Page 35 of The Owner's Temptation

I pause.

Harper is nearly drooling.

“The entire time.”

Harper’s practically vibrating, wine glass in hand, eyes sparkling with enough mischief to light up Manhattan.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, like we’re teenagers gossiping about our first kisses. “That’s better than any porn plot I’ve ever heard. And he just… watched you the whole time?”

I nod slowly. “The entire time.” I say it again, softer this time, letting it settle between us.

Harper takes a sip, studying me. “And how did it make you feel?”

I sink back onto the couch, drawing my knees up to my chest. “Exposed.”

Her brows rise in surprise—not judgmental, just curious.

“Not just, like, oh-my-God-he’s-hot-and-staring-at-me exposed.” I glance at her, then away again. “But like… he could see something in me that I haven’t even admitted to myself yet. Like I walked in wearing a mask and he already knew what was underneath it.”

Harper stays quiet for a beat. Letting me talk. Letting me feel it.

“I don’t know how to feel about it.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “I think it should have disgusted me. It should have scared me.”

“But?” she prompts, already knowing the answer.

“But I couldn’t stop watching,” I admit. “And he wouldn’t stop looking at me. Like…” I trail off, the words too heavy to finish.

“Like he already knew what you were thinking?” Harper fills in, softly.

I look down at my wineglass, then give the smallest nod.

“Babe,” she says gently, “you’re allowed to feel that. All of it.”

I sigh, leaning back against the new cushions. It’s the kind of couch Pinterest dreams are made of, and it’s mine. But I still feel like I don’t belong in it. Like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.

“What if this isn’t me, Harp?” I ask quietly. “What if I’m just a normal girl playing dress-up in a world that’s going to swallow me whole?”

Harper scoots closer, bumping her shoulder against mine again. “Sienna, babe, this world doesn’t make you bad. Wanting things—desire—doesn’t make you bad.”

I swallow, hard.

“You went to a sex club and liked what you saw. That’s not some earth-shattering crime. It just means you’re discovering what you actually want. And that’s agoodthing.”

“I’m scared,” I admit, the words raw and unfiltered. “What if I’m making a mistake by staying?”

Harper nudges me again, this time gentler. “Then you’ll walk away.”

I blink at her.

“If you don’t like it, walk away,” she repeats. “But if you do? Own it.”

I laugh—nervous and shaky. “You make it sound so simple.”

She shrugs, sipping her wine. “Itissimple. You don’t have to be scared of what you want. No one can control you unless you let them.”

Her words settle in my chest like an anchor. Heavy, grounding.

I glance around the apartment. The new couch. The fresh art prints. The soft cream throw I bought on sale last week, now folded perfectly on the armrest. My life is changing. Quietly, but undeniably.

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