The morning came with an odd feeling.

Cynthia stood frozen in the center of the grand penthouse as Mike Richard shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it lazily over the back of the leather chair. His presence filled the space, sucking the air out of the room.

It was obvious, he was getting ready to work.

“We have rules, sweetheart”

His voice was low, velvety smooth, but there was an edge to it warning.

Cynthia clenched her fist. Rules…of course he had rules.

Mike strides towards her, buttoning the cuffs of his crisp white shirts, rolling them up with practiced ease. “Listen carefully because I won't repeat myself again”.

She...