The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 43- Girlfriend Territory

PAIGE

The water shuts off, and the sudden quiet is louder than any noise. He wraps a thick, impossibly soft towel around me, his hands brisk, efficient.

My face is flaming, and it has nothing to do with the heat of the shower. It’s from how he washed me. How it didn’t feel like an invasion, but a claiming. How right it felt, and how terrifying that is.

I need space. I need my armor.

I spot my clothes in a heap on the cool marble floor. I bend to pick them up, my mind already racing towards the guest wing, towards a door I can close.

A hand darts out, snatching the silk blouse from my grip. I look up, startled. Reomen doesn’t say a word. He just walks to a woven hamper and tucks my clothes inside, out of sight, out of reach.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice still a little unsteady. "I need to get dressed. I’m going to my room."

He turns, leaning against the wall, a picture of infuriating, casual control. A droplet of water traces a path from his damp hair down his chest. My eyes follow it against my will.

"You don’t need to," he says, his tone lazy. "At least, not tonight." He pauses, and that familiar, wicked smirk plays on his lips. "Or any other night, maybe."

The realization hits me like a physical blow. He’s not just talking about tonight. He’s not asking me to stay. He’s telling me I’m staying. Here. In his room.

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

He seems to enjoy my speechlessness. He walks to the intercom on the wall, pressing the button. "Dinner. For two. In my room." He glances back at me, one eyebrow raised. "What do you want?"

The question is so domestic, so normal, it throws me even more off balance. "I... the sea bass. If they have it."

He relays the order without taking his eyes off me. Then he goes to his closet, returning with a simple grey t-shirt and a pair of soft-looking lounge shorts. He tosses them to me.

"Here."

I hold them up. They are enormous. His scent is all over them—clean cotton and him. Putting them on feels more intimate than anything we just did in the shower. I slip into them, the fabric swallowing me whole.

The shirt falls to my mid-thigh, the shorts hidden beneath it. I feel small. I feel... his.

He’s already pulling on his own clothes, a pair of dark sweatpants that sit low on his hips. He doesn’t bother with a shirt. He just walks over to the massive bed and climbs in, leaning back against the headboard.

He pats the space beside him. His smirk is back, full force. "Well? Don’t just stand there looking like a drowned kitten in my clothes. Come on. The sea bass isn’t going to eat itself."

I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. The gesture is pointless, lost in the folds of his shirt. "This doesn’t mean I’m moving in."

"Of course not," he agrees smoothly, his eyes glinting. "You’re just... conducting an extended overnight audit of the sleeping accommodations. For quality control."

"Your ego doesn’t need its own zip code, you know."

"It needs an entire kingdom, Black Cat," he retorts, not missing a beat. "And it seems you’ve just been permanently assigned to the royal chambers. Now stop arguing and get in the bed. Your side is getting cold."

My side.

There’s no real anger behind my frown as I walk towards the bed. There’s only a dizzying, confusing sense of arrival.

I slide in beside him, the sheets cool against my skin. He doesn’t pull me close, but his presence is a solid, warm wall beside me.

The banter is a familiar dance, a shield against the terrifying intimacy of wearing his clothes, of being in his bed.

He’s teasing me about something, his voice a low, sarcastic purr, but my mind is stuck on a single, looping thought.

I cut him off, the words slipping out before I can cage them. "You know, letting me keep a toothbrush here, giving me drawer space... this is starting to sound an awful lot like girlfriend territory, Tanuki."

The air in the room shifts.

He goes completely still. The smirk vanishes. For a long, heavy moment, he’s just quiet, his dark eyes searching mine, and I can see the gears turning in that brilliant, complicated head of his.

I’ve thrown a grenade into the middle of our carefully constructed game, and neither of us knows how it will explode.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and deliberate, each word chosen with precision.

"Here’s the situation, Paige," he says, his gaze holding me captive. "I’ll be seeing only you. And you," he adds, the possessive edge sharpening his tone to a blade, "are sure as hell not seeing anyone else. Ever again."

He leans in closer, the heat of his body a palpable force. "Now, correct me if my business acumen is failing me, but that sounds fucking exclusive. Doesn’t it?"

The realization hits me like a physical wave. It’s not a question. It’s a declaration. A statement of fact from a man who deals in absolutes.

He leans back, a semblance of his smirk returning, but it’s tighter now. Laced with something raw. "So, you can tag the relationship however you see fit. ’Exclusive associates.’ ’Monogamous co-conspirators.’ ’Girlfriend.’" He scoffs at the last word, but I can tell he’s deadly serious. The sarcasm is just his armor.

A slow, defiant smile spreads across my lips. I can’t help it. "Your ego really is a breathtaking natural wonder. You couldn’t just say ’Will you be my girlfriend?’ like a normal person? You had to issue a corporate merger announcement?"

He doesn’t flinch. "I could have asked," he says with a shrug that’s a little too casual. A tell. "But the thing is... I’ve never actually had to ask anyone that before. Ever."

The admission hangs in the air, stark and honest.

He’s never had an official relationship.

Suzume’s voice floods my mind. "He never brings a date. He’s never had anything serious." The pieces click together with dizzying finality. Conquests and petty mistresses. But never this. Never a girlfriend.

I shove the thought aside, focusing on the man in front of me. The untouchable Reomen Daki, who is, for the first time, in uncharted territory.

"So what you’re saying," I tease, my voice softening, "is that you’re emotionally stunted and don’t know how to use your words?"

A low growl rumbles in his chest. In a flash, he moves, his body pinning me to the mattress with practiced ease. He looms over me, his eyes blazing with a mixture of irritation and fierce desire.

"I’m using my words just fine," he murmurs, his face inches from mine. "I said you’re mine. What other words do you need?"

Before I can answer, he captures my mouth in a deep, claiming kiss that steals all the air from my lungs and all the clever retorts from my brain. My hands come up, not to push him away, but to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

A sharp, precise knock at the door breaks through the haze.

"Nani?" he snaps in Japanese, not lifting his head from where his lips are trailing down my jaw.

The door opens and the elderly housekeeper steps in, her eyes carefully averted from the bed. She carries a large tray laden with covered dishes. The smell of seared sea bass and herbs fills the room.

Reomen doesn’t even look at her. "Just drop it on the table and go," he commands, his voice rough, his attention fully on the sensitive spot he’s found on my neck.

I stiffen, mortified. "Reomen," I hiss, trying to shove at his shoulders.

He ignores me, and to my utter horror, the woman simply gives a quiet, "Yes, Young Master," and sets the heavy tray down on the low table with a soft thud.

She doesn’t spare us a single glance as she turns and walks out, closing the door silently behind her.

The second the door clicks shut, his mouth is back on mine, his kiss deeper, more demanding, as if the interruption never happened.

I break the kiss, gasping for air. "You are unbelievable! She just saw... everything!"

He chuckles, a dark, wicked sound. "She sees nothing. She’s paid a fortune to see nothing." He nips at my lower lip. "Now, where were we? I believe I was proving that my... emotional stunting... is wildly overrated."

I laugh, the sound breathless and real. "Your ego," I repeat, shaking my head, but I’m pulling him back down to me. "It really needs its own management team." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"It has one," he murmurs against my lips, his hands sliding under the borrowed t-shirt. "I’m looking at her."