The drive took hours because of the unbearable traffic. Marcus tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, irritation flickering across his face. The President should really do something about this never-ending mess.
His thoughts drifted as he stared at the sea of unmoving cars ahead. It was late, yet the streets were still clogged, the red taillights stretching endlessly before them.
On the other hand, Cruella had no patience for the silence stretching between them. With a sigh, she reached forward and flicked on the radio.
Love Me Harder by The Weeknd and Ariana Grande blasted on the stereo. She starts bobbing her head.
Marcus glanced at her, raising a brow. "Didn't peg you for this kind of type of music."
Cruella smirked, tilting her head slightly toward him. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Saavedra."
His grip on the wheel tightened for a fraction of a second. "Oh? Try me."
She hummed, drumming her fingers lightly against her thigh as if contemplating whether or not to indulge him. "For starters, I hate traffic," she deadpanned.
Marcus chuckled. "Groundbreaking."
She shot him a playful glare. "And I have zero patience for men who think they have me all figured out."
He smirked. "Who said I figured you out?"
She didn't respond, only letting the music fill the space between them. But she said something that made him laugh."Xavier wanted to be a priest."
"It was unexpected of him, but he didn't become a priest in the end," he replied. A smile appeared on her beautiful face.
Outside, the city crawled by, the distant hum of honking cars and flashing billboards blending into the music. It was a strange kind of intimacy, this shared silence between them, charged with something neither wanted to acknowledge.
But Marcus? He noticed the way her fingers traced lazy patterns on her lap. The way her lips parted slightly as she focused on the music.
He shifted in his seat, exhaling through his nose. This night was turning into something else entirely.
The melody seeped into his skin, winding through the dimly lit car like a ghost from the past.
Damn it.
Marcus flexed his grip on the wheel, jaw clenching as an unwanted memory surfaced—one he had buried deep.
Cori.
The way the next music played in the background, the way Cruella absentmindedly tapped her fingers against her thigh—it was too familiar. It reminded him of the nights he spent driving aimlessly with Cori, her laughter mixing with the music, her scent lingering in the air. She used to hum along, her voice soft and effortless, like she was made for moments like those.
But Cori was gone.
And yet, for the first time in a long while, something twisted inside him, something dangerously close to feeling.
His gaze flickered to Cruella, who remained oblivious to the storm brewing in his mind. She wasn't Cori. Not even close. She was fire and chaos, sharp edges and stubborn defiance.
And maybe that was why she got under his skin.
Cori was different.
She was gentle, patient, and giving like a warm breeze in the middle of summer. She never demanded, never pushed too hard. She understood him in a way that never felt suffocating, never felt like a challenge he had to win. Cori had soft edges and quiet strength, the kind of woman who made love feel easy and effortless.
Cruella?
She was the complete opposite.
She was a storm—unapologetic, unpredictable, and relentless. She didn't wait, didn't give him space to breathe. She challenged him with every word and every glance like she dared him to fall into whatever game she was playing.
And the worst part?
He liked it.
Marcus clenched his jaw, forcing his focus back on the road. He had no business comparing the two. Cori was gone. And Cruella…
The woman he wanted to bed the first time when she entered his office with her rebellious outfit.
Or maybe—just maybe—it wasn't about Cori at all.
Maybe he wanted this—this seductively defiant woman sitting next to him, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her thigh, her lips slightly parted as she lost herself in the music.
Maybe it was how she challenged him and didn't just fall at his feet like the others. Cruella was sharp-tongued, unpredictable, and impossible to tame. She made him work for every reaction, every glance, every damn smirk she threw his way.
And Marcus Saavedra?
He never backed down from a challenge.
His gaze flickered toward her momentarily, taking in the way her dark lashes framed those cunning eyes. His mind ran wild with all the ways he could break past that carefully crafted exterior—make her lose that control she held onto so tightly.
Cori had been soft, warm, and patient.
Cruella was fire, and maybe, just maybe, he was ready to burn.
The sudden downpour hit the windshield in heavy sheets, blurring the city lights beyond. The rhythmic tapping of raindrops against the roof filled the tense silence between them—until he heard her cuss under her breath.
"Shit," Cruella muttered, arms crossing over her chest as she shifted in her seat. "Just my luck."
Marcus smirked, side-eyeing her as he switched the wipers on. "What, afraid of a little rain?"
She shot him a glare. "No, genius. I hate getting drenched, and I didn't bring an umbrella."
He chuckled, low and amused. "Guess that means you're stuck with me a little longer."
She rolled her eyes, but the way she pressed her lips together made him think she wasn't as annoyed as she pretended to be.
