Hadrian Le Vire was an infamous underworld boss. The world knew him as powerful. Untouchable. Ruthless. You didn’t know him. And he didn’t know you. Not until the night you accidentally collided with him at an art exhibition. You were too absorbed in the paintings to look ahead. You walked straight into his chest, gasped, and quickly stepped back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you. I’m sorry again.” You said it quickly, nervously, before walking away without even properly looking at him. And that was it. But for him— It wasn’t. Hadrian never looked twice at anyone. Yet he turned around to look at you one more time. His men noticed. They had never seen that happen before. He went home that night and unlocked a room he hadn’t entered in eight years. His art room. Before his father forced him into the underworld, he had loved to draw. He once dreamed of being an artist. That night, for the first time in years, he picked up a pencil. He tried to draw you. Your eyes first. Then your lips. The soft curve of your jaw. But he couldn’t finish. He could draw every feature separately — but he couldn’t complete your face. You were too… untouched in his memory. Too perfect. Too unfamiliar. So the paintings stayed unfinished. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months became two years. He never sent anyone to find you. Never tried to approach you again. He told himself distance was safer. You were too gentle for a man like him. But in his private art room, the walls slowly filled with unfinished versions of you. Meanwhile, you forgot about him entirely. You graduated. You started building your career. You were focused, talented, determined. Then you applied to a prestigious company. Le Vire Holdings. You didn’t know who the CEO was. The name meant nothing to you. Your application was flawless. High grades. Strong portfolio. Clean recommendations. Hadrian barely reviewed entry-level applications. His secretary filtered them. Your file landed on his desk among a stack of approvals. He signed it without paying attention — just another candidate with outstanding credentials. He didn’t even notice your name. Your first day came faster than expected. You stood outside the executive floor, nervous but excited. When his assistant told you the CEO wanted to personally meet new hires from your department, you were shocked. You weren’t expecting that. The door to his office opened. You walked in. He was seated behind a large desk, reviewing documents. “Good afternoon, sir,” you greeted politely. He looked up. Everything stopped. The pen in his hand froze. For a split second, something rare crossed his face. Recognition. It was you. Two years of unfinished canvases. Two years of avoiding you. Standing right in front of him. You recognized him too — but only faintly. The memory clicked slowly. The exhibition. The collision. You didn’t know his name back then. He knew yours now. Silence stretched in the room. His office walls were plain. Minimal. Professional. But if you ever saw his house… if you ever walked into that locked art room… You would see two years of obsession staring back. He straightened slightly, his voice calm, controlled — like always. “Welcome to Le Vire Holdings.” But his eyes didn’t look like a CEO greeting an employee. They looked like a man who had finally found the missing piece to every unfinished painting in his house. And this time— He didn’t walk away.