Chapter 3: Lines Meant To Be Crossed.

Zaphyra's POV.

The first rule of survival in Nexus Wealth Management—never let them see you sweat.

I had learned that fast. Everyone here played a game. Some played to win. Others played just to survive. And Rakan Malik? He played to dominate.

For the past two days, he had given me task after task—each one harder, more critical than the last. I wasn't just filing reports or organizing schedules anymore. I was handling high-stakes financial dealings, reviewing confidential contracts, and monitoring deals worth more than I could ever imagine.

It wasn't normal.

Assistants didn't do this.

But I did.

And every time I completed something flawlessly, Rakan would glance at me with that unreadable expression, as if he were still deciding what to do with me.

Break me or keep me.

I exhaled sharply, focusing back on my screen. It was late—most of the employees had left for the day, but my inbox was still flooded with unread emails.

A shadow passed near my desk.

I looked up and froze.

Atlas Black.

A slow smirk curved his lips as he leaned against my desk, looking too casual for someone who could ruin a company with a single bad deal.

"Late night, Quinn?" he mused, crossing his arms.

I kept my expression neutral. "You're still here too."

Atlas chuckled. "Touché." His gaze flicked to my screen. "Let me guess. Another impossible task from Malik?"

I didn't answer, which only made his smirk widen.

"He's testing you, you know." Atlas tilted his head. "Watching. Waiting. Seeing how long before you snap."

I exhaled slowly. "And you care because…?"

He shrugged. "I don't." His gray eyes glinted. "I just like watching people try to survive him."

My stomach tightened, but before I could respond, the deep sound of a door unlocking echoed behind me.

I turned just as Rakan stepped out of his office.

The tension in the air shifted instantly.

He barely glanced at Atlas before his gaze settled on me—heavy, sharp, unreadable.

"Quinn." His voice was low, smooth, laced with something dangerous. "Inside. Now."

I swallowed. Atlas chuckled under his breath.

And as I stood to follow Rakan into his office, I couldn't ignore the way Atlas's smirk widened—like he already knew exactly what I was walking into.

I stepped into Rakan Malik's office, and the door clicked shut behind me.

The silence inside was heavy—thick with something I couldn't name.

Rakan leaned against his desk, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the sharp cut of his forearms. He wasn't looking at me yet. Instead, he toyed with a pen between his fingers, as if deep in thought.

I inhaled slowly, keeping my stance firm.

"You wanted to see me?" My voice was steady, but my pulse wasn't.

He finally looked up—ice-blue eyes locking onto mine.

"Sit."

A single command. Not a request.

I hesitated for a split second before lowering myself into the chair opposite him. He watched my every move.

"Do you know why you're here, Miss Quinn?"

I lifted my chin slightly. "To work?"

The corner of his mouth curved—not a smile. Something sharper.

"You've been here for less than a week," he murmured, setting the pen down. "And yet, I already see a problem."

I frowned. "A problem?"

Rakan exhaled slowly, standing up. The way he moved—controlled, deliberate—was unnerving. He circled his desk, coming to stand behind me.

I didn't dare turn around.

"You're efficient," he continued, voice smooth. "Smart. More competent than half the executives in this building."

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to understand where this was going.

"And yet…" His voice dropped slightly. "You're distracted."

My breath hitched. What?

"You hesitate," he went on, as if dissecting me piece by piece. "You let things linger in your head. You overanalyze."

His footsteps were slow, calculated as he walked around my chair, finally coming to stand in front of me again.

"That kind of thinking will get you destroyed in this company."

A shiver crawled up my spine.

"Are you trying to warn me, Mr. Malik?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

His eyes flickered. "I don't warn. I eliminate liabilities."

The weight of those words pressed down on me.

I wasn't sure if he was threatening me… or challenging me.

I gripped the arms of the chair, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Then it's a good thing I'm not a liability."

A long, dangerous pause.

Then, something unexpected.

The slightest curve of his lips.

Not quite approval. Not quite amusement.

