Chapter 4: A Slow Burn

Zaphyra's POV.

The sound of my alarm sliced through the quiet, dragging me from the depths of sleep.

I groaned, burrowing deeper into the blankets, unwilling to face the day just yet. My body ached, my mind foggy with exhaustion.

Last night's tequila was a mistake.

I cracked one eye open, staring at the dim glow of my bedside clock. 6:00 AM.

I had an hour before I had to be at Nexus Wealth Management. One hour before I had to face him.

Rakan Malik.

I exhaled, running a hand over my face. Why did his name feel heavier than it should?

I wasn't intimidated by him—not the way everyone else seemed to be. But I wasn't stupid, either. He was unpredictable, intense, and impossible to read. One moment, he was challenging me. The next, he was warning me.

And last night, he had texted me—demanding I be in his office by 7 AM.

I still had no idea why.

Shaking off the lingering drowsiness, I forced myself out of bed. A cold shower helped wake me up, washing away the remnants of sleep and the dull headache creeping at the edges of my mind.

I pulled on a fitted black pencil skirt, pairing it with a white silk blouse. Professional, sleek, and sharp. Something told me I'd need my armor today.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, my phone buzzed on the counter.

Ava.

Ava: Survived the tequila?

Me: Barely.

Ava: Good. Now, tell me—have you caved and admitted your boss is stupidly hot yet?

I rolled my eyes, grabbing my coffee.

Me: Not happening.

Ava: Liar.

I sighed, slipping my phone into my bag. I wasn't lying.

I wasn't.

I grabbed my coat, stepping out into the crisp New York air. The city was awake—honking taxis, people rushing down sidewalks, the scent of coffee and ambition hanging in the air.

Another day. Another challenge.

And in less than an hour, I'd be face-to-face with Rakan Malik.

For reasons I still didn't understand.

The elevator ride to the forty-second floor felt longer than usual.

I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, rolling my lips together as I mentally prepared myself. 7 AM. Rakan had asked for me specifically.

No reason. No explanation.

Just a text that carried the weight of a command.

I wasn't sure if I was more annoyed or intrigued.

The doors slid open with a quiet chime, revealing the familiar, sleek executive level. Dim lighting, glass walls, quiet power.

I stepped out, heels clicking against the marble as I headed toward my desk.

Eva was already there, sipping her coffee, eyes flicking toward me the second I approached.

She smirked. "He's waiting for you."

I sighed. "Any idea what this is about?"

She shrugged. "Malik doesn't explain himself." She tilted her head. "But if I were you, I'd be careful."

I frowned. "Careful?"

Eva leaned forward slightly, her voice lower. "He's in a mood today."

A mood. What the hell did that mean?

I exhaled, straightening my shoulders before walking toward his office doors.

I knocked twice.

No answer.

I knocked again. "Sir?"

Still nothing.

I hesitated, then slowly pushed the door open.

And there he was.

Rakan stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to me, hands in his pockets. His suit was crisp, but the top button of his shirt was undone, a sign that maybe, just maybe, Eva had been right.

Something was off.

I stepped inside carefully, clearing my throat. "You asked to see me?"

A long silence.

Then, his voice—deep, low, edged with something unreadable.

"Lock the door."

I froze.

His posture hadn't changed. He still wasn't looking at me. But something about the way he said it sent a sharp thrill down my spine.

I swallowed hard, fingers hovering over the lock.

"Is there a reason for that?" I asked, keeping my tone even.

Another pause.

Then, slowly, he turned.

And when our eyes met, I knew.

Eva had been right.

Rakan Malik was definitely in a mood today.

I locked the door.

Not because I wanted to. But because when Rakan Malik gave an order, you obeyed.

The soft click of the lock echoed in the silence.

He hadn't moved. He still stood near the window, his face unreadable, his jaw tight. Something was off.

"Are you going to tell me why I'm here?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

His gaze flicked to me. Sharp. Calculating. Intense.

"You don't like being told what to do, do you?"

I exhaled slowly. "I like having a reason."

Another pause. Then, he walked toward his desk, picking up a glass of whiskey. At 7 AM.

I raised a brow. "Drinking this early?"

He took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving mine. "Are you judging me, Miss Quinn?"

I hesitated. "No. Just… surprised."

He hummed, setting the glass down. "You shouldn't be. I had a long night."

A strange tension curled in the air between us.

A long night.

I didn't want to know what that meant.

I didn't want to picture him with his fiancée, tangled in expensive sheets, his mouth whispering things against someone else's skin.

I shifted, forcing my mind to focus. "What do you need from me, Mr. Malik?"

He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. The way he watched me—slow, deliberate—made my skin prickle.

"I've been testing you," he murmured.

I swallowed. "I know."

"And?"

I held my ground. "And I'm still here."

Something flickered in his eyes. Approval? Amusement? Something darker?

He exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the desk. "I want to know if I can trust you."

I frowned. "Trust me with what?"

His gaze flickered to the glass walls, as if making sure no one was listening. Then, he took a slow step toward me.

