Doris Elizabeth Corday

I woke to the muted glow of morning light filtering through the massive windows. Despite my dreamless sleep, the moment my eyes opened, I immediately thought about last night. A blush started forming and I tried to wash it away with cold water.

Barefoot, I padded into the main living space. The penthouse was immaculate, as always. But now, knowing Mr. Illion himself was the one who kept it this way, it caught my attention.

The surfaces were all polished and a lingering scent of disinfectant and citrus floated through the air. My gaze traced the edges of the room, and I simply couldn't imagine a billionaire waking at the crack of dawn to clean his own house.

After making a coffee and savoring its warmth, I checked the fridge. As expected, there it was: a neatly packed breakfast and the inevitable note.

Eat this.

"Yes, boss," I scoffed.

Sitting at the counter, I peeled back the lid of the container. Eggs, toast, and a small fruit salad — perfect in their little compartments.

Though all this had been routine by now, it all felt so different this morning. I couldn't stop thinking about how Mr. Illion had time for any of this. He really was an unusual man...

Do most crime bosses leave breakfast in neat little squares? Would they even think about cleaning their own place?

Now that the question had come to me, it was annoyingly hard to stop thinking about him.

I pushed the thought away and wandered to his office, my footsteps muffled on the thick carpet. Finally, I found a charger and plugged in my burner phone. The screen blinked to life, and a flood of messages appeared.

King: Are you alright?

King: Did a high roller really pay for you?

King: Was it Rob?

King: Reply if you're okay.

King: ???

I sighed, hastily typing a reply.

Beth: I'm fine. Sorry for the late reply. I didn't have a charger for this phone. Yes, it was Rob. Also, I got Lady Q's card. So, mission success.

While the phone charged, I let my eyes drift over the documents stacked neatly on his desk. For all my snooping, there was nothing useful. Just contracts and records of his legitimate empire. If his crimes left a paper trail, they weren't here.

The phone buzzed.

King: Rob took you to the Velvet Room?

Beth: Yeah.

I left it at that, turning off the phone and tucking it back into its hiding place in my room. By now, the sun was high, and the indoor pool beckoned.

Changing into my only swimsuit, I slipped into the water, its cool embrace soothing the restless ache beneath my skin.

Whenever I wasn't preparing for a mission, this had become my daily life. Wake up, eat, swim, eat, nap, eat, sleep.

I was sure the boredom would get to me before the devil ever did.

The doorbell's soft chime pulled me from my reverie. Wrapping a towel around myself, I answered it, finding Aurelia standing there with her usual air of grace, a paper bag in her hand.

"Good afternoon," she greeted. Her fitted blazer was as pristine as her smooth black hair.

"Afternoon," I replied, stepping aside as she entered.

"Mister Illion won't return until dinner. Secretary Coy asked me to deliver this for you." She set the bag on the counter.

"Thanks."

Aurelia lingered, her gaze sweeping the penthouse as if searching for something.

"Are you adjusting well?"

"I guess so," I said, opening the bag. The scent of fresh pasta and herbs wafted out. "Mister Illion's... getting easier to understand. Sort of."

Her lips curved in a faint smile.

"He doesn't usually bring people into his space."

Something about her tone made me pause. I watched her carefully, wondering if she knew... If she had been informed of what had happened between Mr. Illion and me. I couldn't help but remember how she had told me she was in love with the wrong man...

The guilt was a dull ache in my chest, and I scrambled to change the subject.

"Well, thanks again for lunch," I said.

Aurelia inclined her head, her expression a mask of unreadable calm.

"Enjoy your meal," she replied before retreating, her presence leaving behind a curious silence.

After finishing lunch, I spent the afternoon alternating between the cool embrace of the pool and basking in the soft sunlight streaming through the penthouse windows.

As the sun dipped lower, the sound of the front door opening brought an immediate shift to the atmosphere. Mr. Illion returned just as I had gotten dressed in my normal attire.

"I trust you're hungry," he said as he shrugged off his suit jacket.

"I am," I replied, my tone casual, though my pulse betrayed me.

My eyes followed him as he strolled into the kitchen, his rolled-up sleeves revealing forearms more toned than I expected. His gaze flicked to mine as he gestured for me to join him.

"Come along," he said, his words both an invitation and an order. "You claimed you wanted to learn to cook, did you not?"

I hesitated, caught off guard by the shift in his mood, but curiosity drew me forward. As I approached, he began methodically retrieving ingredients from the fridge. Without breaking stride, he handed me a cutting board and a knife.

"Chop these," he instructed.

"Yes, chef," I quipped, grasping the knife and setting to work.

His brow arched, a ghost of a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth.

"Are you mocking me, Miss Corday?"

"Not at all," I lied smoothly, casting him a sidelong glance as I worked.

His gaze lingered on me, cool and assessing, before he turned to the stove.

