Signed To Seduce

YOU WILL

Camille stirred against sheets softer than anything she’d ever touched, her lashes fluttering open to a ceiling so high it felt like the sky itself. For a moment, her mind blurred with panic — this wasn’t her cramped Brooklyn apartment, with peeling paint and the hum of the radiator. This was… glass walls, a skyline glittering even in the pale dawn, and a bed that could have fit her entire studio twice over.

Her chest tightened. Where am I?

Then it came rushing back. Last night. The contract. His sharp eyes on her as he’d told her to “get some rest” in that clipped, commanding tone. The way the city lights had reflected off his penthouse windows as he’d disappeared down the hallway, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She sat up slowly, the silk sheet slipping against her skin. A blush crept into her cheeks as she realized the scent clinging to the pillows wasn’t hers — it was Xavier’s. Clean, expensive cologne and something darker beneath it, something that felt like him: power and restraint.

Her gaze drifted to the floor-to-ceiling glass stretching across the room. From here, the city looked small, toy-like, as though Xavier Hale really did own it all.

“Good. You’re awake.”

Camille startled at the low voice, whipping her head toward the doorway. Xavier leaned there casually, though nothing about him ever felt casual. His dark shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his hair slightly tousled, as if he’d been awake for hours. Those sharp eyes swept over her, lingering just long enough to make her clutch the sheet tighter to her chest.

“I…” Her throat went dry. “I forgot where I was for a second.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile, more like amusement tinged with something dangerous. “You’ll get used to it,” he said softly, pushing off the frame and walking toward her. The sound of his steps on polished wood made her pulse trip.

As he stopped at the edge of the bed, Camille looked up, heart hammering. She hated how small she felt beneath his gaze, hated even more how much part of her didn’t mind.

“Welcome to my world, Camille,” Xavier murmured, his voice a promise and a warning all at once.

"I've hired a stylist for you. She'll be here by 6." he says to her as he turns to leave but then stops midway.

"And Camille, I got you a dress, wear it for the gala. I'll pick you up at 9." he says as he leaves the room.

When Xavier left the room with a cool, “Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes,” Camille sat frozen for a moment, staring at the door he disappeared through. Twenty minutes. What was she supposed to do until then — sit on the edge of the bed like a guest in a museum?

Her fingers tightened around the sheet before she exhaled and swung her legs off the mattress. The floor was heated — of course it was. She padded softly toward the door, curiosity pricking at her despite herself.

The hallway stretched wide and silent, its walls lined with abstract art that probably cost more than her tuition. Every step reminded her she was out of place, but something inside her refused to stay hidden away. If she was going to be trapped here by his contract, she needed to know the cage.

The living room was the first thing that stole her breath. A glass wall opened to the endless skyline, the morning sun spilling molten gold across a white leather sectional. Everything gleamed — steel, glass, marble — yet it felt cold, impersonal, like a hotel no one actually lived in. Except for the faintest detail: a half-empty glass of scotch left on the coffee table, the only imperfection in sight.

Camille wandered further, her fingertips trailing along polished surfaces as though touching them might make the space less foreign. She found a study lined with books — surprisingly well-read volumes, not just decoration. A photo frame lay face-down on the desk. She reached for it, but something in her chest tightened, and she pulled back, leaving it untouched.

Then came the piano room. A glossy black grand stood in the corner, sunlight glinting off its curved frame. She hovered at the threshold, startled by the vulnerability of it. Xavier, the man of steel and control, kept a piano?

Her hand hovered above the keys but didn’t press. She couldn’t shake the image of him sitting here alone at night, playing music for no one but himself.

“This place is…” She whispered to herself, words lost in the cavernous silence. “…a palace and a prison.”

Behind her, the faint click of footsteps echoed down the hall, steady and deliberate. Her spine stiffened — Xavier. Somehow, she felt caught, even though she hadn’t touched a thing. Camille froze when the footsteps grew louder, sharper against the marble. She turned slowly, pulse quickening, and there he was — Xavier Hale, framed in the doorway of the piano room. He didn’t speak right away, only let his eyes drift over her in a way that made her want to wrap her arms around herself and stand taller at the same time.

“I see curiosity got the better of you,” he said finally, his voice low, smooth, carrying that hint of amusement that unsettled her more than anger would have.

“I was just… looking,” Camille replied, stepping back from the piano. “It’s hard not to, when everything looks like a gallery.”

Xavier’s mouth curved into that almost-smile again as he stepped inside, closing the distance at an unhurried pace. “This isn’t a gallery. It’s my home.” He stopped only a breath away, his height forcing her to tilt her chin up. “And most people ask before they wander.”

Her throat went dry. “Do you… mind?”

He leaned closer, his cologne — dark, expensive, intoxicating — wrapping around her like a trap. “Depends,” he murmured, his gaze dropping briefly to her parted lips before locking back on her eyes. “Are you the type who behaves when told… or the type who needs reminding where she belongs?”

Heat rushed through her, betraying her body even as she tried to look unshaken. “I don’t belong here at all,” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

Xavier’s hand lifted slowly, deliberately, until his knuckles brushed the edge of the piano beside her, boxing her in without touching her. “You will,” he said, his words a promise edged with threat. His eyes lingered on hers, searching, daring her to deny the pull sparking between them.

For one charged moment, Camille forgot to breathe — until he straightened suddenly, retreating just enough to leave her dizzy with relief and disappointment all at once.

“Breakfast,” Xavier said curtly, turning toward the door. “Before you explore any further.”

His tone was clipped, controlled, but she didn’t miss the tension in his jaw… or the way he hadn’t looked at the piano once, as if she’d stumbled too close to something private.

After breakfast, Xavier leaves for work.