Page 15 of Galen

But there were no personal effects, no photos, no keepsakes. It was as if Galen had deliberately erased all traces of himself, leaving only the cold efficiency of a man who lived for control.

Bianca trailed her fingers over the spines of the books on a nearby shelf, feeling the smooth leather bindings. The titles were varied, from classic literature to thick volumes on business strategy and finance. Nothing out of place, nothing that suggested he had any real passion beyond his work and whatever dark empire he ruled.

Accepting that there was no escape—not really—she moved to the bathroom, which was as lavish as the rest of the apartment. The bathtub was a work of art, large and freestanding, with elegant chrome fixtures that gleamed under the soft lighting.

It looked like something out of a five-star hotel, the kind of place where one could easily lose themselves in a sea of bubbles and forget the outside world even existed. Bianca stripped off her pajamas and sank into the hot water, letting the warmth seep into her muscles as she tried to make sense of her situation.

Galen’s proposal played on a loop in her mind. Marry him. It was insane. But the more she thought about it, the more she found herself intrigued. What would it be like to be with a man like him? Dangerous, powerful, and undeniably attractive. His presence was intoxicating, the way his strong, muscled body filled out that custom suit, how his eyes seemed to pierce right through her, stripping away any pretense and leaving her exposed.

She spent longer in the bath than she intended, her mind spinning with possibilities and fears alike. When she finally emerged, the steam clung to her skin, and she wrapped herself in a towel before rummaging through the cabinets.

Galen wouldn’t mind if she borrowed something to wear. She found an old shirt and a pair of jogging pants, slipping them on before heading to the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator as she poured herself a glass of orange juice.

The gangster returned not long after, carrying a couple of packages.

He placed them on the counter without a word, only saying, “This is for you. Boss said you should put them on for tonight.” And then he was gone again, leaving her alone with the mystery of what Galen had planned.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the packages. The first contained a stunning little black dress, the fabric silky and cool against her fingers.

She held it up, admiring the way it caught the light, the way it seemed to have been made just for her. The dress was simple yet elegant, with a low neckline that hinted at seduction without being too overt. It was the kind of dress that made a woman feel powerful, desirable.

The second package revealed matching underwear—black lace, delicate and soft. Bianca’s breath hitched as she held up the items. It was intimate, presumptuous even, that Galen had chosen these for her.

But as she looked at the dress and the lingerie, she couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through her. The man had good taste, and clearly, he had an eye for detail. He knew her size, her preferences, even without her saying a word.

As she slipped into the dress, it fit her like a glove, hugging her curves in all the right places. The lace of the underwear felt almost scandalous against her skin, adding a layer of excitement she hadn’t anticipated. The last package contained black heels, also her size. Bianca put them on.

She turned to the mirror, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. The woman staring back at her was confident, alluring, ready to face whatever came next. And she realized with a start that she wanted to see where this would go.

Bianca found herself walking back to the living room, the sound of her heels clicking on the polished floor. The apartment, which had felt cold and impersonal before, now seemed to hum with anticipation.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to Galen—his intense gaze, the way his touch had sent shivers down her spine, the promise of more to come in the air between them. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror once more and felt a strange sense of calm settle over her.

She was still a fighter, still unwilling to give this man an inch without a struggle. But there was something about Galen that made her want to push boundaries, to see just how far she could go before either of them broke.

Whatever happened tonight, she knew one thing for certain: it would be a night she would never forget. And as she waited for Galen to return, she couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises the evening might hold.

****

Galen entered his apartment, a quiet sense of satisfaction settling over him as he caught sight of Reynard, his private chef, already busy in the kitchen. The scent of something delicious wafted through the air, mingling with the subtle undertones of the expensive wine he carried.

He nodded to Reynard, leaving him to his work, before heading to the living room where Bianca awaited him.

As he stepped into the room, the sight of her took his breath away. The dress he had chosen for her fit perfectly, clinging to every curve as if it had been painted onto her skin.

The black fabric contrasted strikingly with her pale complexion, accentuating her slender neck and the delicate line of her collarbone. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that highlighted her striking features. When she rose to greet him, there was an awkwardness in her movements, a slight hesitation that made her seem even more endearing.

Galen’s gaze lingered on her, taking in every detail—the way the dress hugged her waist, the subtle hint of lace from her bra peeking through the neckline, the way her lips parted slightly as she noticed his intense scrutiny.

“I see you’re wearing the presents I gave you,” he said, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

Bianca’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance flashing in their depths.

“I had no choice. Your man told me you wanted to see me in it,” she said.

“I have a feeling no one tells you what to do,” Galen remarked, setting the glasses on the table and pouring the wine with deliberate care.

He handed her a glass, his fingers brushing hers, and a spark of warmth shot up his arm at the brief contact.

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