The lectures finally ended, and Andrea trudged home, clutching her bag — minus her sketchbook. Where is it…? she thought fleetingly, but she pushed the thought away. Room 143. He had it. That thought made her chest tighten.
But nothing could have prepared her for what awaited.
As she turned into her street, her breath caught. Ten luxury cars were parked along the alley leading to her house, sleek and intimidating, their polished surfaces gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Her heart pounded. What on earth…?
She quickened her pace, weaving through the small crowd gathered near her gate. Faces blurred in confusion and curiosity, whispering to one another. And then, she saw him.
Andrea pushed open the door, still clutching her bag tightly, her mind racing. The luxurious cars, the crowd outside had left her breathless.
Inside, the scene stunned her further. The CEO was seated in the living room, casually conversing with her parents and grandmother. The way he leaned back, calm and composed, was almost infuriating.
Her parents looked uneasy, trying to maintain politeness. The air felt tense, heavy, and unfamiliar.
Andrea stepped into the house, her legs trembling. Her eyes immediately fell on him — the CEO — sitting there with that smug, triumphant smirk, like he had already won a game she didn't even know she was playing.
Her gaze shifted and froze on her sketchbook, held firmly in the hands of his secretary. That's mine… I have to get it back! she thought, heart pounding.
Before she could move, her father, Mr. Hayes, stepped forward sharply and pulled her back toward her room.
The entire family was went there — her mother, grandmother, all tense, all worried.
"Why is he here? What business does he have with you, Father?" Andrea demanded, voice shaking with anger and fear.
Her father's face darkened with fury. "You have to leave this house with him," he said, eyes narrowing at her.
Andrea's world seemed to shatter. Her heart twisted painfully as she looked at her father's eyes. They were red-rimmed, and she couldn't tell whether it was anger or sorrow burning inside them. Her mother and grandmother were silently sobbing, shoulders trembling, faces pale.
I will not leave with a scumbag like him, she thought fiercely. He's rude, thinks he's some untouchable big-shot.
Her father's voice rose in anger. "You have to leave! It's all because of you! I taught you wrong! You've become so disrespectful! You only have to say one sorry!"
"I am not leaving!" Andrea shouted, defiance blazing even through the tears.
Her father's voice dropped, low and shivering, but heavy with warning. "If you do not go with him, our whole family will be ruined. Everything — we'll be on the streets."
Fear and desperation finally broke her resolve. She ran back into the hall, tears streaming down her cheeks, and sank to her knees before him. "I'm… I'm sorry! Please… I apologize," she sobbed, voice shaking with desperation.
The CEO's gaze cut her down mercilessly. "Time is over, idiot. Your penniless sorry is of no use."
Mr.Hayes looked at his wife and gave a quiet nod. "Pack Andrea's things," he murmured.
Andrea remained on the floor, sobbing, unable to move, as her belongings were gathered. One hour passed like a nightmare — her cries echoed through the house, each sob shaking her fragile frame.
Finally, the packing was done. She was guided into the car, still trembling. As the engine roared to life and the car started moving, she shouted, tears blurring her vision:
"Stop it!"
And with that, the car sped away, carrying her into an unknown fate — under the control of the man she hated, and with a family left trembling behind
"Stop it!" Andrea shouted, her voice cracking as the engine roared. "It's mine! Don't you dare touch it!"
The CEO's lips curved into a slow, smug smile, clearly enjoying her outburst. "Now it's mine."
Andrea froze as he reached for her hands — and then suddenly, her wrists were cuffed to the car door. Shock and panic surged through her. Handcuffs? she thought, struggling futilely.
He flipped through the pages of her sketchbook, eyes scanning every design meticulously, while Andrea continued shouting, full of indignation:
"You idiot! Don't you dare touch my things! What do you think of yourself? You have money and power, so you can do anything? You think because you're handsome you can just… touch a girl's things?"
The CEO's expression didn't falter. In fact, his charming confidence radiated even more. He leaned slightly closer, cutting her words smoothly:
"So… you think I'm handsome? Thank you… idiot."
Andrea's cheeks flamed crimson, embarrassment washing over her for a brief moment. "I… I'm not an idiot!" she barked, recovering instantly, puffing herself up with indignation.
He set the sketchbook aside and pulled out his phone, scrolling through updates casually, leaving Andrea fuming.
