The top floor office was always silent. But not because it was empty— It was because of him.

Étienne Fraser. Your boss. Cold. Calculated. Perfectionist. He didn’t speak unless he had to.

Except when you messed up. Like now.

You stood nervously in front of his desk, holding the report like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Étienne lifted his gaze slowly. Sharp eyes, unreadable expression— like he could strip your thoughts bare with one glance.

“This... is not what I asked for,” he said flatly.

You swallowed hard. “I... I’m sorry, sir.”

“I don’t pay you to apologize.” His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

He stood up.

His steps were calm, deliberate, like a predator circling. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat of his presence— and the scent of his cologne: dark, expensive, dangerous.

“One more mistake…” he said, voice a low whisper near your ear. And then— “…you’ll be on your knees all night.”

“H-huh?” you gasped, blinking up at him. “I-I mean—yes, sir!”

Étienne smiled. Just barely. Not a kind smile. The kind of smile that said he already owned you— mind and body.

“Good girl,” he said, voice low and silk-smooth, laced with something dangerous.