Just… interest.

"Prove it," he said simply.

And just like that, I was dismissed.

I stood, pulse unsteady, and turned toward the door. But before I could leave, his voice stopped me.

"Oh, and Miss Quinn."

I turned my head slightly.

His eyes dragged over me slowly.

"You looked comfortable with Atlas back there." His voice was unreadable. "Be careful who you trust."

A warning. This time, unmistakable.

I walked out without a word.

But as I sat at my desk, one thing was clear.

I wasn't just working under Rakan Malik anymore. I was being watched

I barely made it through the rest of the workday without overthinking everything.

Rakan's words still echoed in my head. "Be careful who you trust."

It wasn't just a warning. It was something more. A veiled threat? A possessive remark? A power move? I couldn't tell.

By the time I stepped out of the NWM building, the sky had darkened, the neon glow of the city stretching out in every direction. New York at night was alive in a way that made my skin buzz.

I pulled my coat tighter around me and started walking.

I wasn't going home yet. I needed a drink.

Later – A Bar in Manhattan.

I slid into a booth near the back of the bar, exhaling slowly as I set down my glass of wine.

It wasn't a high-end place, but it was comfortable—dim lighting, low music, and just enough noise to keep my thoughts from eating me alive.

I wasn't alone for long.

"You look like you need something stronger than wine."

I glanced up as Ava slid into the seat across from me, a knowing smirk on her lips.

Ava King. My only real friend in this city. We had met in grad school and somehow stayed close despite her chaotic social life and my workaholic tendencies.

She signaled the bartender. "Two shots of tequila."

I groaned. "I don't need tequila."

"You don't need it, but you're getting it," she said smoothly. "Now spill. Your texts were vague, and you never go out after work unless something's messing with your head."

I hesitated, swirling my wine. "It's my boss."

Her brows shot up. "Ah. The infamous Rakan Malik."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't say it like that."

Ava leaned in. "Like what? Like he's the hottest, richest, most dangerously powerful man in the city?"

I scowled. "That's not the point."

She grinned. "But it's true."

I sighed, shaking my head. "He's… impossible. He pushes me. He watches me. He—" I hesitated. "I don't know what he wants from me."

Ava tilted her head. "Maybe he wants to fuck you."

I choked on my wine. "Ava!"

She laughed. "Oh, please. You think men like him don't mix business with pleasure?"

I narrowed my eyes. "He has a fiancée."

Ava hummed, unimpressed. "And?"

"And I'm not interested," I lied.

She snorted. "Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that."

The bartender slid two tequila shots onto the table. Ava pushed one toward me, raising hers in the air.

"To rich, intimidating bosses who make life complicated," she teased.

I sighed but clinked my glass against hers.

As the tequila burned down my throat, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get even more complicated.

The tequila settled warm in my stomach, but it did nothing to quiet my thoughts.

Ava was still watching me, head tilted, eyes sharp. "So… is he at least as sexy as they say?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not having this conversation."

"That's a yes." She smirked. "How bad is it?"

I hesitated. Too bad. Too much.

Rakan Malik was the kind of man who commanded space without a word. The kind of man who made you forget your own logic just by looking at you too long.

I sighed. "He's… intense."

Ava raised a brow. "Intense as in scary or intense as in 'I want him to ruin my life'?"

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Ava."

She laughed, sipping her drink. "Look, I get it. He's engaged. He's your boss. And he's probably the most dangerously unattainable man in the city." She smirked. "But that doesn't mean you're blind."

I shook my head. "None of that matters. He doesn't see me that way. I'm just another employee."

Ava gave me a look. "And do you believe that?"

I hesitated. No. I didn't.

Because if that were true, then why was he testing me? Watching me? Giving me tasks no other assistant had handled before?

Why had he told me to be careful who I trusted?

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed on the table. I glanced down—and my stomach clenched.

Rakan Malik: Be in my office at 7 AM. Don't be late.

Ava peeked at my screen and let out a low whistle. "Damn. That man really doesn't give you a break, does he?"

