BETRAYAL GAME: HIS BOSS, MY OBSESSION

LOG

orship her, he consumed her. There was power in his silence, in the sharp look in his eyes when he walked into a room. He didn't need flowers. He didn't need promises. Just one look from him, and Eva's knees would weaken. Her breath would catch. Her morals would crumble. It wasn't love. Not in the way she understood it, It was obsession. It was danger. Temptation. A magnetic pull that made her forget the man who waited at home, who trusted her completely, who had never once looked at another woman. With Henry, she was cherished. With Lucas, she was claimed. And she knew it was wrong. She knew the fire would eventually

A'S

, I would feel something deeper. Something more. But I never did. I stared at the ceiling as his breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back. His hand was still on my hip, like a quiet claim. Possessive, but never demanding. My body was still. But my mind was loud. It wasn't that Henry was bad in bed. He was attentive, careful. The kind of man who asked before doing anything, who made sure I felt safe. He made love like a man who worshipped the ground I walked on. And maybe that was the problem. Because I didn't want to be worshipped. Not in bed. I wanted to be wanted. Needed. Taken.

ver forget. The company had organized one of those formal events, fancy catering, smooth jazz in the background, and people pretending to care about things they really didn't. I wore a sleek black dress that hugged my curves, mostly for Henry. He liked it when I dressed up, when I looked polished and elegant by his side. But that night... someone else saw me. He stood across the room like he owned the air around him. Lucas Watson, Henry's boss. Broad shoulders, a tailored suit that fit like a second skin, and that cold, unreadable look in his eyes. He didn't smile. Didn't mingle. Just stood there with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a presence that drew attention without even trying. Our eyes met and for a second, I swear the room went silent. He gave me a look. A simple, heavy, slow-moving stare that slid from my heels to my lips and made my skin feel too tight. It wasn't a compliment. It wasn't even curiosity. It was a warning. But something inside me stirred anyway. I told myself it was nothing. Just a glance. But when he walked over during the break and introduced himself, I barely remembered how to breathe. "Lucas Watson," he said. I nodded, told him my name. The conversation was short. Polite. But his voice... it was deep and steady, every word a command even when he said nothing demanding. Before I left, he handed me his card and I gave him my phone number."Call me sometime. You're interesting." That night, I didn't sleep. I didn't call either. But he did. Three days later, I got a message. Lunch? Just you and me. No pressure. I shouldn't have gone. God knows I shouldn't have. But I did. I told Henry I was meeting an old friend. Lied to his face while he kissed my cheek and told me to have fun. Lucas gave me his address, an upscale condo in the city. When I knocked, he opened the door... wearing only a boxer. No shirt. No apology. Just confidence. I should've walked away. Asked questions. But all I did was stare. He was carved like stone. Chest broad. Arms thick and veined. The kind of bod