"Watch your fingers," he said without looking back. "I'd prefer not to add blood to the recipe."

I rolled my eyes but obeyed, my focus shifting between the task at hand and his seamless movements around the kitchen. Every action he took, every measured pour, every deliberate stir, was done without the faintest error.

As the scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, I found myself relaxing, the tension between us softening into something almost easy.

Midway through, he broke the silence.

"I may be able to rearrange my schedule this weekend for that dinner you wanted."

Even just the promise of leaving the penthouse again was a welcome thought.

"Let me know," I said. "I'll check if my schedule lines up with yours."

A soft chuckle escaped him, low and rich.

"You must be quite the busy woman."

"Oh, absolutely," I shot back. "Mostly busy dealing with a lot of crap from my insufferable boss."

"Language," he warned.

"Yes, sir," I said with mock seriousness, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

Dinner came together with a surprising fluidity, the process almost too smooth. I didn't expect a success to come from our cooperation, but the food was in fact amazing.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Everything Mr. Illion did had to adhere to his perfect standard.

I couldn't help but wonder what it would take to unravel him.

***

Saturday evening, I was surprised when I found a box on my bed with a note.

Wear this. Be ready by 7 PM.

Curiosity prickled at me as I opened it. Inside was a champagne-colored dress, the fabric shimmering like molten sunlight, accompanied by gold earrings and a delicate bracelet. I traced a finger over the fabric.

"Subtle," I murmured to myself, shaking my head at the extravagance.

After a quick shower, I tamed my hair into a low bun. As I stepped into the dress, I marveled at how perfectly it fit. The earrings and bracelet added just the right touch of elegance, making me feel like one of the people I used to steal from.

When I stepped out, I found Mr. Illion waiting in the foyer of the penthouse. I froze, my breath catching. He always looked good in a suit, but tonight... tonight, he was something else. His black suit was impeccably tailored, and his hair styled just enough to look effortless.

"You clean up well," I said, forcing my voice to stay light even as my stomach fluttered.

His eyes flicked over me, lingering for a moment longer than usual.

"You are as I imagined."

My face soured.

"Charming as ever," I muttered.

When we headed down to the lobby, I expected to see the usual SUV waiting for us. Instead, Mr. Illion led me to a sleek black vehicle I hadn't seen before.

My brows arched as he opened the passenger door for me. I got in and buckled up, the interior luxurious but cold. The door shut with a muted click, and my jaw nearly hung as he slid into the driver's seat.

"You drive?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

He glanced at me, his expression dry.

"Occasionally."

"Could've fooled me. You usually have people for it."

His lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through his stoicism.

"I'm usually occupied during commutes so having a driver is easier."

"Shocking," I teased. "Do you ever stop working?"

"No."

"Of course."

The city blurred around us as he navigated the streets with the same calm precision he seemed to bring to everything.

When we arrived, I stared up at the building in awe. The inside was just as luxurious and grand. Warm golden light cast subtle halos across the marble floors. Every detail seemed carefully curated, as if the space itself was aware of its own exclusivity.

A host, impeccably dressed and bearing a practiced smile, greeted us and led the way to a private elevator at the far end of the room. When the doors opened onto the top floor, I drew in a quiet gasp.

The dining space before us was intimate yet undeniably grand. Tables were scattered beneath an expansive skylight, through which the night sky spilled like a tapestry. The stars shimmered, distant yet vivid for once.

"It's beautiful," I whispered as I gaped at the sky.

Mr. Illion's gaze, I realized, wasn't on the stars but on me. His expression remained inscrutable, yet there was something about the faint upward curve of his lips that set my pulse racing again.

"Shall we?" he said, his voice low.

His hand brushed lightly against my bare back as he guided me. The touch was brief, but the cold of his leather gloves sent a jolt through me that I couldn't shake.

Our table was nestled in a quiet corner with the perfect view of the city scape and the sky light both. I took my seat and couldn't help but stare at the sky once more. I had the urge to reach out with my hands but stopped myself.

"The way you stare," Mr. Illion said softly, "I'd think you're tempted to steal a star."

I turned to him, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"Could you blame me?"

He shook his head amused.

"Not at all. You should see the stars at my family's farm. It could put this place to shame."

I melted just thinking about it.

"Perhaps that will be my next reward," I joked.

"If you wish."

I stilled at his reply. I hadn't expected him to agree to such a request, but now that he had I wasn't sure how to feel. It was best for me not to get too close to Mr. Illion. The last thing I needed right now was to get distracted from my goal.

A waiter arrived promptly, his movements practiced and silent as he placed menus before us. The air between Rob and me remained taut, like a string stretched too tight.

"A glass of wine, please. Whatever is your best," I said after a quick glance at the menu.

"And water for me," Mr. Illion stated.

As the waiter retreated, I raised a brow, unable to help myself.

"Is it safe to assume you've never had alcohol?" I asked.

"It is."

