One Night You Automatically Become My Woman
807 Words
I had given the orders earlier in the day.
Quietly. Precisely. The way I always did everything.
I told the head maid to move her belongings. Every single thing. Her clothes, her toiletries, the small items she kept arranged with military neatness. I told her where to place them. Inside my room. Inside my space.
I watched the maid’s eyes widen when she understood what I meant. I watched her hesitate. I watched the silent shock ripple across the faces of the staff nearby. They were not used to this. They were used to rules. Distance. Control. They were used to me keeping women far away from my private life.
I smiled.
It was not a warm smile. It was not kind. It was deliberate.
The maid bowed stiffly and obeyed.
Caleb came by not long after, his curiosity written plainly on his face. He asked questions. Too many questions. I ignored him. Let him talk. Let him speculate. For once, I did not care what he thought. Whatever this was between Anna and me, it was not something I intended to explain to anyone.
Not even my twin.
I returned to my study and waited.
That was the part I did not expect to be difficult. Waiting. Time stretched, slow and heavy, as if it were aware that something irreversible was about to happen. I told myself it was nothing. That this was just another decision. Another line drawn where I wanted it.
Still, my attention kept drifting toward the door.
When I finally heard her voice in the hallway, my focus sharpened instantly.
She was speaking to the head maid. I recognized the confusion in her tone. The disbelief. I could picture her expression without seeing it. I had memorized her face too well over the past weeks.
I stood and walked out of my study slowly.
She was standing in the doorway of my room, frozen. Her eyes moved from the wardrobe to the bedside table, to the familiar items that did not belong there. Not in my room. Not in my world.
Shock was written all over her face.
I stopped just inside the room and leaned casually against the wall, watching her try to process it. She turned slightly when she sensed me behind her.
“Why?” she asked.
Her voice was quiet but sharp. Controlled, but barely.
I repeated her word calmly. “Why?”
I lifted my hand slightly, signaling the head maid to leave. She bowed and disappeared quickly, closing the door behind her.
The room fell silent.
Anna turned fully toward me then. Her eyes were dark, alert, wary. She looked like someone cornered but ready to fight.
“You do not want to stay here?” I asked.
She stared at me like I had lost my mind.
“Are you crazy?” she demanded. “Was it only one night? One night we spent together and now you do this?”
The question stung. More than I expected.
I felt it, sharp and brief, and swallowed it just as quickly.
“Yes,” I replied evenly. “One night.”
I stepped closer, slow and deliberate.
“One night automatically makes you my woman.”
Her eyes widened. Disbelief flashed across her face, followed quickly by anger.
“Boss,” she started.
“Do not call me that,” I interrupted.
She hesitated, then said my name. “Zane.”
The sound of it settled somewhere deep in my chest. Familiar. Right.
“This is too sudden,” she said. “And wrong. I work for you. I am under you professionally. Do you even understand what you are saying?”
“What is wrong with that?” I asked.
I moved another step closer. She did not retreat, but her back brushed the wall.
“You are staying in my room from now on,” I said. “That is it.”
“I am not your woman,” she snapped.
“Yes,” I replied calmly. “You are.”
“Please,” she said, her voice tight. “Zane, stop this.”
I placed my hand on the wall beside her head, caging her in without touching her.
“You spent the night in my bed,” I said quietly. “That automatically tension makes you my woman.”
I watched her struggle to breathe evenly. I watched the defiance flicker, clash with uncertainty.
“So get used to it,” I continued. “You will not only be my bodyguard. You will also be my woman.”
“You are insane,” she whispered.
“Maybe I am,” I replied softly. “For you.”
The room felt charged. Tight. Heavy with things neither of us were ready to name.
And still, I did not move away.
Neither did she.
- Writer
