JORDAN’S POV
The world outside the frosted glass was moving at a frantic, corporate pace—a blur of emails, stock tickers, and high-stakes decisions—but inside the sanctuary of my office, time had curdled into something thick, dark, and dangerously carnal.
The silence of the room was a heavy, pressurized weight, broken only by the sound of our breathing—a ragged, synchronized rhythm that signaled the absolute end of my restraint.
I was a man built on foundations of iron and discipline. My entire life was a testament to the power of the "Saint," the man who never faltered, never yielded, and never sinned where the light could reach.
But as I looked at Emma, the girl I had raised in the shadows of my own house, that iron was melting into a liquid, white-hot desperation.
I didn't throw
