The steam hissed, a thick, hot vapour swirling around Mia Sophia like a ghostly embrace. "Ah!" she gasped, her eyes snapping open, a deluge of warm water jolting her from a hazy slumber.
"Finally awake, are we?"
The deep, resonant voice cut through the humid air, sending a shiver down her spine. Mia Sophia looked up, her vision still blurry. In the dim, hazy light, a man stood over her, his expression as sharp and cold as a winter's morning in Yorkshire. His brows were angled, his lips a thin, sculpted line, and his striking features possessed the kind of aristocratic allure that could make any woman's heart flutter, or in her case, seize with dread.
"Richie Howard... the President?" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Is it really him? Or am I having a particularly vivid, and rather unpleasant, fever dream?" She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head, but Richie remained, his gaze fixed on her with an icy intensity that could rival the chill of a London fog.
A bitter smile touched his lips. "President Howard, why are you here?" she managed, her voice laced with a tremor she couldn't quite control.
"That's a question you should be asking yourself, Mia," Richie retorted, a smirk playing on his lips. A flicker of raw anger, as fierce as a Highland storm, flashed in his eyes. "Seven years. Seven years you've been hiding. When exactly did you plan to stop avoiding me, or were you hoping I'd simply vanish like a wisp of smoke?"
"I..." Mia's mind was a whirlwind, a chaotic tangle of memories and emotions. She raised a hand, trying to piece together the fragments of her disorientation. Then, her eyes widened in horror. She was completely naked, exposed and vulnerable in the opulent steam room. This was a violation, a calculated act of humiliation.
"What have you done to me?" Mia glared at Howard, scrambling to her feet, her movements frantic. She desperately looked for something, anything, to cover herself with, but the luxurious steam room, with its gleaming tiled walls and polished fixtures, offered no solace.
As she moved, her bare skin was fully exposed, and Richie's gaze darkened, his eyes tracing the lines of her body with an intensity that made her skin prickle. He stepped forward, his hand bracing against the cool, damp wall, effectively trapping her. He leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over her ear, sending a wave of unwanted sensation through her.
Mia froze, her back pressed against the cool tiles. That familiar, intoxicating scent filled her senses – a blend of expensive cologne and something uniquely Richie, something that had haunted her dreams for seven years. Despite knowing she shouldn't feel anything for this man, her body reacted instinctively, a traitor to her resolve. Seven years ago, she'd been utterly captivated by his fragrance, and now, with the added weight of time and the simmering tension between them, he was even more mesmerizing, more dangerously alluring.
"Tell me, Mia, what do you think I want to do?" Richie murmured, his lips brushing her earlobe.
Mia shivered, her head snapping up. The cruel twist of his lips sent a wave of humiliation through her, but it was quickly followed by a surge of defiant anger. Summoning a surge of strength, she shoved him away, the force of her push surprising them both.
"Richie, we broke up seven years ago. This is shameless," she hissed, forcing herself to look away, her cheeks burning. "Give me my clothes. I'm leaving."
"Leaving? Without an explanation, just like before? Or should I at least be grateful for the courtesy of a goodbye this time, delivered in person?" Richie's eyes blazed with fury, the intensity of his gaze making her feel like a trapped hare. Seven years ago, she'd vanished without a trace, leaving him bewildered and angry, a wound that had festered rather than healed. He'd searched for her, driven by a desperate need for answers, a need that had turned into an obsession. And now, she was trying to slip away again, like a phantom in the night.
"Leaving without a word?" Mia stared at him in disbelief, her voice laced with incredulity. "Wasn't that your wish? Wasn’t that what you forced?" How could he twist the truth so easily, so callously? If it hadn't been for him, for the web of political intrigue and family pressure, she wouldn't have been forced to leave, to disappear. And now, he dared to play the victim, the abandoned lover?
Richie's anger surged as he met her gaze, his eyes flashing like polished steel. "Still playing games, Mia? Still refusing to admit the truth?" He grabbed her shoulder, his grip tight, his fingers digging into her skin. "Mia Sophia, have you always been this unreasonable, this infuriatingly stubborn?"
His voice was a low, restrained growl, a dangerous undertone that sent a shiver down her spine. But Mia found it bitterly amusing. He still had the audacity to accuse her? Richie Howard, always domineering, always in control, a man who expected unquestioning obedience. How could she possibly argue with him, a man who could command nations?
"Fine," she said, her voice steady, despite the turmoil raging within her. "Let's say I left without saying goodbye. I abandoned you. I'm sorry. So, Mr. Howard, what are you going to do about it?" She met his gaze, her expression defiant, her eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and anger. The initial shock of seeing him again had stirred up unwanted emotions, a flood of memories and desires, but now, all she felt was a burning resentment, a fierce determination to protect herself. The pain of seven years ago was still raw, still bleeding, and she would rather die than let him tear those wounds open again.
