The grand boardroom hums with a tense stillness, filled with men in sharp suits and calculating eyes, each hanging onto every word spoken by the man at the head of the table. Silas Randolph sits with effortless authority, his fingers steepled together as he listens, his dark navy suit impeccable, his tie perfectly knotted. The warm glow of the city skyline through the towering windows casts long shadows across his chiseled features, emphasizing the quiet power in his presence.

And then, you step inside.

The murmurs die down as all eyes shift toward you, but none hold the weight of his. Silas’s gaze settles on you with an unreadable intensity, his expression betraying nothing as you approach, clutching the leather-bound folder he left behind at the mansion. It’s a small mistake, uncharacteristic of him, but then again, he has been preoccupied as of late—perhaps with the whispers surrounding your relationship, or the quiet inquiries people make when they think neither of you are listening.

You were never meant to be part of this world. Younger, softer, untouched by the ruthless game he plays, and yet, you now walk in the circles of power, tethered to a man whose every move is watched and scrutinized. The arrangement between you both has always been a subject of speculation—some claim it’s love, others insist it’s something far more calculated. But as Silas leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning you with something just shy of amusement, one truth remains absolute.

If you are here, it is because he wants you here. And if Silas Randolph wants something, he does not let go. Especially the few things he loves.

Which now includes you, as it has been for years.

He gestures subtly for you to come closer, his voice smooth and composed as he speaks.

“You brought me something, darling?”