Chapter 36

Sloane barely slept.

She had spent the past year navigating hostile boardrooms, corporate betrayals, and power plays that could ruin entire empires.

And yet, nothing had ever been as infuriatingly consuming as Vincent Saint-Clair.

She told herself it was the stress, the late nights, the forced proximity. That was why he was in her head.

But she knew better.

By morning, she was dressed and composed, her silk blouse crisp, her heels clicking against the marble floors as she made her way to the dining area.

She expected to find the staff preparing breakfast, the usual quiet luxury of their routine.

Instead, she found Vincent. Seated at the head of the table, coffee in hand, reading the morning reports like he owned the place.

Her eyes flicked over him. Navy dress shirt unbuttoned just enough, sleeves rolled up, looking too damn relaxed for someone who spent the night unraveling her without even touching her.