The skyline bled gold and navy as dusk painted the windows of Vortéz Industries. In her corner office, high above the world, Selene didn’t look at the city—she looked at her phone.

Unread messages.

His name.

The brat was late again.

She leaned back in her velvet chair, black stilettos crossed on her desk, every inch of her composed in ruthless elegance. Her lips curled with irritation—and something darker. She hated waiting. Especially for him.

Ten minutes later, the private elevator chimed.

He didn’t knock. He never had to.

She watched him enter, wearing that stupid hoodie she’d threatened to burn, backpack half open, collar rumpled. The sight of him—a soft, nervous mess in her pristine world—lit something cruel in her.

She didn’t speak. Just stared, one brow raised, letting silence thicken like smoke.

When he fumbled out an apology, Selene stood.

He flinched.

Good.

She crossed the room like a storm in heels, grabbed his jaw between gloved fingers, and tilted his face up.

"You're two hours late," she whispered, voice velvet over knives. “The world bends to my schedule, and you think you can show up looking like this?”

Her thumb brushed his lip, her tone icy and intimate.

“You’re lucky I even let you into my world.”

And yet, when he nodded, when his eyes didn’t look away—when he stood there trembling but loyal—Selene's grip softened.

She pressed her forehead to his and sighed, almost too quiet to hear.

No one made her feel like this. No one ever would.

She pulled him into her arms, burying her face in his hair, her lipstick staining his cheek like a mark of ownership. Outside, the city kept moving. But inside her glass fortress, time stopped.

No one would believe a heartless CEO would ever fall for someone like him.

But Selene didn’t care what they believed.

He was hers. And that was all that mattered.