Rush

IVAN

I wake up feeling… off. My body feels strangely light, like I've slept deeply but with a lingering sense of disorientation. I stretch, my muscles stiff but relaxed at the same time, and rub my eyes, still groggy. Something doesn't sit right, but I can't quite place it.

As my eyes flicker across the room, I freeze. I'm in a simple white shirt, underwear. What happened last night?

The memory's a blur, like a fog settling over everything, and I can't quite grasp onto anything clear. I sit up, trying to shake the confusion from my head. A quick glance around the room reveals no clues—no sign of what might've happened after I fell asleep.

Pushing myself off the bed, I head into the bathroom, hoping a quick shower will clear my head. The water is refreshing, the familiar rhythm of my morning routine grounding me. But when I step out of the shower, it hits me—my clothes. Where the hell are they?

I throw on the shirt, not bothering with anything else, and head out of the bathroom. A quick look around confirms it—there's no trace of my clothes. I need to find Zander.

I find him sitting in a chair, the soft glow of the morning light illuminating his features. The sight takes my breath away. Zander looks like a vision, the sharp lines of his suit perfectly tailored to his lean, powerful frame. His dark hair falls effortlessly across his forehead, and his expression—intense and serious as he reads—makes my heart skip a beat.

The atmosphere feels intimate, almost too much to handle, and I instinctively tug the hem of the shirt I'm wearing, trying to cover more of myself. It's futile, though. The way his presence fills the room makes me feel completely exposed, even more exposed than I already am even though he hasn't noticed me yet.

I shift slightly, unsure whether to break the silence or just stand there, mesmerized. My pulse races, a mix of nervous energy and something deeper, something undeniably magnetic.

How is he this gorgeous? The thought flutters through my mind, making my cheeks heat. I swallow hard, summoning the courage to speak, but my voice catches in my throat. For now, I just watch, captivated by the man before me, my heartbeat echoing like a drum in the quiet room.

Zander's focused expression is captivating, his sharp features illuminated under the warm light as he pores over the document in front of him. It's almost unreal, the sheer magnetism radiating from him. So this is what it means to be an Alpha. I've met plenty before, but none of them could hold a candle to this. Zander doesn't just carry authority—he is authority, every movement deliberate, every breath commanding attention.

I shift nervously, suddenly all too aware of my bare legs and the oversized shirt barely skimming mid-thigh. My fingers fidget with the hem, pulling it lower even though it's pointless.

Then, as if sensing my presence, Zander looks up. His dark eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see something soft—affection, perhaps—but it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a smoldering intensity that steals the air from my lungs.

Lust. Pure, unfiltered lust flickers in his gaze, and before I can process it, his pheromones hit me like a wave. The air thickens, heavy and intoxicating, wrapping around me like a vice. My body reacts instinctively, heat pooling in my core, my knees feeling weak beneath me.

I tug the shirt lower again, a feeble attempt to shield myself from the intensity of his gaze, but it does little to help. If anything, the action only draws his eyes lower, the weight of his stare making my skin prickle with awareness.

"Ivan," he says, and my name has never sounded so intoxicating, so laced with desire. The way it rolls off his tongue sends a shiver down my spine, igniting every nerve in my body.

His dark eyes skim over my legs, slow and deliberate, before his gaze locks onto mine again. My pulse quickens as he places the document aside, the faint sound of paper meeting the table oddly deafening in the quiet room. His full attention is on me now, and it feels like the air itself has thickened, charged with unspoken tension.

"I, uh… I didn't find anything to wear," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words sound weak, vulnerable, but I can't seem to muster anything stronger under the weight of his stare.

Zander leans back in his chair, his movements smooth, predatory, as if he's savoring every moment of my discomfort. His lips curve into the faintest smirk, and the heat in his gaze makes my cheeks burn.

"That much is obvious," he says, his voice low and rich, dripping with amusement and something darker. "But I think you're managing just fine."

I tug at the shirt again, suddenly hyperaware of how exposed I feel. "I… I was going to ask if you know where my clothes are."

Zander's smirk deepens as he rises from the chair, his towering frame making me feel even smaller, even more vulnerable. He takes a step closer, and my breath catches. "Your clothes?" he murmurs, his tone playful yet dangerous. "What's the rush, Ivan? You look perfect as you are."