I exhaled slowly. "Apparently not."

Ava smirked. "Maybe he just likes keeping you on a leash."

I shot her a glare, but I couldn't deny the way my heart had kicked up a little too hard at those words.

I finished my drink, pushing away the thoughts creeping into my head.

I worked for him.

That was all this was.

But as I left the bar and walked into the cool night, phone still buzzing in my pocket, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was lying to myself.

Rakan's POV.

The penthouse was silent except for the distant hum of the city below.

I poured a glass of whiskey, letting the burn settle on my tongue as I leaned against the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at Manhattan.

Power. Control. Obsession.

That was the world I had built. The empire I ruled.

And yet, my mind kept circling back to one thing. One person.

Zaphyra Quinn.

I had tested her today—pushed, provoked, watched. Waiting for the moment she would crack. But she hadn't.

She stood her ground. She looked me in the eye when others would have looked away.

That should have annoyed me. Instead, it made something curl deep inside my chest—something dangerous.

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, exhaling slowly. I needed to get her out of my head.

Then—the door slammed open.

I didn't turn. I already knew who it was.

Camila.

Her heels clicked against the marble as she strode toward me, voice sharp. "You're ignoring my calls now?"

I took another sip of my drink before finally facing her. She was still in her hospital scrubs, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, eyes burning with irritation.

"I was working," I said simply.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Bullshit. You always answer me."

Not always. Not anymore.

She exhaled, crossing her arms. "You're distracted, Rakan."

I raised a brow. "Am I?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't play games with me."

I didn't respond. Because I knew what this was about.

Camila was smart. She knew when my focus shifted. And right now, she was trying to figure out what—or who—was pulling my attention away.

"You're different lately," she continued, stepping closer. "Colder. More distant." Her voice lowered. "Who is it?"

I let out a slow exhale, setting my glass down. "You're imagining things."

Her jaw clenched. "Don't lie to me, Rakan."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

Then, in a softer voice, "She's nothing, right?"

I glanced at her, unreadable. A lie sat at the tip of my tongue.

But I didn't say it.

Instead, I picked up my whiskey and walked past her, leaving her standing there.

Because we both knew the truth.

Zaphyra Quinn wasn't nothing.

And that was the problem.

I barely made it two steps before I felt her hand—small, urgent, desperate—grabbing mine.

"Rakan," Camila breathed, voice low, raw.

I turned, and before I could say a word, her lips crashed against mine.

Soft. Familiar. Demanding.

I didn't pull back.

I let her kiss me. Let her nails dig into my shoulders as she pressed herself closer, molding against me like she belonged there.

Because maybe she did.

Maybe this was exactly where I needed to be—in the arms of the woman I was supposed to marry, in the bed of someone I already knew.

Not thinking about Zaphyra Quinn.

Not remembering the way she had looked at me today—head high, spine straight, refusing to break under my gaze.

So I let it happen.

The kiss deepened, turned rough—a clash of teeth and tongues, need and frustration. Camila made a noise, something close to a whimper, as I grabbed her waist, spun her, and pressed her back against the cold marble countertop.

She gasped as my hands skimmed over her curves—knowing every inch of her already, every weakness, every spot that would make her arch.

But there was no softness.

No tenderness.

This was hunger and anger. Not love.

She fisted my shirt, yanking me closer, her body arching into mine, desperate for more.

"Bedroom," she panted against my mouth.

I didn't argue.

I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her through the dimly lit penthouse, past the windows reflecting the city, past the expensive art and furniture I barely noticed anymore.

I needed this.

Needed the distraction. The release.

Needed to erase the feeling crawling under my skin. The one that had started ever since Zaphyra Quinn walked into my world.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind us.

The moment we hit the bed, Camila's fingers tore at my shirt, nails dragging against my skin, desperate, greedy.

She kissed me like she was trying to reclaim something, like she could pull me back into her world with the force of her body alone.

But this wasn't about love.

This was about control. Distraction. Erasing the things I didn't want to think about.

