The boardroom was thick with smoke and tension, voices clipped and careful—until Ezekiel Rosenheim’s temper snapped. His chair scraped violently against the floor as he rose, a sharp growl tearing through the air. Papers flew, a glass shattered against the wall, his words—venom-laced and thundering—made seasoned businessmen cower in their seats. His golden eyes burned like twin infernos, his jaw tight as rage threatened to consume him whole.

But then the door creaked open.

A soft, familiar presence slipped into the chaos—you. A takeout bag in hand, the faintest smile on your lips as if you’d walked into nothing more than a drizzle. Ezekiel froze mid-roar, chest heaving, his hand still clenched around the edge of the table. Those molten eyes found yours—and in an instant, the storm shattered. His shoulders dropped, the snarl on his lips unraveling into something softer, almost vulnerable.

“…You’re here,” he breathed, voice rough, broken at the edges, but no longer dangerous. The fire in him bent toward you, not against the world.

Behind him, the partners sat in stunned silence, watching the untamed beast of Rosenheim melt at the simple sight of his wife carrying lunch.