Brielle’s POV
God, what would it feel like if Xavier Knight pinned me against the glass wall right now?
His hand around my throat, those sharp grey eyes staring me down while he fucked me deep
and hard, turning all my buried shit into loud, filthy moans. His messy curls falling over his
forehead, sweat on his pale skin, growling my real name like he both hated and needed me.
Making me forget the blood on my hands, the husband I watched drown in that river, and the
divorce I faked with his dead signature.
The fantasy hit me so hard my thighs clenched under the table. I hated how much I wanted it. I
hated him for making me feel anything after all this.
The buzz of the conference room made me feel trapped. I stood at the end of the long glass
table, my fingers gripping the edge of my folder so tightly the edges bit into my palm. Fresh
start, I kept telling myself. No one here knew my real name. No one knew the ghosts I left
behind in Paris, the dead husband, the burned marriage, the secrets I killed to bury.
I forced myself to focus on the documents in front of me. The people around me with their flashy
watches and fake smiles were everything I despised. Luxury, power, bragging it all felt like
poison. I liked being invisible. It was safer.
The room was filled with normal meeting noise chairs scraping, phones buzzing, empty chatter
until the atmosphere shifted. People sat up straighter. Ties were fixed. My pulse kicked up even
before the door opened.
It was then Xavier Knight walked in, he was tall, 6’3, with pale skin, messy dark curls that kept
falling over those sharp grey eyes. His expensive suit fit his powerful body perfectly, and that
rich woody cologne hit me like a drug. The room went quieter. My stomach flipped hard as his
gaze found mine across the table. It wasn’t just a look. It was recognition. It felt like hunger, like
he could see straight through my new name to the broken woman underneath.
He took his seat at the head of the table with a calm commanding confidence and started the
discussion on mergers and profits. His voice was low and rough, demanding respect without
effort. But his eyes kept coming back to me. Each glance made my skin burn. I scribbled notes
without seeing them, my legs tired from standing but I was too stubborn to sit, while my mind
kept betraying me with flashes of his hands on my body, his weight pressing me down, claiming
every secret I tried to hide.
I caught myself staring at the way he tapped on the table when someone spoke too long. The
way that one curl refused to stay back no matter how many times he pushed it. He looked
exhausted, like the weight of Knight Enterprise sat heavy on his shoulders, but he still ran the
room like he owned every soul in it. And maybe he did.
Every time our eyes met, heat crawled up my neck. I pictured him standing up, clearing the
table with one sweep of his arm, and taking me right there in front of everyone, making me
moan loud enough to echo off the glass walls. Then I’d remember the cold water that had my
husband’s lifeless face, and the way I’d walked away without looking back.
The meeting dragged, numbers and strategies blurring together. I stayed on my feet, legs
aching, I was using the discomfort to stay sharp. I couldn’t afford to slip. Not here and not with
him watching me like that.
When it finally ended, sweet relief washed over me. People started packing up, chatting about
lunch plans and who was paying. I moved fast, shoving my things into the folder, desperate to
escape before I did something stupid like look at him again.
“Brielle.
”
My real name cut through the air like a blade.
I froze, heart slamming against my ribs. Nobody in London was supposed to know that name.
Slowly, painfully, I turned around. Most people had left. Xavier stood a few feet away, that small,
unsettling smile on his lips like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His curls were messier
now, eyes dark with something dangerous and intimate.
He stepped closer, voice dropping to a low whisper meant only for me.
“Brielle Laurent. It’s been a long time hasn’t it?”
His presence wrapped around me, heavy and magnetic. For the first time in years, I felt truly
seen.
And completely, dangerously trapped.
I wanted to deny it. Tell him he had the wrong girl. Run. But my feet stayed planted as he took
another step, close enough that his cologne mixed with the faint scent of my own fear-sweat.
Close enough that I could see the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes and wonder what it
would feel like to trace them with my fingers.
“You must be mistaken,
” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
His smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened into something almost amused.
“Sure.
” He
glanced at the shallow cut on my collarbone the one I’d tried to hide under my blouse from the
alley earlier and his jaw tightened for a split second.
“But names change. People don’t. Not
really.
”
My mouth went dry. How much did he know? About Paris? About the divorce? About the man
whose death I still carried like a stain?
Xavier didn’t wait for me to answer. He simply looked at me for another long beat, like he was
memorizing every detail, then gave a small nod.
“We’ll talk soon, Brielle.
”
He turned and walked out, leaving me standing there with my heart racing and my mind
spinning. The conference room felt colder now, the glass table reflecting my wide-eyed face
back at me.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm down. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I came
here to disappear. To start over. But one meeting with Xavier Knight and everything was already
cracking.
The worst part? Some sick, lonely piece of me wasn’t sure I wanted to run.