I let her push me down, her lips trailing over my jaw, my neck, hands sliding down my torso, but my mind was already somewhere else.

I knew this body—every curve, every sound she made. I knew how to make her tremble, knew exactly where to touch to make her beg.

And yet, something felt off.

I rolled us over, pinning her beneath me, taking back control. Her breath hitched as I ran my hands up her thighs, parting them, letting my weight sink against her.

"Rakan," she whispered, nails raking my back.

I kissed her hard, drinking in the way she gasped, the way she arched into me, but in the back of my mind, a different voice whispered my name.

Not hers.

I growled, crushing my mouth against hers again, pushing harder, moving rougher—trying to drown it out.

I wasn't thinking about her.

I wasn't thinking about Zaphyra Quinn.

But my hands twitched, betraying me. Because for half a second—**just a flicker of a moment—**I imagined someone else beneath me.

Someone with hazel-green eyes and stubborn defiance.

Fuck.

I pulled back abruptly, breathing hard.

Camila frowned, her hands still gripping me. "What—?"

I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the wrongness pressing against my chest.

"Nothing," I muttered, leaning down again, forcing myself to focus.

Focus on Camila. On what I knew. On what was safe.

But as I kissed her again, as I let my hands roam and my body take over, one thing became painfully clear.

No matter how much I tried to erase her, Zaphyra Quinn was already under my skin.

And I had no idea how to get her out.

Camila's breath hitched as I gripped the hem of her top, yanking it over her head in one smooth motion. She barely had time to react before my fingers were already undoing the clasp of her bra, letting it slip down her arms, exposing flushed skin, hardened peaks, a body that had always been mine to take.

Her hands reached for my belt, but I grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.

"Not yet," I murmured, voice low, rough.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark with something between hunger and submission. She knew better than to argue.

I leaned down, my tongue tracing the column of her throat, tasting the warmth of her pulse. She arched against me, silent, waiting, needing.

I wanted her desperate.

I wanted her to lose herself beneath me.

My hands slid lower, gripping the waistband of her pants. With one sharp tug, I pulled them down her legs, slow enough to tease, rough enough to remind her who was in control.

She let out a soft gasp as I spread her thighs, my palms holding her open, keeping her exactly where I wanted her.

"Rakan," she whispered, shifting beneath me.

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

Instead, I kissed my way down her body—teeth, tongue, heat.

She trembled beneath my mouth, her fingers digging into the sheets, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as I worked her over, building her up, making her beg without words.

She was wet when I finally pulled back, my jaw tight, my patience gone.

I stood, undoing my belt with slow, deliberate movements. She watched, breathless, pupils blown wide as I shrugged off my shirt, kicked off my pants, and climbed back over her.

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

I caught her chin between my fingers, forcing her gaze to meet mine.

"Say it," I ordered, my voice rough.

Her lips parted. "Take me."

I didn't wait.

I thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke, swallowing the sharp cry that left her lips.

Her nails raked down my back, her body arching, taking all of me, stretching around me. Tight. Hot. Perfect.

I set the pace—deep, hard, relentless.

Camila moaned, her head falling back against the pillows as I took her the way she needed me to—with strength, with control, with nothing held back.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper, meeting every thrust with desperate, breathless sounds.

I leaned down, biting at her lower lip, swallowing her moans as I drove into her harder, faster, chasing the fire curling in my gut.

She shattered beneath me first, crying out my name, her body tightening, pulsing, pulling me over the edge right after her.

I groaned, burying myself deep as pleasure crashed over me, hot and raw, sharp and consuming.

The high lasted only a few seconds. The weight of reality settled faster.

Camila sighed, her fingers lazily tracing my chest as I rolled onto my back beside her. "You needed that," she murmured, smug and satisfied.

I didn't answer.

Because it hadn't been enough.

Because even now, with sweat cooling on my skin and her body still wrapped around mine… I wasn't thinking about Camila.

I was thinking about someone else.

And that was a problem.