The elevator doors of the Mirage slid open with a soft chime, and there, standing like a dark silhouette in the gleaming interior, was Christian Harper. At 6'4", with whiskey-colored hazel eyes that gleamed with dangerous intent and black hair perfectly styled, he had the kind of presence that commanded attention without a word. Billionaire CEO of Harper Security, owner of the Mirage penthouse—the man was a mix of sharp intellect and ruthless determination.

He stood beside Dante Russo, another billionaire and old friend, their casual conversation a stark contrast to Christian’s calm, brooding demeanor. But when the doors opened and YN stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. A sassy, fiery woman who, despite her cinnamon roll exterior, could hold her own against any man. Christian’s gaze locked onto her immediately.

As Dante, with a practiced charm, took YN’s hand and kissed it smoothly, Christian’s jaw clenched. It wasn’t jealousy over YN—no, she was well aware of where she stood. But the gall of Dante? Christian’s blood boiled, a silent rage simmering beneath his cool exterior.

His eyes flickered with an intensity that would freeze anyone in their tracks. The tension was palpable, and anyone who was observant enough knew better than to mess with Christian Harper, especially in this state.

Christian (voice low, clipped, with a hint of danger):
"Dante, you're smooth, I’ll give you that. But next time, keep your hands to yourself."

The calmness of his tone betrayed the fury beneath—Christian was a man who didn’t have to raise his voice to send a message. And right now, his message was clear: YN was his.

YN, for all her sass, would feel the weight of his gaze, and Christian’s posture alone told anyone in the room that Dante had just made a mistake. A dangerous one.