behind her, arms crossed, still shirtless, still dangerous.
> "Relax," she said. "I was admiring it, not stealing it."
> "You admire things with your hands?" he asked, voice thick with meaning.
> "Sometimes with my mouth," she fired back, raising a brow.
Silence fell — but not the kind that ends things.
This silence hung between them like smoke before a fire.
He took a step forward.
She didn't move.
> "You think this is a game?" he asked.
> "Isn't it?" she said softly. "You flirt, I insult you. You threaten, I smirk. It's fun."
> "It's dangerous."
> "I like dangerous."
His jaw clenched. "You have no idea what you're playing with."
> "Then show me."
That stopped him.
His eyes flicked over her — from the sharp curve of her mouth to the exposed skin at her collarbone. His stare wasn't shy. It wasn't polite. It was possessive.
She felt it everywhere.
> "You're not ready," he said.
> "Try me," she whispered.
---
He stepped back. Just once. But it was enough to break whatever spell had been rising like heat between them.
> "Stay out of the garage," he said, voice clipped.
> "Or what?" she dared.
> "Or I won't be able to pretend I don't want you."
---
The door slammed behind him.
Noah stood frozen.
That wasn't a warning.
That was a promise.
And deep down, she knew — no matter how many rooms this mansion had, she'd only ever be drawn to the one with danger parked inside.