baby — eight (Patreon)

Author's note: hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well and i hope you all have a wonderful week. Tomorrow, I'll be posting a new chapter of off the record. I would let you know what time through the group chat!

wc -> 5.5k

The silence in the house was thick and heavy, but it was no longer cold. The morning light hit the ceiling in pale strips that slowly shifted into a warm gold as the sun finally crested over Mayfair.

Y/N opened her eyes. The weight of Harry's arm kept her pinned flush against his bare chest. He was already awake, but his breathing was slow and deep. He was not tense. He felt completely relaxed, wrapped around her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the bed.

She shifted, trying to stretch her legs beneath the heavy silk duvet. His arm tightened instinctively, pulling her back until there was not a single inch of space between them.

"You are thinking too loud," Harry murmured. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration against her spine.

"It is Saturday," she whispered, smiling against the pillow. "I am just not used to it being so quiet."

"You will get used to it." He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. "Just us."

Y/N rolled over within his grip to face him. His curls were a chaotic mess on the white pillow. His green eyes were soft and hazy, completely stripped of the Vanguard Managing Director mask. He just looked like Harry. The sunlight caught the gold flakes in his eyes, making them look warm and unguarded.

She reached out, her fingers gently pushing a heavy curl away from his forehead. Harry leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a brief second.

"You are staring," he whispered, his lips curving into a lazy smile.

"I am allowed to stare," she teased, tracing the line of his jaw down to his collarbone. "I live here now. It is in the fine print."

Harry let out a soft, genuine laugh. It was a rich, warm sound that filled the quiet space between them. He caught her hand, pressing a long, lingering kiss to her palm before resting it flat against his chest, right over his heart.

"Did my dad call?" she asked, her thumb stroking the smooth skin above his ink.

"Arthur texted at six," Harry murmured, his eyes tracking the movement of her hand. "I told him you were safe and that I was not letting you out of my sight today. He told me to feed you properly before noon."

"He knows you are going to smother me," Y/N laughed softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"That is the plan," he agreed without a hint of shame. He shifted his weight, rolling slightly so he was hovering over her. The golden morning light spilled across his broad shoulders. He looked down at her, his expression softening completely. "I like you in my bed. I like knowing you are not packing a bag to leave."

Y/N felt her heart perform a complicated flutter. She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down. "I like being here."

Harry smiled against her mouth, a sweet, slow thing. He kissed her lazily, taking his time, tasting the absolute devotion. There was no rush. The markets were closed, the tabloid storm had passed, and the entire weekend stretched out before them.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. "The Daily Mail issued their retraction early this morning. A full public apology on their front page. Their legal department completely caved."

"So it is really over?"

"It is over," Harry promised, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. "No one is going to touch you, Y/N.”

"I know," she breathed.

They stayed like that for a long time as the sun continued to rise, filling the massive suite with bright light. Harry kept her tangled in his limbs, his hands idly tracing patterns on her waist. They shared quiet jokes about his sudden domesticity, her laughter mixing with his deep rumbles of amusement. For a man who usually commanded boardrooms, he seemed perfectly content to spend the entire morning lost in the sheets with her, completely isolated from the rest of the world.

He played with her fingers, pressing soft kisses to her knuckles, watching the way the sunlight hit her skin. Every touch was an unspoken confession, a lingering proof that the contract was just a piece of paper in a drawer somewhere.

Eventually, the smell of coffee brewing from the automatic machine in the kitchen, up the stairs, breaking the spell just enough.

"Come on," Harry murmured, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before reluctantly pulling away and sitting up. "I have something to show you before we eat."

Harry stepped into a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a vintage band shirt that had been washed a hundred times. He did not bother with shoes. Y/N slipped into one of his discarded buttoned shirts, rolling up the sleeves as they made their way out of the master suite.

They walked to the kitchen in a comfortable, easy silence. The massive marble island was bathed in bright sunlight. Y/N moved naturally through the space, grabbing his heavy ceramic mug from the glass cabinet. She poured the dark, bitter coffee the automatic machine had brewed, knowing exactly how he liked it, before turning to the elaborate espresso machine to start her own latte.

Harry leaned his hip against the marble counter next to her. He watched her hands as she worked the steam wand, his expression entirely relaxed. The lines of stress that usually bracketed his mouth were completely smoothed out. He took the mug she handed him with a soft murmur of thanks, taking a sip while his green eyes stayed fixed on her face.

