The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding. Sienna Hart stepped out, her heart racing. She looked around at the bright, fancy lobby of Vale Gallery. The shiny marble floor, the tall windows, and the strange but beautiful art made her feel like she'd walked into a different world.
She held her portfolio close to her chest and took a deep breath.
Don't mess this up. You worked hard to get here.
"You're early."
The deep voice made her turn. And there he was.
Lucien Vale.
Her new boss. The owner of the gallery.
He was tall, well-dressed, and calm—too calm. His black suit fit perfectly, and his eyes were dark and serious. He looked at her in a way that made her feel seen… and nervous.
"I thought it was better to arrive early on my first day," she said quickly.
He didn't smile. But his eyes narrowed slightly, like he was thinking.
"You're eager."
"I'm prepared," Sienna said, standing a little taller. "Art means everything to me."
He looked at her again. His gaze dropped to the edges of her old portfolio, then slowly returned to her eyes.
"We'll see."
The rest of the day passed quickly. She followed instructions, took notes, and tried not to stare when Lucien walked by. He didn't say much, but when he did, his voice was smooth and calm—and it made her stomach flutter.
Later that afternoon, he called her into his office.
"Sit," he said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.
He didn't sit. He stood by the window, holding a glass of something dark. Behind him, the city looked like a painting.
"You're smart," he said. "But this world is full of rules. If you break one… you could get hurt."
"I'm not scared," Sienna said, even though her heart was pounding.
He turned to face her, eyes locked on hers.
"Then you don't know how much it can hurt."
When she stood to leave, her fingers brushed the edge of his desk.
Then—he touched her.
Just a soft touch on her wrist. Warm. Careful.
She stopped breathing for a second.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm not," she whispered.
But she was. And they both knew it.
Then slowly, he let go.
"Go home, Miss Hart," he said, voice low. "Before one of us does something we'll regret."
Sienna couldn't stop thinking about that touch.
As soon as she got home, she dropped her bag and leaned against the door. Her heart was still racing. She stared at her hand—the one Lucien had touched.
It was nothing, she told herself.
A small touch. Just… skin against skin. That's all.
But it wasn't nothing. It felt like something dangerous. Something real.
She walked to her tiny kitchen, poured a glass of water, and tried to forget the way he'd looked at her. Like he wanted her. Like he was fighting it.
The next morning at the gallery was quiet. Too quiet. Sienna tried to focus on her tasks—organizing files, updating the inventory list, handling deliveries—but her thoughts kept drifting.
She hadn't seen Lucien yet. And maybe that was a good thing.
Around noon, his assistant, Claire, stopped by her desk.
"Mr. Vale wants to see you in his office," she said.
Sienna's heart skipped. "Did he say why?"
Claire shrugged. "He never does."
Lucien's office was large, modern, and filled with art. He was standing by the window again, hands in his pockets.
"You wanted to see me?" Sienna asked, keeping her voice steady.
He didn't turn. "Close the door."
Her stomach tightened. She stepped inside and shut the door gently behind her.
"There's something we need to talk about," he said, finally facing her. "About yesterday."
Sienna nodded. "Okay."
He walked toward her, slowly, like he was choosing each step carefully.
"What happened yesterday… that touch… shouldn't have happened. It was a mistake."
Her chest felt tight. "I know."
"There's a rule," he continued, voice low. "No personal relationships. Not with staff. Not with interns. It's how I run this gallery. No exceptions."
Sienna swallowed hard. "I understand."
"But you should also know," he added, looking her straight in the eye, "it wasn't easy to stop."
The room went quiet. Her breath caught in her throat.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he said softly. "If this internship is too much for you, if I've made it—"
"No," she said quickly. "I want to be here. I can handle it."
His jaw tightened. "Good."
Then he stepped back.
"Back to work, Miss Hart."
That night, Sienna lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His words echoed in her mind:
"It wasn't easy to stop."
Neither was this feeling.
He was her boss.
He was off-limits.
But her body… her heart… didn't care.
And deep down, she knew one thing for sure:
This was only the beginning
The next few days at Vale Gallery were quiet—but not in her heart.
Sienna kept her head down, doing her work, avoiding Lucien's eyes when he walked past. But every time he was near, her skin tingled. Every time his voice echoed across the gallery, she had to pretend she wasn't holding her breath.
She wasn't sure what she wanted more—distance… or the moment he gave in.
It was Thursday when it happened.
The gallery was hosting a private showing for a famous painter. Wealthy clients filled the space. Laughter, soft music, and the clink of champagne glasses echoed between the walls.
Sienna wore a sleek black dress, simple but elegant. Her job was to guide guests and answer questions. But all she could feel was Lucien watching her from across the room.
Every time she looked up, his eyes were on her. Calm. Intense. Unreadable.
Later, while helping set up a new display in the back room, she heard the door close softly behind her.
She turned—and there he was.
Lucien.
He looked even more dangerous in a tuxedo. His eyes were darker now. Shadowed.
"You've done well tonight," he said quietly.
"Thank you," she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"I saw the way they looked at you," he said, his voice low. "Men who don't deserve to look at you like that."
Her lips parted. "Why do you care?"
"I shouldn't," he whispered. "That's the problem."
She didn't move. Neither did he. The silence between them felt thick, hot, charged.
"I told myself to keep my distance," he said. "But every time I see you, it gets harder."
Sienna's heart was pounding now. "So stop pretending."
For a second, nothing happened.
Then his hand reached out—slow, gentle—and touched her cheek.
Her breath caught.
Lucien leaned in. So close she could feel the heat of his skin. Their lips were inches apart.
But he didn't kiss her.
Instead, he whispered, "Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
Her eyes searched his.
"Please don't," she whispered.
And with that, his mouth claimed hers.
The kiss was slow at first—soft, testing, full of tension finally released. But it deepened fast, as if both of them had been holding back for far too long.
Her hands gripped his shirt.
His fingers slid into her hair.
For a few moments, the world outside the room disappeared. There were no rules. No titles. No fear.
Just heat.
Just want.
Just them.
When they finally broke apart, breathing hard, Lucien stepped back. His eyes were full of conflict.
"This can't happen again," he said softly.
But they both knew—it would.