The traffic was finally easing, cars slipping through intersections one by one, but the rain grew heavier, hammering against the windshield.
And then, without warning, Marcus turned the wheel sharply, taking a different road.
Cruella's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "Hey! Wrong turn."
Marcus didn't even glance at her. His grip on the wheel was steady, his expression unreadable. "No, it's not."
Her brow furrowed. "The hell do you mean? My place is the other way."
"I know."
Silence.
The realization hit her a second later, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingers twitched against her lap, the car's dim interior suddenly feeling much more diminutive. "Marcus…" her voice was slower now, laced with suspicion. "Where are we going?"
He smirked, but it wasn't just amusement—something darker that sent a slow, tantalizing shiver down her spine.
"Somewhere dry," he said smoothly. "Unless you want to get soaked."
The way he said it—low, teasing, almost sinful—made her stomach twist. She hated that he had this effect on her, hated that her pulse spiked even though she knew damn well she should demand he turn the car around.
But she didn't.
Instead, she exhaled through her nose, glaring at him even as her body betrayed her with anticipation. "I swear if this is some kind of game—"
"Oh, it's a game, alright," Marcus cut in, glancing at her with that lazy, knowing smirk. "But you already knew that, didn't you, love?"
Cruella's nails dug into her palm.
This was a bad idea.
A terrible idea.
And yet, she didn't tell him to stop.
Her mind went back to the proposal. Fuck! Cruella stupida.
The car rolled to a smooth stop in the underground parking lot of Bellagio Towers. The hum of the engine faded, leaving only the sound of rain pounding against the concrete walls outside. The silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
Cruella glanced at the dashboard—8:00 PM. It was late. Too late. And, damn it, she was starving.
She turned to him, arms crossed. "So, what now? You're kidnapping me?"
Marcus smirked, unbothered. "If that's what you want to call it." His gaze flickered to the storm raging outside. "But unless you have a death wish walking through that downpour, you stay here. My place. For tonight."
Her jaw tightened. "You planned this, didn't you?"
He chuckled, stepping out of the car. "Ella, I don't need to plan anything when the universe works in my favor."
She scoffed, grabbing her bag before following him toward the elevator. The click of her heels echoed in the quiet parking space.
Just as they stepped inside, he glanced at her, his voice laced with amusement. "And, Ella— I don't want your brothers worrying that I didn't feed you."
That made her snap her head toward him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"
He only smirked. "Dinner. Don't get too excited, love."
She rolled her eyes as the elevator doors slid shut, trapping them inside together.
Her mind drifted back to his proposal.
I want you to be my girlfriend. You'll just act like one, though.
But there's one rule in this agreement.
Never fall in love with me.
Cruella clenched her jaw. The idea had lingered in her mind for two days, no matter how much she tried to push it away. It was reckless, maybe even stupid—but wasn't she always drawn to danger? To challenges? And Marcus Aurelius Saavedra was nothing if not a challenge.
Maybe this was exactly what she needed—something purely physical, no strings attached, no emotional risks.
Her lips curled into a slow, knowing smile as she stepped closer to him, her fingers trailing lightly along the collar of his burgundy shirt, feeling the heat beneath the fabric. Marcus stilled, watching her, dark eyes glinting with intrigue.
"Fine," she murmured, her voice a velvet whisper. "I'll do it."
Marcus's gaze darkened, his hand catching her wrist before she could pull away. He tugged her flush against him, his breath hot against her ear.
"What exactly do you mean by fine, and I'll do it?" he murmured, his voice thick with something dangerously close to possession.
Cruella smirked, tilting her chin up, letting the electricity between them crackle.
"You tell me," she challenged.
And just like that, his lips crashed against hers.
It was different than he had imagined.
Marcus was the one who kissed her—unapologetically, possessively like he had every right to claim her. And instead of pushing him away, Cruella kissed him back just as fiercely.
The second their lips met, it was fire—untamed, uncontrollable. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, molding her body to his like she belonged there. And maybe, just for this moment, she did.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his burgundy shirt, nails scraping against his chest as she deepened the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, his hand sliding up her spine, fisting into her hair as he tilted her head back, taking more.
The elevator dinged, signaling their floor, but neither of them moved. The world outside didn't exist.
Marcus pressed her against the cool metal wall, his breath hot against her lips as he whispered, "Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
Instead, she smirked, her voice teasing yet breathless. "Don't stop now."
And so he didn't.
"But we need to," Marcus murmured against her lips, his breath hot, his voice strained with restraint.
Cruella's eyes flickered open, hazy with desire, her lips tingling from the kiss. "Do we?" she teased, fingers still gripping his shirt, nails ghosting over his chest.