"Bring your coffee," Harry instructed softly. He set his free hand warmly on the small of her back. "I want to show you something."

Y/N picked up her glass mug, leaning into his touch as he guided her out of the kitchen. He did not lead her toward the living room or his dark, mahogany study. Instead, they walked down the long, art filled hallway toward the opposite wing of the townhouse. He stopped in front of the heavy oak door of the largest guest suite.

Harry pushed the door open and stepped aside so she could look inside.

The room was massive, featuring towering windows that offered a stunning, unobstructed view of the London skyline. Right now, it held a pristine, neutral bed and standard luxury hotel furniture. But Harry was looking at the space like it was a completely blank canvas.

"I was thinking about this last night," Harry began, his voice dropping into a serious, thoughtful register. "You should not have to read your manuscripts or write your future in the middle of my corporate chaos."

Y/N took a sip of her latte, looking up at him over the rim of her mug. "Are you evicting your hypothetical guests for me, Styles?"

"I do not want guests," he replied smoothly. He took a step closer to her, his bare feet silent on the polished wood. "I want you to have your place. I started talking with an interior designer this morning while you were asleep. She is the best in the city, and I want you to meet with her next week."

Y/N lowered her mug, her eyes going wide with surprise. "An interior designer? Harry, you do not have to do all that. A simple desk in the corner would be completely fine."

"A simple desk in the corner is unacceptable," Harry corrected immediately. His tone left no room for argument, but his eyes were incredibly soft. He reached out, his knuckles brushing gently against her cheek. "This is your career, we are talking about. Ink and Bone is going to demand a lot of your time and focus. I want this room gutted and redesigned exactly how you want it. Custom bookshelves, the right lighting, whatever desk you prefer. It will be entirely yours."

Y/N lost her breath for a second. The gesture hit her right in the chest. He was not just making room for her clothes in his closet; he was building her a physical foundation within his empire. He wanted her to have a space that she controlled, untouched by his money or his Vanguard stress.

He stepped directly into her space, taking her coffee mug and setting it on the nearest table alongside his own. His hands settled warmly on her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He looked down at her with that intense, focused devotion that always made her heart race.

"You belong here," Harry murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. "And I want this house to reflect that”.

The heavy atmosphere of the morning lifting into something bright and easy. Harry tapped a panel on the wall, and the soft, upbeat baseline of Billy Joel song instantly filled the townhouse through the hidden ceiling speakers.

He had not cooked, but he had clearly made a phone call. Sitting on the marble island was a sleek white box from an artisan bakery in Mayfair, filled with fresh croissants and pain au chocolat.

Y/N pulled out a stool and reached for a pastry. "You are spoiling me, Styles. This is going to set a very dangerous precedent for future weekends."

Harry stood across from her, tearing a piece off a plain croissant. "I am perfectly comfortable with setting precedents. Especially if it keeps you sitting at my kitchen island."

They ate in a comfortable rhythm, the music bouncing off the high ceilings. It felt entirely normal. There were no tense discussions. There was just the smell of butter and coffee, and the sight of a billionaire humming along in his sweatpants.

When the white bakery box was empty, Harry wiped his hands on a linen towel and clapped them together once. The CEO was suddenly back, ready for a task.

"Alright," Harry announced. "It is time to handle the cardboard situation."

Y/N groaned playfully, resting her chin on her hands. "Can we not just ignore them for one more day? They are not hurting anyone."

"They are hurting my eyes," Harry countered, walking around the island and pulling her out of her chair. "And they are a fire hazard. Come on."

He led her back to the master suite, where the battered boxes sat looking tragic against the Italian leather furniture. Harry did not hesitate. He crouched down, grabbed the thick packing tape, and ripped the first box open with entirely too much force.

Y/N sat cross legged on the edge of the massive bed, watching him pull out her folded clothes.

"I feel like I am watching an art critic judge a kindergarten finger painting," she joked as Harry held up a slightly faded university hoodie.

"I am not judging," Harry said, though his brow was furrowed in deep concentration. "I am simply assessing the inventory. For example, this garment has lost its structural integrity. The cuffs are fraying."

"That is my favorite study hoodie," Y/N defended, reaching out to snatch it from his hands. "It is perfectly broken in."

