8. WHAT SHOULD I CALL YOU?

At night, she quickly bathed and changed into her usual clothes. She refused to wear those black pajamas—never. The very thought of sleeping beside him tonight made her shiver. The butler had informed her earlier that she would have to stay in the master's bedroom, and the idea was almost unbearable. What if he wanted to have sex with her? No, no, no, no, no. She wasn't ready. Not even close.

Shaking her head, she scolded herself. It was foolish of her to always anticipate his return home, knowing full well she wasn't prepared for this. The trembling in her hands worsened when a knock on the door made her jump.

"It's time, young miss," came the butler's voice from the other side. She clenched the fabric of her clothes tightly.

"I'm coming," she answered quietly, forcing herself to leave the room.

When she stepped into the master's bedroom, she was surprised to find it empty. A wave of relief washed over her, and she quickly made her way to the very edge of the bed, curling up there.

It wasn't long before she heard footsteps approaching the door. She stiffened, her gaze fixed on the entrance. When the door opened, he stood there.

She hadn't expected him to look so… striking. Even in his black pajamas, his sharp features—those thin lips, that prominent nose—and above all, his eyes, left her breathless. Those eyes!

Their gazes locked, and she froze under his piercing stare. He, too, seemed to pause, studying her intently. Unable to bear it, she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to sleep, the sound of his steady footsteps growing louder as he entered the room.

She opened her eyes again when the sound of his footsteps suddenly stopped. Her gaze shifted, and there he was—standing in front of the glass wall, staring out at the dark, sprawling view. His silhouette was framed by the faint reflection of the room's dim light, and in his hand, he held a glass.

Was it alcohol? Or perhaps wine? She couldn't tell, but the thought barely lingered before his voice shattered the silence.

"Are you scared?" he asked, his tone calm yet unsettling.

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't expected him to speak to her. He still faced the glass wall, his back to her, his cold, dark aura filling every corner of the room.

"Y-Yes," she stammered, then quickly corrected herself. "I mean, no."

Her face burned with embarrassment, and she shut her eyes tightly, biting her lip as though it would somehow keep her composure intact.

"Did you regret it? Your decision?" he asked again, this time taking a slow sip from his glass.

"No," she replied without hesitation, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Even if I were given another chance, I would still make the same decision."

Her words hung in the air, and she felt the atmosphere shift. It was as if her answer had forced something within him to pause. Slowly, he turned to face her.

She didn't dare open her eyes again, but she could feel his gaze—dark, cold, and penetrating—fixed on her. The weight of it made her skin prickle.

Then came the sound of his footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and drawing closer.

Her heartbeat quickened with each step. What was he going to do? What was happening?

What is going on? she wondered, her thoughts spiraling. Was he going to demand she sleep with him? The contract she signed had stripped her of the right to refuse. But to her astonishment, he simply lay down at the far edge of the bed, closed his eyes, and said nothing.

What was that? Is he waiting for her to fall asleep first and then… take advantage? Or was he simply too exhausted from the journey?

She gritted her teeth and shook her head. No, she wouldn't sleep. Not tonight.

Her eyes stayed on him, watching his still figure, his breathing slow and steady as though he had already drifted off. The dim light cast shadows across his sharp features, making him seem both serene and ominous.

Gathering every ounce of courage, she broke the silence. "What should I call you? Boss?master? Or CEO Carlos?"

Her voice sounded timid, the words slipping out before she could stop herself. The moment they left her lips, regret hit her like a wave. She bit down on her lower lip, heat rushing to her cheeks. Why had she said that?

She grabbed the edge of the duvet, ready to pull it over her face and hide from the inevitable awkwardness. But then, his deep voice rumbled through the room.

"Carlos. Just call me Carlos."

Her hand froze mid-motion, her breath hitching. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly. She peeked over the edge of the duvet to see him still lying there, eyes closed, as if her question hadn't fazed him in the slightest.

Carlos. The name felt foreign on her tongue, even in thought. But she couldn't deny the way it made him seem a little less distant… and a little more human.