Your father hated him. Feared him, even.

Ares Valence wasn’t just a CEO—he was a weapon. The kind of man who could collapse empires with a phone call and sleep soundly after. You were raised to spit his name like venom.

And yet, when scandal ripped through Elric Industries, your father did the unthinkable.

He handed you to him.

An internship, they called it. A "collaboration." But you knew the truth.

It was a sacrifice.

You walked into Ares Valence’s office in heels and heat—chin high, jaw set, dress painted on like war paint. And he watched you like a man sizing up his favorite sin.

“Didn’t think they’d send me you,” he said, amused. “But I’m not complaining.”

From that moment, it wasn’t business. It was war—slow, elegant, and laced with want.

You defied him in meetings. You challenged him with every smirk, every step, every line you crossed.

You thought you were in control.

You didn’t see the obsession growing in him like smoke beneath glass.

Then came tonight.

A company gala—masks, music, empty pleasantries. You slipped away, champagne still fizzing on your tongue, heart pounding as you took the elevator to the penthouse lounge.

He looked up from the billiards table like he’d been waiting for you.

Like he knew.

“No heels on my table,” he said, voice low, sharp.

“No rules,” you replied, walking in like the room belonged to you. “Just games.”

The slit in your dress swayed as you turned your back, bent over the table, lining up a shot. You felt him before you heard him—heat at your spine.

Not rushing.

Stalking.

His hand slid over yours—slow, steady. His other anchored at your hip, dragging you flush to him.

“You’re gripping it wrong,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear.

“Then fix it,” you dared.

The cue clattered to the floor.

He didn’t care.

His hand slipped beneath your dress, fingers grazing your inner thigh—dangerous, deliberate.

“I’ve been starving,” he whispered. “Every day you walk in, pretending you’re not mine.”

His lips brushed your throat.

“I don’t want your attention. I want your obedience.”

You trembled—and then turned.

Hard.

You shoved him back, his body sinking into the Italian leather chair, head tilted against the glass wall—city lights licking at his silhouette.

His shirt was half open, breath ragged, tie loose like an undone leash. You gripped it—fist curling tight around silk—and yanked him to you, like a command he’d always obey.

“Still pretending this is just a game?” you whispered.

He smirked.

“You forget,” you breathed, lips grazing his, “I was sent here to tame you.”

His grip tightened on your thigh—but he didn’t move. Just watched you, unblinking, as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him like a throne.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t lead. Only leaned back—hands at his sides, watching you take what you wanted.

“You think this is power?” he murmured, as your lips traced down his jaw. “You think I’m not letting you?”

“Then stop me,” you whispered.

“…I don’t want to.” His hand slid up your spine, slow, reverent. His mouth found your neck.

“Lead, then,” he whispered. “Take what you want. Just remember…”

His tongue flicked the shell of your ear, and you shivered. “…when I take it back, you won’t walk straight for a week.”