"It belongs in a textile recycling bin," Harry corrected smoothly, hiding a smile as he reached deeper into the box. He pulled out a pair of fuzzy, mismatched socks. He held them up by the toes, staring at them like they were alien artifacts. "Y/N. Explain this."

"They keep my feet warm," she laughed, throwing a pillow at him. It bounced harmlessly off his broad shoulder. "Not all of us wear cashmere socks from Harrods, Harry."

"That is about to change," he muttered, tossing the socks onto the bed beside her.

He moved with rapid efficiency, stacking her jeans and sweaters into neat piles. The music drifted down the hallway, keeping the energy light. Every time he pulled out something particularly worn or cheap, he would shoot her a look of pure, exaggerated bewilderment, and Y/N would laugh, defending her humble possessions.

He reached the bottom of the second box and went completely still.

Y/N leaned forward, trying to see what he had found. "What is it?"

Harry slowly pulled out a small, framed photograph. It was a picture of Y/N and Josh sitting on the steps of their cramped Hackney flat, laughing at something off camera. The frame was cheap plastic, chipped at the corner.

Harry looked at the photo, and then he looked up at her. The joking, teasing energy melted away instantly, replaced by that intense, unguarded warmth.

"You look happy here," he observed softly.

"I was," Y/N smiled, crawling off the bed to kneel beside him on the floor. "It was the day we signed the lease. It was a terrible flat, but it was ours."

Harry looked at the chipped frame in his large hands. He did not call it an eyesore. He did not say it belonged in the trash. He reached out with one hand, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"I am already happier here," she whispered, leaning in to kiss his jaw. "Even if you are a terrible snob about my socks."

Harry caught her waist, pulling her onto his lap right there on the floor amidst the sea of unpacked clothes. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck with a soft, rumbling laugh.

"I am a terrible snob about everything," he agreed, his breath warm against her collarbone. "Which is why you should feel incredibly flattered that I am letting you put those fuzzy monstrosities in my dresser."

The transition from the bubble of the weekend to the sharp reality of Monday morning was jarring.

Y/N woke to the sprawling expanse of the master suite, but the heavy, radiating heat that had anchored her to the mattress for the last forty eight hours was gone. The space beside her was empty, the sheets already cold.

She stretched, a soft groan escaping her lips as the physical reminders of Sunday night made themselves known. The slow, domestic unpacking had eventually given way to something much more primal once the sun went down. Harry had spent the evening completely dismantling her, replacing the quiet sweetness of the afternoon with a heavy, demanding possession that had left her entirely wrecked and thoroughly satisfied.

She sat up, the cool morning air brushing against her bare skin. She did not bother looking for her discarded clothes. Instead, she reached for the light black silk robe Harry had left draped over the end of the bed. She slipped it on, wrapping the expensive fabric tightly around her naked body. It engulfed her, the hem sweeping her tights.

She padded barefoot out of the suite and down the long, art filled hallway. The house was no longer silent. The low, authoritative murmur of a financial news broadcast drifted up from the lower level, mingling with the rich scent of freshly brewed dark roast coffee.

As she descended the glass and steel staircase, she found him.

Harry was sitting at the massive dining table. The relaxed, barefoot man in the vintage t-shirt was completely gone, replaced by the ruthless CEO of Vanguard Holdings. He was dressed in a crisp, blindingly white tailored shirt, tie untied around his neck and dark charcoal trousers. His suit jacket was draped meticulously over the back of the adjacent chair. His hair was styled back with precise control, and his expression was a mask of cold, calculating focus.

He held a sleek tablet in one hand, his eyes scanning the morning stock reports with terrifying speed, while his other hand brought a ceramic mug of black coffee to his lips.

He looked untouchable.

Y/N leaned against the doorframe for a moment, just watching him. It still sent a thrill straight through her chest to know that this man, who controlled billions of pounds and struck fear into the hearts of board members, had spent the previous night entirely on his knees for her.

She walked softly across the room. She did not announce herself, but Harry possessed a terrifyingly sharp awareness of her at all times.

Before she was even within three feet of the table, he spoke.

"You should still be asleep," Harry stated. He did not look up from the tablet, but his voice was a low, vibrating rumble that cut right through the noise of the television. "Your alarm is not set to go off for another forty five minutes."

"I woke up cold," Y/N murmured. She stepped into his space, rounding the edge of the table.