"Talking to a bull is of no use," she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms, puffed up in defiance.
The rest of the ride passed in tense silence. Andrea's chest heaved slightly; her eyes were dry but red from the tears she had shed earlier.
Finally, as the car neared the villa, he adjusted his clothes carefully, straightening his posture. "For some things, we'll be staying here for a week," he said smoothly, his tone calm, almost teasing.
Sleepy, exhausted, and still wary, Andrea simply nodded. Her eyelids drooped as the city lights flashed past.
The car finally stopped, revealing a massive villa she had no idea existed in her city. The golden lights spilled across the facade, illuminating the grandeur in a way that made her eyes widen.
He opened the door and, without a word, pulled her out. Her feet barely touched the ground before they stepped inside.
Inside, the living room was alive with activity — his mother, elegantly poised, sat on the sofa, surrounded by friends, laughing and playing cards. The opulence of the villa struck Andrea dumb; every detail, every decoration, screamed wealth and power.
Andrea's heartbeat quickened. She had no idea this place existed in her city. And now… she was here.
Andrea's knees still trembled as she stepped further into the villa. Her hands were cuffed to the door of the car, still warm from the previous struggle, but now the vastness of the place stole her attention. Every corner gleamed with marble, gold accents, and crystal chandeliers that reflected the light like stars.
Her eyes darted around nervously, taking in the scene. On the central sofa, a woman with striking elegance sat laughing with a group of friends, playing cards and sipping champagne. The CEO's mother. She was impeccably dressed, composed, yet the kind of presence that demanded respect — almost like a queen surveying her court.
The CEO's gaze shifted to her, a hint of amusement flickering across his face as Andrea's own eyes widened in awe and fear.
"Mom, Andrea," he said simply, gesturing toward her with a tilt of his head. "She's… our guest for the week."
The woman's gaze swept over Andrea, sharp and assessing. For a moment, Andrea felt exposed, as though her thoughts were laid bare under the weight of that stare.
"Ah, so you are the one causing my son all this trouble," the woman said, her voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable edge. "Welcome to our home. Make yourself comfortable."
Andrea swallowed hard, cheeks flushing, unsure whether to bow politely or stand defiant. She chose to remain standing, arms wrapped around herself, trying to appear composed despite her racing heartbeat.
The CEO smirked subtly at her stance, clearly enjoying the sight of her discomfort. Andrea shot him a glare, but he only raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall, hands in pockets.
Around the room, the women continued their game, glances occasionally flicking toward Andrea, murmurs of curiosity floating through the air. She realized quickly that she was being sized up, judged, and tested — and the power dynamics in this house were completely different from anything she had ever known.
Andrea's throat felt dry. She had to stay strong, to not let them see her fear. But every glance, every word, every subtle smirk from the CEO made it harder to maintain her composure.
One thing was clear: she was in a place where she had no control
The murmurs of the women playing cards didn't escape the CEO's sharp ears. Without hesitation, he turned his gaze toward Andrea. "We'll be back at dinner time," he said, his voice calm but commanding.
His mother barely looked up from her game. "Do what you want," she said lazily, completely absorbed in her cards.
The CEO didn't flinch. "Arrange a meeting at 7 PM," he ordered his secretary. The clock had just struck 5 PM.
"Follow me," he said curtly to Andrea.
The car drove smoothly through the city streets until they arrived in front of a row of high-end brand stores.
"You need some nice clothes to be with me," he stated casually.
Andrea's blood boiled. She felt outraged. Judged. Controlled. Standards imposed by someone else. She hated it.
Inside the lavish shop, every item screamed luxury and excess. The CEO directed the owner to personally give Andrea a complete makeover — something that would "embody her most."
Andrea followed reluctantly, trying on countless dresses, each one more expensive than the last. Still, nothing seemed to satisfy the CEO.
As the owner hurried to fetch more pieces, Andrea wandered through the racks. Her eyes landed on a dress that spoke to her taste — simple yet elegant, something she could claim as her own.
"I'll try this," she said, lifting it from the rack.
The owner frowned. "It won't fit your body curves," she said, her tone biased, clearly partial to the rich and famous.
"Do you think you know my body better than I do?" Andrea shot back, her voice sharp with defiance.
