The hours following the morning's photography session felt like a long, restless dream. Anya spent the afternoon in the hotel's library, but she could not focus on a single word. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the dark, crimson-lit studio, the feeling of the silk blindfold against her skin, and the raw, dangerous intensity in Reyansh's eyes.

He was a man of two worlds. In the boardroom, he was a stone-cold giant who crushed competition without a flicker of emotion. In the Red Studio, he was a dominant force who used rules and sensory deprivation to strip away her defenses. But in the quiet, private moments like the way he held her last night or the way he whispered about his past she caught glimpses of someone far more complex. Someone who was deeply, hauntingly broken.