Chapter 3 - The Cage of Silk
The silence in the eighty-story office was deafening.
Cecilia stood rigid against the floor-to-ceiling glass, her mind spinning wildly out of control. Her entire adult life—her independence, her carefully built career, her quiet apartment in Lincoln Park—felt like a elaborate illusion crafted by the man standing in front of her.
"Twelve million dollars," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I was a debt marker?"
"You were target practice for a monster," Dallas said fiercely. He took a step back, running a broad hand through his thick hair in rare frustration. "Lorenzo doesn't keep debt collection legal, Cecilia. If I hadn't stepped in, you would have vanished into a private estate in South America before your twenty-third birthday."
"So you decided to buy me instead?" Cecilia’s tears finally spilled over, hot and bitter against her cheeks. "And what made you any different from him, Mr. Russo? You kept me on a leash! You made me your secretary! You let me believe I earned my job!"
"You did earn it!" Dallas roared, his voice echoing through the vast, empty executive floor. He stepped back up to her, gripping her shoulders with an intensity that was firm but never hurt. "You are the smartest person who has ever walked into this building! Do you think I give out executive vice-president responsibility to a pity case? You ran my logistics network! You saved this company three times over!"
"Then why keep the truth from me for three years?!" she cried out, her hands coming up to press against his broad chest, feeling the frantic, hard beat of his heart through his white shirt.
Dallas went quiet. His breath hitched. He looked down at her small, trembling hands against his chest, then up into her tear-streaked eyes.
"Because if I told you," Dallas said, his voice dropping into a ragged, broken tone, "you would have looked at me with the same hatred you're looking at me with right now. You would have felt indebted. And I didn't want your gratitude, Cecilia."
"Then what did you want?!"
"I wanted you safe," he whispered, leaning down until his forehead rested lightly against hers. "And I wanted you to look at me without seeing a captor."
Cecilia’s breath caught. The heat between them burned hotter than the humiliation of the evening. She could feel the wild, dangerous rhythm of his pulse. For three years, she had thought Dallas Russo was made of ice and steel. Now she realized he was a volcano, barely holding back an explosion of protective fury that had been building for six long years.
"Lorenzo saw me tonight," she murmured softly, her palms feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. "He knew."
"He suspected," Dallas corrected, his thumb gently catching a stray tear from her cheek. "He saw the red dress. He saw the way I looked at you. He knows you aren't just an assistant to me anymore."
"I was never just an assistant," Cecilia admitted quietly, the realization dawning on her with painful clarity.
The late-night working sessions. The private jet flights where he insisted she sit across from him instead of in the staff row. The way he always positioned himself between her and any stranger who stepped too close. It wasn't corporate distance. It was a guard dog standing over the only treasure he cared about.
"No," Dallas rasped, his hand moving down to cup the small of her back, pulling her curved body flush against his hard frame. "You were the only reason I came to work every day."
Cecilia gasped as her body pressed against his. The crimson silk of her gown brushed against his dark trousers. For three years, she had felt ashamed of her broad hips, her soft stomach, the full curves that didn't fit into high-fashion molds. But as Dallas held her, his hands gripped her waist with a reverence that made her feel larger than life—powerful, desired, and undeniably real.
"He's going to move on you, Cecilia," Dallas whispered against her lips. "The maritime audit was just a distraction to pull my security team to the docks. He's going to try to take you."
"I'm not going back to Miami," she said, her voice finding a sudden, fierce resolve.
"You're not going anywhere without me," Dallas growled softly, his eyes flashing with lethal intent. "Starting tonight, you don't sleep at your apartment. You stay at the penthouse."
May you like
"Dallas—"
"It wasn't a request, Cecilia," he said, his mouth brushing against the corner of her lips, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight down her spine. "I bought your debt six years ago to give you freedom. But tonight... I'm keeping you under my roof because I can't breathe if you're not in my sight."