"So how do you know you don't like it?"

"The smell."

I scoffed.

"Have you ever considered that you might be too quick to judge?"

"Rarely," he replied, leaning back with a casual elegance. "Besides the smell, I find indulgence clouds judgment."

"You might enjoy indulging once in a while," I teased.

When the waiter returned with our drinks, I was ready to order my meal. With each new dish I listed for the waiter, Mr. Illion's eyes grew wider.

"Anything for you?" I asked jokingly.

His brows furrowed.

"Even if I did plan on ordering, I doubt the kitchen would have anything left after completing your order," he quipped.

I laughed.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. Are you sure you won't be eating anything?"

"I'm sure."

"At least order something," I encouraged. "Or I'll look like a glutton."

"I think you managed the look on your own," he shot back.

I laughed louder this time and took a sip of my wine in an attempt to regain my composure. With Mr. Illion clearly adamant about sticking to water only, I told the waiter our order was complete, and he hurriedly returned to the kitchen.

"So," I began, letting a teasing note creep into my voice, "do you always bring your company to places like this? Or am I special?"

His gaze lingered on me unimpressed yet with a hint of amusement.

"Special isn't the word I'd use."

I arched my brow.

"What word would you use, then?"

"I don't wish to spoil your mood, Miss Corday."

I laughed again and took a deep sip.

"It's no surprise you have so many enemies," I said. "You're incredibly rude."

"If people get offended so easily, perhaps the issue lies with them."

"And you don't get offended?" I asked.

"No."

I leaned forward with my head resting on my hand.

"I bet I could offend you."

"Doubtful."

"Should we make a bet?" I smirked.

"I hate gambling."

I rolled my eyes.

"Then a reward if I succeed."

"Sure."

I scoffed at how he basically agreed to gambling but with a rephrasing.

Resting with my elbows on the table, I smirked at him.

"Oranges don't even taste that good."

His brows lifted. When I kept his stare without flinching, he shook his head in disbelief.

"You..." he said, "ought to take that back..."

"Only if you admit to being offended," I shrugged.

He chuckled, rubbing at his jaw as he seemed to contemplate until finally, he gave in with a sigh.

"What reward will you ask for?" he asked.

I should've asked for another date to continue closing this gap between us, but another side of me prevailed.

"I'd like to see my friend again sometime. Or maybe just talk to her. Olivia. I haven't heard from her in a while."

He nodded his agreement.

"Very well. I will make arrangements in the near future."

This time, my smile was genuine.

Before I could thank him, the food arrived. Several plates of all sorts of dishes were laid out before me and my mouth watered as I considered where to start. I ended up aiming my fork at the black truffle and ricotta ravioli for a start, moaning at the flavors melting on my tongue.

"Want to try?" I asked, holding a forkful of pasta toward Mr. Illion.

"No, thank you," he said, leaning back slightly.

I tilted my head, studying him.

"So, what's the deal with this weird germaphobia of yours, really?" I asked. "Don't tell me it's some tragic backstory you'll only reveal on your deathbed."

He inclined his head dismissively.

"I regret to disappoint, but there is no story," he said evenly. "This is just how I am."

I wasn't convinced, but let it go. Instead, I started rearranging the food on my plate, cutting it up and presenting it in a new way. When I was finished, I slid the plate toward him.

"Here," I said with a grin. "It looks way different. You saw me make the food so it should be fine to eat, right?"

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing despite the smile he kept.

"That's your logic?"

"Solid logic," I shot back. "You're fine with eating the food we prepare together so this should work too."

He kept eyeing me so I pressed on.

"If you decline, you'll ruin the dinner. And I worked so hard to earn this reward..."

I was clearly putting on an act, but to my surprise, Mr. Illion softened. He picked up a fork and took a small bite from the plate I presented.

"Well?" I prompted, leaning closer.

"It's... edible," he said simply.

I laughed at the face he made and dug into the rest of my food.

"See? Things aren't too bad if you give them a fair chance."

As the evening deepened, our conversation shifted, the words losing their edge and gaining a rare intimacy. The space between us seemed less guarded, the tension that usually defined our interactions softening like the dimming light.

Once dessert arrived, I was stuffed but still ate some more, occasionally rearranging a dish for Mr. Illion to accept.

It was only after I finished eating that Mr. Illion stared at me more intently. He took a deep sip of his water.

"Miss Corday, there's a matter I wish to discuss with you," he said carefully.

I wiped the corners of my mouth as my eyes rounded.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked.

"Not right now."

"Then what is it?"

He sighed as he set his glass down, looking rather pained to bring the topic up.

"About what happened in the Velvet Room..." he started.

A blush instantly seared my face.

"No need to mention it," I chuckled forcibly. "It was just part of a mission. We can forget it ever happened—"

"I would like for it to happen again."

My jaw hung open as I stared at Mr. Illion.

"You... Wait... What?"