What It Means to be His

When Elena Harvey opened her eyes in a hotel suite, the very first thing that met her eyes was the man stretched out beside her. He was absurdly hot.

A look of embarrassment crossed her face, mixed with something much harder to name.

At the gathering the night before, she had only taken a few sips before sensing that something was terribly off. She had gotten away as quickly as she could, light-headed and losing strength with each step, until she somehow ended up on one of the guest-room levels. One of the doors had been left a crack open, and in her muddled state, she had stumbled inside.

A tall, striking man had come into view.

"Leave."

Those were the first words he had said to her—icy, curt, and clearly laced with anger.

But then, she had felt far too terrible to think clearly about anything. The only thing that had stayed with her was how striking he was—and how, despite the frost in him, she had still been unable to resist drifting closer, wanting to lean into him...

Elena drew her brows together and forced the memory to stop before it went any further.

The man at her side stirred all at once. Her heart gave a violent jolt. She yanked herself back to the moment and fixed her gaze on his beautifully chiseled face, a thread of unease passing over her features.

Several seconds slipped by. Luckily, he stayed asleep.

Only then did she release a soft breath of relief. As carefully as possible, she eased herself out from beneath the blanket, rose from the bed, and ignored the ache running through her body as she hurriedly collected the clothes lying all over the floor.

She had to admit, slipping off without a word after a night together wasn't quite fair.

After getting dressed, Elena remained beside the bed and looked at the man still sleeping there. He truly was outrageously hot. She had seen many good-looking men in her life, but never one who had struck her so sharply at first sight.

There was only one issue—he hadn't been gentle in bed.

A few broken fragments from the night before suddenly flickered through her mind. Warmth rushed straight to her face, and she shut the thought down at once.

After hesitating briefly, she pulled a check from her bag and laid it softly on the bedside table. Then, still feeling as though that was not enough, she found a pen, wrote a short note, and placed it next to the check.

Only after that did she turn and walk away.

The moment she stepped into the elevator, her phone started ringing. She pulled it out and answered. "Hello."

"Uh... what happened to you?" the woman on the other end asked right away, sharp as ever. "Why do you sound utterly drained early in the morning?"

Elena cleared her throat softly and lowered her voice. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"You didn't sleep well? Why?"

"It's nothing." Elena rubbed the bridge of her nose, obviously not wanting to linger on that topic. "Why are you even calling me now?"

"Oh, right. Henry Watson's men showed up at the gallery again. They said they were willing to pay ten times your painting's listed value. Are you planning to think it over again?"

Elena gave no reply right away.

As though terrified she would reject it, the woman quickly kept going. "Sweetheart, do you have any idea who Henry Watson is? He's the one in charge of Genesis Group. That man has power, a vicious streak, and the kind of reputation no one dares challenge. The moment his people walked in, I could tell—he wanted that painting badly. I already turned him down once. If I say no again… I really think my life might be in danger."

People said Henry had taken hold of his family at sixteen and forced the family's internal feud into submission. By the age of eighteen, he was already the true power controlling Genesis from behind the scenes. Now, at only twenty-six, he had driven the company's market value up several times over. His ascent had been so rapid and ruthless that it had turned him into an almost legendary figure in the business world.

No one outside the people closest to him knew what he really looked like, yet the stories surrounding him had never once died down.

After thinking for a brief moment, Elena said yes. "Fine, let him have it."

That painting had been prepared in the first place as a present for the Barnes family. There was no point in that now.

That family had always looked down on her for being ordinary. They'd never meant to keep their promise to her father, either. And Elena? She had no interest in marrying some spoiled rich kid from that family.

The woman on the other end breathed out deeply in relief, her excitement nearly spilling over. "Perfect. Once the sale is completed, I'll send the money over to you."