The moment Clara stepped out of Nicholas’s office, she thought she’d managed to breathe again. But the reprieve was short-lived. The hum of Wolfe Enterprises carried on as though nothing had happened—phones rang, heels clicked on polished floors, assistants whispered in corners—but she could still feel the phantom weight of his eyes. Every tap of her keyboard, every call she answered, was shadowed by the echo of his words: You’ll come to me willingly.
She tried to bury herself in tasks, but less than an hour passed before her phone buzzed.
“Mr. Wolfe requests you in his office.”
Her chest tightened, a rush of nerves knotting in her stomach as though the walls themselves had closed in on her. It had been less than an hour since she’d fled his office, less than an hour since his words had