"You're smart, Miss Quinn," he murmured. "Figure it out."

I clenched my jaw. He was testing me again. Pushing. Seeing how far I was willing to go.

"Maybe I don't want to," I said quietly.

His lips curved—not a smile. A warning.

"You don't have a choice."

I held his gaze, refusing to flinch. If this was a game, I wasn't going to be the first to break.

"You don't have a choice," he had said. Like my fate had already been decided.

I inhaled slowly. "What exactly do you need to trust me with?"

Rakan's head tilted slightly, studying me like I was a problem he was trying to solve. His fingers tapped against the desk, slow and rhythmic.

Then, just as casually, he said, "How much do you know about offshore accounts?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

His lips twitched. "You heard me."

My stomach twisted. This wasn't small talk. This was a door opening into something I wasn't sure I wanted to walk through.

"I know enough to know they can be used for a lot of things," I said carefully. "Some legal. Some… not."

His expression didn't change. "And which one do you think I use them for?"

I swallowed, heat creeping up my spine. Was he testing me… or warning me?

"That's none of my business," I said finally.

"Wrong answer."

He took a slow step forward, and I forced myself to stand still, to not step back.

"You're in my company, working directly under me," he murmured. "Everything I do is your business."

I exhaled sharply. "I thought I was here to be an assistant."

His blue eyes flickered. "I don't need an assistant, Miss Quinn. I need someone I can trust."

The words hung between us, heavy and unspoken.

He wasn't talking about office work anymore.

I clenched my fists at my sides. "And if I don't want to be involved in whatever this is?"

A pause. Then—"You already are."

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down my spine.

I sucked in a slow breath, choosing my next words carefully. "And if I go to HR? If I say this isn't what I signed up for?"

For the first time, his expression changed.

Not anger. Not surprise.

Amusement.

A slow, dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Go ahead, Miss Quinn. Go to HR. Tell them the CEO of the most powerful wealth management firm in the country is making you uncomfortable."

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping.

"Let's see how long you last after that."

My stomach twisted.

A threat. A promise. A trap I hadn't even realized I'd walked into.

And the worst part?

I wasn't sure if I wanted to escape.

My pulse was hammering.

Not from fear. Not entirely.

Rakan's words still hung in the air, suffocating, inescapable. "Let's see how long you last after that."

A part of me wanted to push back, to challenge him. But another part—the one that recognized power when it saw it—knew better.

This wasn't a fight I could win. Not in the way I wanted.

I inhaled, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. "Are you always this manipulative?"

His lips curved—a slow, dark smirk. "Only when necessary."

I swallowed, shifting under the weight of his gaze. This was a game to him. A test. How far could he push me? Would I break? Would I walk away?

I squared my shoulders. "If you want me to work for you, then tell me exactly what that means. No riddles. No games."

His amusement flickered. Just for a second.

Then, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if making a decision. A dangerous one.

"Fine," he murmured, stepping even closer.

Too close.

I could smell the faint trace of whiskey and something darkly masculine, something expensive.

"You'll be handling specific financial reports," he said. "Documents I don't want anyone else touching."

I nodded slowly. "And these reports… are they legal?"

A pause.

Then—"They exist outside of legality."

A chill crawled up my spine. That wasn't an answer.

He smirked, as if knowing exactly what I was thinking. "If that bothers you, Miss Quinn, I suggest you walk away now."

I clenched my jaw. "And if I stay?"

Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of approval. Of interest.

"Then you're mine," he murmured. "In every way that matters."

My breath hitched.

Not because of the words. But because of the way he said them.

Slow. Dark. Like a vow. Like a claim.

I should have turned around. I should have walked out of his office and never looked back.

But I didn't.

And we both knew why.

The weight of his words settled between us, thick and suffocating.

Then you're mine.

A statement. A warning. A challenge.

I should have laughed. I should have reminded him that I belonged to no one.

Instead, I met his gaze, heat creeping up my spine. "Is that how you run your business, Mr. Malik? By collecting people?"

His smirk was slow, deliberate. "No. I collect assets."

My stomach tightened.

I wasn't sure which one he saw me as.

Rakan leaned back against his desk, watching me like he was waiting for me to make the next move.

"You haven't answered my question," he murmured.

I exhaled through my nose, trying to ignore the pull in my chest. I knew what he was doing.

This wasn't about the job. Not really.

This was about control.

A test to see if I would fall in line—or fight back.

And I knew one thing for sure. I wasn't built to be tamed.

I tilted my chin. "I'll do the work. But I don't belong to you."

Silence.

Then, something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. "Not yet."

The air crackled with something unspoken, something dark.

I turned, needing to get out before I drowned in whatever this was.

"Miss Quinn."

His voice stopped me at the door.

I hesitated, gripping the handle.

"Be careful what you think you can resist," he murmured.

I didn't look back. Because if I did, I wasn't sure I'd be able to hide the way my pulse betrayed me.

I walked out, my breaths uneven, my mind a tangled mess of warnings and heat.

And the worst part?

I wasn't sure which one I was supposed to listen to.