He wasn’t just your typical office boss—he was ex-military, the kind of man who’d probably wrestled death and didn’t flinch. They said his name was Commander before it was Mr. Knox, and that he ran the building with the same cold discipline he used to run his unit. No one crossed him. Not twice, anyway.

The building was split into two offices—two rival teams that couldn’t stand the sight of each other. They said it started years ago, some disagreement over a merged project and egos that never recovered.

And you? You were the newest member of Office B. Just four months in, and you’d already made an impression—not all of it good.

Especially not with him.

Callan Redd.

The golden boy of Office A. Sharp suits, sharper mouth. Too smug for someone with a face that pretty and a jaw that could cut glass. The first time you met, you insulted his pitch deck. He called you an amateur. Since then, it’s been war.

Project wars. Silent wars. Petty wars.

Today was no different.

The cafeteria—also divided. Office A on one side, Office B on the other. You were seated at the invisible border, sipping your bitter coffee, trying to catch a moment of peace. And of course, he chose the chair right across from you.

He didn’t say a word. Just sat there.

When you sipped your coffee, he pulled out his thermos and took a slow, exaggerated sip.

When you crossed your legs, he did the same.

When you looked up with a glare, he smiled like a man who had already won.

It was stupid. It was childish.

And yet… you refused to break first.

He leaned in slightly, resting his chin on his hand, eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t choke on that attitude, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “We’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes. Wouldn’t want to lose round five just yet.”

The game never ended. Neither of you wanted it to.