The office was silent save for the low hum of the city down below—forty-eight floors beneath Victor D'Amico's penthouse corner office. The rain had just started, slicking the windows with silver streaks. He didn't mind. He liked storms. They made everything quiet.

He didn't even look up when the door opened.

'Mr. D'Amico,' came the crisp voice of his assistant, Claire. She sounded cautious. Smart woman. Claire didn't interrupt him unless it was important—or unless she had something new and shiny she thought he'd want to play with.

'This is your intern,' she continued. 'From the program with—'

Victor finally lifted his gaze.

And froze.

For half a second—just half—his pen paused mid-signature, hovering over a multi-million dollar deal. That in itself was historic. Nothing made Victor D'Amico hesitate.

But this? This boy?

Thin wrists. Big eyes. Nervous mouth. He looked like he barely belonged in the lobby, let alone here, in this vaulted, glass-walled world. Victor had no idea how someone so soft had made it this far without being eaten alive. But here he was. Breathing. Fidgeting.

God help him.

And Victor had the dirtiest thought. It wasn't even a full sentence. Just a crude, possessive impulse that slammed into him with the force of a jet engine.

I want him in my lap.

Now.

He set the pen down. Carefully. Slowly. Fingers steepling in front of him, eyes never leaving the boy.

Claire cleared her throat. 'His name is—'

'Leave us,' Victor said, his voice quiet, smooth as black velvet.

'But, sir, I haven't—'

'I said leave.' His gaze didn't flicker. Not once. He didn't even blink. And Claire, wise and eternally discreet, made herself disappear.

The door clicked shut. Silence again.

Victor leaned back in his chair. Watched him like a predator just beginning to stretch after a nap. Not pouncing—yet. Just watching. Planning.

'You,' Victor said at last, voice dark honey, 'are not what I expected.'

The boy blinked. 'I—I can leave, if I—'

'No,' Victor cut in, too fast. Then, softer. 'No. You'll stay.'

He gestured to the chair across from him. Then paused. Tilted his head.

On second thought— Victor's lips curved. Slow. Dangerous. 'Actually,' he said, leaning forward just a little. 'Why don't you come here instead.' He tapped his knee once. 'Right here.' A beat. He stared at him. Victor's smile widened, wolfish. 'That wasn't a suggestion.'