Marcus exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against hers. "We don't want any scandal, right?" His tone was half a warning, half a plea—he wasn't sure to himself or her.
She chuckled softly, her smirk wicked. "Since when did you care about scandals, Aurelius?"
His jaw clenched, his hands gripped her waist like he wasn't ready to let go. "Since you came into the picture," he admitted.
Cruella bit her lip, studying him for a moment. Then, slowly, she uncurled her fingers from his shirt and took a deliberate step back. "Fine," she said, straightening her clothes, her voice smooth but her eyes dark with challenge.
Marcus ran a hand through his hair, trying to cool the fire she had just ignited. The elevator doors slid open, the empty hallway stretching before them.
"This isn't over," he muttered, watching her step out.
Cruella turned her head slightly, smirking over her shoulder. "I never said it was."
Marcus lost control of himself the moment they stepped into his apartment. The slight thud hardly registered over the tension that was sparking between them as he snatched Cruella's bag and flung it carelessly aside.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she recoiled. "Really?" She sneered, but before she could say anything more, Marcus caught her.
His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as his mouth crashed onto hers—hungry, demanding, unapologetic. He kissed her like he had been holding back for too long, like he needed to claim her, to make her his.
Cruella gasped against his lips, her body tensing before melting into him. She didn't resist. Instead, she met his intensity with her own, her fingers sliding into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as she pulled him closer.
A deep growl rumbled from Marcus's chest. "You're impatient," she murmured, breathless.
He smirked, his lips trailing down her jaw. "You have no idea."
As soon as they entered his penthouse, Marcus couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed Cruella's bag and carelessly tossed it aside, the soft thud barely registering over the tension crackling between them.
She flinched, shooting him an annoyed look. "Seriously?" she scoffed. "That bag cost more than your self-control."
Marcus didn't answer. He was already closing the space between them, his hands reaching for her—but before he could pull her in, she pressed a palm against his chest, stopping him.
"Wait," she said, lips slightly parted, breath warm. "I'm starving, and I feel sticky. Do you have any idea how gross that is?"
His jaw flexed, impatience flickering in his dark eyes. "Cruella."
"I'm serious," she huffed. "Between the ride and the humidity, I feel like I've been marinating in sweat. I need food. A shower. Then maybe you can throw yourself at me."
Marcus exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging over her like a touch. Then, he grabbed her wrist with zero warning and started leading her through the penthouse.
She stumbled slightly. "Uh—where are we going?"
"To my room," he said, his voice thick with intent.
She narrowed her eyes. "If you think dragging me to your bed it's n—"
"The bathroom is in there," he cut her off smoothly, pushing open the door to his bedroom.
The air inside was more incredible, scented faintly like him—dark wood, leather, something expensive and intoxicating. The large bed dominated the space, sheets slightly crumpled like a promise of things to come. But Marcus didn't stop there. He walked her straight past it, into the ensuite bathroom, flicking on the soft, dim lighting.
The shower was sleek, all glass and marble. He turned the knob, steam curling into the air as hot water cascaded down. Then he turned to her, his gaze steady, hungry.
"Shower," he said, low and commanding. "Then we'll deal with the rest."
Cruella crossed her arms, arching a brow. "You're bossy."
His lips tilted at the corner as he stepped closer, his fingers grazing her hip just enough to make her breath hitch. "You love it."
His voice was a promise, dripping with sin. He leaned in, the heat of his breath teasing her skin as his fingers brushed lower, his lips hovering just near her ear.
"I could join you," he murmured, voice deep and smooth. "Make sure you don't get... distracted."
A delicious shiver ran through her, but she kept her composure. Barely. Instead, she met his gaze, tilting her chin in mock consideration.
"Hmm. Tempting," she mused, trailing a slow finger down his chest. Then she smirked, stepping back. "But I'll need food after." She patted his chest lightly. "Try not to get too distracted."
Marcus chuckled, dark and low, watching as she stepped inside and shut the glass door between them.
A few minutes later, a knock sounded on the bathroom door.
"Cruella," Marcus called, his voice slightly muffled through the wood. "I left a fresh set of clothes for you—my shirt and a pair of boxers. Leave your clothes inside. I'll toss them in the laundry."
She paused mid-lather, blinking at the door. "You do laundry?"
He huffed a laugh. "Shocking, I know."
"You, cooking and doing laundry? I might just pass out."
"Eat first," he said dryly. "Then you can pass out. Now hurry up. I'm making dinner."
Cruella bit back a smile, rinsing off as his footsteps faded.
A man who took care of things? Now, that was sexy.