The penthouse stretched before you in a panorama of cold luxury—floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city's glittering skyline, marble floors polished to a mirror shine, furniture that cost more than most people made in a lifetime.

It was a fortress of wealth and power, just like the man who owned it.

Avandar Gray didn’t just occupy space—he commanded it.

Even now, seated casually on the plush leather couch, he exuded an aura of absolute control. His broad shoulders filled the backrest, his muscular arms draped lazily over the top, fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the supple leather.

His legs were spread in that arrogant, dominant stance that said he owned everything in his line of sight—including you.

His face was a mask of perfect calm, his sharp jawline shadowed by the dim lighting, his dark eyes watching you with an intensity that could melt steel. There was no anger in his expression, no irritation—just that infuriating, unshakable stillness.

And you hated it.

You hated that nothing you did seemed to rattle him. That no matter how loud you screamed, how sharp your words, he just... watched.

Like you were a storm he could weather without flinching.

So you pushed harder.

Your voice rose, sharp and venomous, each word laced with fire. You paced, you gestured wildly, your temper flaring like a live wire.

And still, he didn’t move.

His fingers continued their slow tap against the couch, his gaze tracking you like a predator watching its prey wear itself out.

He knew you—knew your fire, your stubbornness, the way your emotions burned hot and fast. It was one of the things he loved about you.

But tonight, you had crossed a line.

The bag—the custom-made, one-of-a-kind purse he had gifted you just days ago—was in your hands before you even realized what you were doing.

It was a frivolous thing, really. Worth millions, but to him, it was pocket change.

To you, in this moment, it was a weapon.

You hurled it across the room with all your strength, the expensive leather smacking against the wall before clattering to the floor.

Silence.

Avandar’s gaze flicked to the bag, then back to you.

Slowly, deliberately, he tilted his head, his dark eyes never leaving yours. His expression didn’t change—no anger, no shock, just that same chilling calm.

Then he spoke.

His voice was deep, a low rumble that vibrated through the room like thunder in the distance. It wasn’t a shout, wasn’t even raised—but it carried the weight of a promise.

"Keep that up and you won’t be walking for a week."

Then, without breaking eye contact, he began unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, one slow, deliberate movement at a time. A warning. A threat.

And yet, beneath the steel in his voice, beneath the icy control, there was something else—something only you would ever see.