Chapter 11

Dalia

I wake up, snuggled against Lev's impossibly sexy body. We’ve shifted during our nap and are now lying next to one another. He's still asleep. Moving a bit to get comfortable, I catch our reflection in the mirror across the room.

That's when I see them—huge, jagged scars crisscrossing his back. I hadn't noticed them until now.

Carefully, almost without thinking, I start tracing the rough lines with my fingers. What kind of hell did he go through to get these? It’s clear he’s lucky to be alive.

Lev stirs awake, and when he catches me tracing his scars, his eyes flash with annoyance.

"Stop touching them," he says sternly.

I jerk my hand back.

"I'm sorry," I stammer.

He doesn't respond, just slides off the couch and starts gathering his clothes. There’s a sudden coldness to him as he avoids further discussion, focusing instead on dressing.

"I need to get back to the office," he says, voice gruff. “Need to spend the rest of the day catching up on work."

I watch him dress, unable to take my eyes off the powerful play of muscles across his back, that perfect ass of his, firm and just begging to be grabbed. Each movement is efficient, almost mechanical, as he slips back into his professional armor.

He seems distant now, and I can't help but wonder if I crossed a line by touching his scars. Or maybe, he's upset with himself for letting things go too far.

"I'm happy about what happened between us," I say, trying to reassure him, or perhaps myself.

He doesn't respond. He taps away at his phone before slipping into his shoes, his movements precise and detached. Sensing the growing distance, I venture cautiously, "Do you want me to come to the office with you?"

"No," he answers quickly, almost too quickly, as if the idea is something he needs to shut down immediately. “Take the rest of the day off.”

As if to cement the distance between us further he adds, "I'll be out of the office tomorrow, so you can work from home."

Once he's all suited up, Lev stands tall in front of me, the epitome of a boss with his hands assertively planted on his hips. Even though I’m miffed by his sudden shift to ice cold professionalism, I can’t deny the guy looks drop-dead gorgeous wielding that much authority. Part of me, annoyingly enough, knows I’d melt in a heartbeat if he decided to take me again right here and now.

He clears his throat, pulling my thoughts back from the edge. “Do you remember what tomorrow night is?”

I nod, recalling the scheduled event. “It’s the annual gala at the Art Institute of Chicago.”

He confirms with a nod before scanning me up and down. “Got something appropriate to wear for that?”

I hesitate, then admit, “Just work clothes.”

He shakes his head slightly. “That won’t do. Go pick out a nice dress, put it on my tab.” His statement leaves no room for argument.

“I’ll see you there,” he adds sharply, turning to leave without any of the warmth we shared just hours ago.

He's out the door before I can even process what’s just happened, leaving me alone and confused.

Sitting there, stunned, I try to wrap my head around Lev's abrupt switch of character. Is this just another part of his game?

As I get dressed, I mull over everything, trying to find some sense in his actions. The shift felt too sharp, too sudden. I make myself a cup of tea, letting the warm liquid ground me as I consider tomorrow night. Ivanov Holdings poured a lot of money into refurbishing an entire wing of the art museum.

It's more than just a party—it's a showcase of Lev’s influence and power. Maybe that's why he's so tense, why he pulled back into that commanding shell of his. But where does that leave me in the grand scheme of things?

I sip my tea but the warmth does little to soothe the rising irritation within me. We've shared something intense and personal, and I've opened up to Lev in ways I never thought I would with anyone.

Shutting me out the minute things get a bit uncomfortable for him is infuriating. Maybe it has nothing to do with me, maybe he's just grappling with his own choices and lashing out.

Enough is enough. I’ve decided that if Lev wants distance, he's going to get it. From now on, I'll be nothing but professional. No more blurred lines, no more late-night escapades in his office.

If he wants a PA that's exactly what he'll get and nothing more. I need to protect my own heart in this, even if part of me dreads the thought of losing the connection we have.