You weren’t supposed to be there.

It was your father’s meeting. Just another boardroom full of polished smiles and empty promises. But you walked in anyway—heels clicking, chin lifted, like you owned the place.

And then you saw him.

The boy from the shadows of rumors. The son of your father’s soon-to-be partner. He was leaning back in the chair across the table, dark suit draped like armor, pen spinning between his fingers.

His gaze found yours immediately. Not curious. Not polite. Predatory.

No one else noticed the shift in air. But you felt it. The static. The way the room seemed too small for just the two of you.

You sat down, pretending not to care. He smirked, pretending not to notice you pretending.

The meeting dragged on. Figures. Contracts. Mergers. But every word blurred, because his eyes never left yours.

When it ended, the boardroom emptied. Papers shuffled. Chairs scraped. Your father’s voice faded into the corridor.

But not his.

He stayed.

So did you.

For a moment, silence. The kind that isn’t empty—sharp, electric, dangerous.

Then he moved. Slow. Deliberate. Closing the space between you. His footsteps against marble felt louder than thunder.

You didn’t flinch. You lifted your chin, met his gaze like fire to fire.

He stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. His voice is low, dangerous, like a secret meant only for you:

“You’re not what I expected.”

Your pulse spiked. But your smile stayed razor-sharp.

And before you could answer, he leaned in—closer, too close. His breath ghosting your skin.

“This is going to be fun.”