Chapter 2

Veronica

The air in my bedroom suddenly felt like it had been replaced with static electricity. My heart was thudding against my ribs like a trapped animal.

Alexander—Vaughn—wasn’t laughing anymore. The playful smirk that usually made me want to scream had vanished, replaced by a dark, hooded intensity that made my knees feel like water. He looked at the pink leather-bound book in his hand, then back at me.

“So,” he purred, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating right through my chest. “The little princess has a very, very dirty mind.”

“Give it back,” I breathed, my voice trembling. I reached for it, but he didn't move. He didn't have to. His sheer physical presence was a wall I couldn't get past.

He stepped into my space. The scent of his expensive cologne—sandalwood and something metallic swirled around me. His bare chest was inches from my face. I could see the slight sheen of water on his collarbone. I could see the way his muscles rippled with every breath.

“‘I want him to pin me against the wall,’” he quoted, his eyes locked on mine. He didn't even need to look at the page. He’d memorized it in seconds. ‘‘I want to feel his weight crushing me until I can’t think about anything but him.’’

“Alexander, stop,” I hissed, my face burning so hot I thought I might actually combust. “You’re my father’s friend. This is... you’re being a creep!”

He let out a low, dark chuckle that didn’t sound friendly at all. He leaned down, his lips hovering just an inch from my ear. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“A creep?” he whispered. “I’m not the one who filled three pages describing exactly how I want my father’s best friend to ruin me, Veronica. I’m just the one holding the evidence.”

He straightened up, the diary still clutched in his large hand. He looked at the door, then back at me, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. The "Vaughn" I knew—the polite businessman who talked stocks with my dad—was gone. This was the man from my dreams. The one who was dangerous.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice small.

He tapped the cover of the diary against his chin, appearing to think. “Well, for starters, I think we should talk about the 'spanking' part. That was a particularly vivid passage. You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into the... mechanics of it.”

“I’ll tell my dad,” I threatened, though we both knew it was a lie.

“Go ahead,” he challenged, stepping even closer, forcing me to back up until the edge of my desk dug into my lower back. He caged me in, leaning his hands on the desk on either side of my hips. He was so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my lips. “Tell him. Tell him I found your diary. Tell him exactly what’s written on page fourteen. I’m sure he’d love to know what his ‘Princess’ is dreaming about during her summer break.”

I choked on a breath. I couldn't tell my father. My dad saw me as his perfect, literature-loving daughter who still liked Disney movies. If he read those words—words about wanting to be used, wanting to be controlled—he would never look at me the same way again. It would kill him.

And Alexander knew it.

“You’re a monster,” I whispered.

“I’m a man who knows an opportunity when he sees one,” he countered. He reached out, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. It was a light touch, barely there, but a jolt of pure fire shot straight down to my core. My breath hitched, and his eyes darkened in triumph. He saw my reaction. He felt the way my body betrayed me.

“Veronica! Alexander!”

My mother’s voice drifted up from the stairs, sounding impatient.

“Is everything okay up there? Alexander, did you find a shirt?”

I froze. If she walked in now and saw him shirtless, caging me against my desk with my diary in his hand, it was over. Everything was over.

Alexander didn't look worried. He looked like he was enjoying the adrenaline. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear one last time.

“This stays with me,” he whispered, tucking the diary into the waistband of his trousers, hidden by the blue shirt he’d finally picked up from the chair. “Consider it collateral.”

“Alexander, please—”

“Smile, Princess,” he said, his voice returning to that smooth, professional tone as he pulled his shirt on, buttoning it with agonizing slowness. “We have lasagna to finish.”

He turned and walked out of the room without looking back.

I stood there, my legs shaking, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He had it. He had my secrets. He had my soul in his pocket.

I took a deep breath, trying to wipe the sheer panic—and the unwanted spark of excitement—off my face. I walked down the stairs, my head spinning.

The rest of dinner was a blur. My dad talked about the new merger. My mother complained about the heat. And Alexander? Alexander sat right across from me, sipping his wine, looking every bit the perfect gentleman.

But every time my dad looked away, Alexander’s eyes would find mine. He would lean back, the fabric of his shirt straining against his chest, and he would smirk.

He didn't say a word to me for the rest of the meal. He didn't need to. The weight of the diary in his pocket was a louder conversation than anything he could have screamed.

When dinner was finally over, Alexander stood to leave. He shook my father’s hand, thanked my mother for the meal, and then turned to me.

“Goodnight, Veronica,” he said, his voice like velvet. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I blinked. “Tomorrow?”

My dad laughed, clapping Alexander on the shoulder. “Oh, didn't I tell you, honey? Alexander is going to be staying in the guest house for the next two weeks. His place in the city is being renovated, and I told him he’d be much more comfortable here.”

The world tilted. Two weeks. Fourteen days.

Alexander leaned in, ostensibly to give me a polite, brotherly peck on the cheek. But as his lips touched my skin, he whispered just loud enough for only me to hear.

“I’ll be reading the rest tonight. I expect a demonstration of chapter three by breakfast.”

He pulled away, gave my parents a charming wave, and walked out the door.

I stood in the foyer, watching his taillights disappear down the driveway, the realization sinking in like lead in my stomach.

He wasn't just my dad's best friend anymore.

He was my owner.