Harry finally tore his eyes away from the global markets. His gaze tracked her approach, starting from her bare toes, moving up the length of her black silk robe, and finally locking onto her face. The cold, corporate steel in his green eyes instantly fractured, replaced by a dark, heavy heat.

"I left the temperature set at twenty one degrees," Harry countered, though his voice had lost its sharp edge. He set his coffee mug down on the table.

"Twenty one degrees is not warm enough when I am used to having you next to me," she teased softly.

She did not sit in the empty chair beside him. Instead, she stepped directly between his parted knees. Harry let out a quiet breath, his hands instinctively settling on her waist. He did not push her away, but he did hold the tablet up slightly between them like a flimsy shield.

"I am reviewing the opening projections for the Asian markets," Harry informed her, his tone attempting to remain professional. "I require complete focus this morning."

"Is that right?" Y/N asked, keeping her voice light and innocent.

She shifted her weight, stepping closer. The movement caused the silk robe to part slightly at her thighs. Harry went completely still. His hands tightened on her waist, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin just beneath the silk.

"Y/N," he warned, his voice dropping an octave.

"I am just coming to say good morning to my boyfriend," she smiled, reaching out to rest her hands flat against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. "You look very handsome today, Mr. Styles."

Harry closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. He tossed the tablet onto the table face down.

"You are a menace," he muttered, pulling her forward until her stomach was pressed flush against him. "And you are entirely naked under there."

"I could not find my pajamas," she lied effortlessly, her fingers trailing up to play with the ends of his silk tie. "It is a very big house. Things get lost."

Harry let out a rough, dark laugh. He looked up at her, his expression a mix of pure adoration and intense frustration. He brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"I have a board meeting at nine," he told her, tracing the line of her jaw. "The Henderson acquisition requires a formal vote. I cannot be late."

"Cancel it," Y/N whispered, leaning down to press a soft, open mouthed kiss to the pulse point just below his jaw.

Harry let out a sharp intake of breath. His hands slid around her lower back, pulling her down so she was forced to straddle his lap. The black silk rode up her thighs, exposing miles of bare skin to the cool air and his burning touch.

"I am the Chairman of the board," Harry gritted out, his self control visibly slipping as she rolled her hips slightly against him. "I cannot simply cancel."

"Reschedule it, then," she challenged softly, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Tell them your focus is required elsewhere. Tell them you are managing a very demanding asset at home."

Harry groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His large hands gripped her thighs, his fingers leaving hot brands on her skin. For a moment, the CEO truly wrestled with the man who was completely addicted to her. He looked at the discarded tablet, then he looked at the woman sitting in his lap, smelling of his bed and offering him an alternative to the boardroom.

"You know exactly what you are doing," Harry growled, his hands sliding up under the silk robe to cup her bare hips.

"I am just trying to ensure my boyfriend is not overworking himself," Y/N smiled against his lips, her hands framing his face. "It is my duty to look after your health, Harry. The stress of the market is bad for you."

Harry flipped their positions in one sudden, fluid motion. Before Y/N could process the shift, her back was pressed flat against the heavy mahogany dining table, the morning stock reports scattering onto the floor. Harry hovered over her, his hands caging her in, his green eyes blazing with a possessive, consuming fire.

"My health is perfectly fine," he breathed heavily, his gaze dropping to where the robe had fallen open. "But my schedule is about to be severely compromised."

"You said my alarm does not go off for another forty-five minutes," Y/N whispered, her voice a soft, daring challenge in the quiet of the room.

She did not flinch under the weight of his stare. Instead, she reached up, her fingers wrapping loosely around the lapels of his pristine white shirt. She pulled him down just a fraction of an inch, closing the distance between them.

"Forty-five minutes," Harry repeated, the words sounding torn from his throat. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the mahogany table beside her hips.

"We could do a lot in forty-five minutes, Harry," she murmured, arching her back just enough to press herself fully against his rigid frame. "You are all about maximizing efficiency, aren't you?"

"I am," Harry agreed, his voice dropping into a dark, velvet purr.He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head with one large hand. While his other hand pulled the knot loose slowly, deliberately, parting the heavy black silk and pushing it off her shoulders.

His green eyes darkened instantly, tracking the flush rising on her chest.

"I already had breakfast," Harry murmured. His gaze traveled hungrily over her curves as his hands moved to his own waist. The sharp, metallic click of his belt unbuckling echoed loudly in the massive dining room, followed immediately by the harsh rasp of his zipper. "But looking at you... I think I could definitely go for seconds."

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her hands sliding up his chest. "I thought you had a board meeting you could not cancel."

"I am the Chairman," Harry growled softly, gripping her bare hips and lifting her effortlessly. He set her on the very edge of the mahogany table, stepping perfectly between her parted thighs. "I just did."

He did not hesitate. He pulled her hips flush to the edge of the wood and pushed into her. It was a single, deep, consuming thrust that stole the air right out of her lungs.

Y/N gasped loudly, her head falling back as a helpless moan tore from her throat. The sound echoed in the massive room, sharp and incredibly sweet. She arched into him instinctively, her hands clutching at the crisp cotton of his pristine shirt.

"Harry... God," she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as the thick, heavy heat of him filled her completely.

"That is it," Harry praised instantly, his voice a dark, vibrating rumble against her collarbone. "Let me hear you, Y/N. You sound so fucking beautiful."

The contrast was maddening. The rough, expensive wool of his trousers scraped against the soft skin of her inner thighs. The hard, unyielding edge of the mahogany pressed into her back.

Harry did not take it slow. The careful, measured CEO fractured the second he was buried inside her. He took her with a heavy, driving rhythm, the sharp, wet sound of their bodies slapping together echoing loudly. It was a frantic, beat that completely short circuited her brain.

"So good," Harry groaned, his breath harsh against her cheek as he withdrew almost completely before slamming back into her. The deep, bruising thrust made her see stars. "You are so perfect for me. Fucking perfect."

Y/N sobbed out a loud moan, her fingers tangling desperately in his perfectly styled hair, completely ruining the neat sweep of his curls. She dragged her nails down his back, pulling him closer as he pounded into her against the table, relentless and demanding.

"Please, Harry," she begged, her voice breaking on another sharp moan as the friction built a rapid, unbearable heat in her lower belly. "Do not stop. It feels so good."

"I am not going anywhere," he promised. His voice was ragged, the man who controlled global markets reduced to a desperate, possessive force. "Take it all, sweetheart. You are doing so good for me."

The pristine white shirt strained across his broad shoulders. His silk tie hung loose, swaying with every violent movement of his hips.

"Look at me," Harry demanded roughly, setting a punishing, frantic pace. He caught her jaw, his thumb pressing into her cheek to force her eyes open. His green irises were blazing with raw, unfiltered dominance. "Only me, Y/N. Just me. Tell me how good it feels."

"It is so good," Y/N cried out, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist to anchor him as he drove deeper. "Only you. Harry, please, I am going to..."

"Give it to me," he growled, his hips snapping forward, sending a jolt of pure electricity through her spine. "Come for me. Good girl."

She shattered right there on the dining room table, a loud, high moan spilling from her lips as her body trembled violently under his heavy grip. Harry followed a second later. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat as he buried his face in her neck, his body going rigid as he poured himself into her with one final, shuddering thrust.

They stayed there for several minutes. The only sound in the room was the harsh, ragged rhythm of their breathing and the occasional soft whimper leaving Y/N's lips as the aftershocks rolled through her. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her body entirely melted against the hard mahogany surface.

Eventually, her phone alarm went off, chimed the quarter hour.

Harry slowly pulled back. Y/N was a complete mess. Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen, the silk robe hanging precariously off her arms, and her bare thighs still trembling.

Harry, incredibly, looked entirely unbothered. He stepped back, calmly fastening his trousers and his belt. He smoothed his hands over the front of his white shirt, adjusting the knot of his silk tie with rapid precision. He ran one hand through his hair, pushing the curls back into a semblance of order. Within twenty seconds, the ruthless billionaire CEO was back, looking perfectly ready to dismantle a rival corporation.

He reached out, hooking a finger under her chin to tilt her face up. He pressed one hard, proprietary kiss to her swollen lips, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip lovingly.

"My driver is waiting downstairs," Harry informed her, his voice entirely steady, though his eyes lingered hungrily on her chest. "He will take you to Ink and Bone. You are not taking the Tube."

"Harry," Y/N breathed, her legs shaking as she tried to slide off the table and pull the silk robe back around her shoulders. "You cannot just... leave me like this and go to a meeting."

"I can do whatever I want," Harry smirked, a wicked, triumphant flash in his eyes. He picked up his suit jacket from the chair and shrugged it on. "Be ready by six. I am taking you to dinner to celebrate your first day."

He walked toward the private elevator without looking back, leaving her completely breathless, thoroughly praised, and flushed on his dining table.

The ride to the publishing house was a blur of London traffic and adrenaline. Y/N sat in the back of the black Maybach, staring out the tinted windows while her body still hummed from the heavy, frantic claiming on the dining room table. Her legs felt weak. Her lips were swollen. Every time she shifted on the expensive leather seats, she felt the phantom weight of Harry pinning her down.

He had sent her into the world thoroughly marked, even if no one else could see it. She walked into the brick lined lobby of Ink and Bone feeling entirely untouchable.

The atmosphere was the exact opposite of Vanguard Holdings. Where Harry demanded absolute silence and sterile perfection, the publishing house was a chaotic, brilliant hive of creative energy. The open plan office smelled of fresh ink, old paper, and strong espresso.

Her new manager was a sharp, fast talking woman named Elena who did not believe in easing people into the job. Within twenty minutes of arriving, Y/N was handed a towering stack of unedited fantasy drafts and told to find the diamond in the rough.

Y/N loved it immediately. Sitting at her desk, she felt a profound sense of independence. Harry had built her a beautiful sanctuary in his house, but this desk was entirely her own territory. It had nothing to do with contracts or corporate wealth.

It was mid afternoon when the frantic energy in the office suddenly shifted. The low hum of typing and quiet conversations stopped, replaced by a ripple of excited whispers from the junior editorial staff.

Elena walked out of her glass walled office, leading a man straight toward Y/N.

"Take a break from the slush pile, Y/N," Elena called out, her voice carrying a rare note of genuine warmth. "I want you to meet the reason we can afford to keep the lights on in this building."

Y/N stood up, smoothing down her skirt.

"This is Aaron," Elena announced proudly. "Our reigning bestseller and my biggest headache."

Y/N looked at him, and her breath stalled in her throat.

Aaron was young, perhaps twenty six or twenty seven. He was dressed in a soft, perfectly worn henley shirt, dark jeans, and scuffed leather boots. His dark hair was a messy, unruly mop that looked like he had spent the morning running his hands through it in frustration over a keyboard.

But it was his eyes that caught her entirely off guard. They were a bright, piercing amber, and they were locked onto her with a level of open, undisguised interest that made her skin prickle.

"I am hardly a headache, Elena," Aaron laughed. His voice was a smooth, effortless drawl that carried easily across the room. He did not offer a polite, professional handshake. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his hands flat on her desk, invading her personal space completely.

"So," Aaron said, his amber eyes scanning her face slowly, taking in every detail. "You are the new editorial blood. I have to admit, you do not look nearly cynical enough to work here yet."

"Give it a week," Y/N replied smoothly, refusing to back down from his intense gaze. "I am currently three chapters into a manuscript about a telepathic cat. My cynicism is building rapidly."

Aaron threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud, joyous sound.

"We are going to get along perfectly," Aaron grinned, leaning even closer. The scent of him washed over her, smelling of clean soap, coffee, and something inherently electric. "Elena tells me you are going to be assisting on my new edits."

Y/N blinked, glancing at her manager in surprise. "I am?"

"She is," Elena confirmed with a nod. "Aaron specifically requested a fresh set of eyes on his final draft. Since you do not have any preconceived notions about his ego, you are the perfect candidate."

"My ego is very fragile, actually," Aaron teased, though his eyes never left Y/N. He tilted his head, studying her with a bold curiosity. "I need someone who is going to be honest with me. Someone who is not afraid to tell me when I am wrong."

He looked down at her hands, his gaze dropping to her left ring finger. He noted the absence of a diamond. A slow, highly confident smirk spread across his handsome face.

"I have a feeling you are not afraid of much," Aaron murmured, his voice dropping just low enough that only she could hear it. "I am looking forward to working very closely with you, Y/N."

He did not just look at her like she was a colleague. He looked at her like she was a challenge. He looked at her like a man who saw exactly what he wanted and had absolutely no intention of letting anyone stand in his way.

For the first time since Harry had claimed her on the dining room table that morning, Y/N felt the solid ground beneath her feet begin to shift.

The battle lines had just been drawn, and Y/N was standing right in the center.