From across the room, the CEO observed the chaos. He didn't flinch. Calmly, he pulled out his phone, pretending to scroll through messages, though his eyes never left her.
Andrea disappeared into the fitting room, quickly trying on the dress. When she emerged, the CEO's gaze lingered for a few moments longer than usual, silently processing her beauty, the dress, and the confidence radiating from her.
The confident smile on her face sparked something dangerous in him — a sense that she was a poison he could not handle carelessly.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice cold and controlled: "Pack it."
Andrea's smile dropped. She bit her lip, but silently obeyed, gathering the dresses she had chosen with a heavy heart, her defiance simmering beneath the surface.
The bill slid into Andrea's hands, and her eyes widened so hard she nearly went cross-eyed.
The number printed there?
It surpassed her father's entire factory's annual turnover.
She felt her soul leave her body.
Meanwhile the CEO's secretary paid it like he was buying candy from a street vendor.
They walked out, bags in hand. Andrea climbed into the front seat of the car, still dazed by the amount of zeroes she had just witnessed. The CEO and his secretary sat behind her, already discussing something serious and business-like. Both were absorbed in files and numbers as though nothing else existed.
Andrea turned toward the window. Outside, the city lights shimmered—gold, blue, pink. They blurred together like someone had dipped a paintbrush in neon and dragged it across the night.
For a moment, her chest tightened.
She missed home.
Her mother's soft yelling.
Her father's stern but warm presence.
Her friends' laughter.
Just then, her phone rang.
She jumped—her brother's ringtone.
But before she could even move, the CEO pulled the phone from his pocket. He'd taken it from her back at the house.
He didn't answer.
He simply switched it off.
"It's my brother," Andrea said, voice cracking. "He's overseas… let me talk to him."
The CEO didn't spare her a single glance.
He continued reading through the documents, his face calm, cold, uninterested.
Her hands curled into trembling fists.
She wanted to scream at him.
But the weight of the day had crushed the fight out of her.
Soon, the car stopped in front of a towering skyscraper touching the clouds.
The headquarters of his empire.
A name glowed on the glass facade:
"AURELIAN LUXE PRIVATE LIMITED"
(design, jewellery, fashion — the elite world he owned)
The automatic doors opened, and Andrea followed them inside. Workers stopped what they were doing and bowed—deep, respectful, terrified bows.
The air felt heavy with authority.
His aura was suffocating.
They walked into a massive meeting floor. The CEO paused and turned toward her.
"Wait in my cabin."
His secretary guided her there.
Andrea quietly asked, "My… phone?"
As expected, no response.
He simply handed her a tablet.
"You can watch YouTube or something to pass time," he said flatly and left.
The door clicked shut.
For a few minutes she tried to distract herself on the tab, but her mind was restless.
Then the hallway whispers began.
"Who is that girl?"
"Why is she with Sir?"
"Did he buy her?"
"She doesn't even look rich…"
"Poor thing, doesn't fit here."
Their words seeped through the cabin walls like poison.
Her throat tightened.
Tears pricked her eyes.
She put the tab aside and forced herself to stand.
She wandered through the room, trying to calm herself.
The cabin was surprisingly warm and elegant, smelling of lavender. On the shelves she found:
A photo of him as a boy—messy hair, sharp eyes even then Certificates Awards A magazine cover featuring him
It felt unreal seeing the softer side of the monster she had just clashed with.
After a while the boredom crept back. She found paper and a pencil on the side table. Her instincts took over.
She started sketching.
Line after line, curve after curve… her mind quieted.
The world faded.
For the first time that day, she could breathe.
She didn't even hear the footsteps.
Didn't hear the door open.
Didn't sense the shift in the room's air.
Only when the lights dimmed slightly did she feel the presence behind her—
a tall, dark silhouette standing inches away, watching her with unreadable eyes.
Andrea froze.
Her pencil slipped from her fingers.
And when she finally turned—
He was already staring at her sketch.
Andrea whipped around, heart thudding against her ribs.
He stood behind her—lean frame outlined by the soft cabin lights, eyes fixed on the sketch in her hands. One hand in his pocket. The other casually resting on the table beside her, cornering her without even trying.
Her throat went dry.
"What… what are you doing here?" she stammered.
He didn't answer.
He lifted the sheet instead, gaze sharp, calculating.
The room felt colder as seconds stretched.
It was a design—delicate, clean, elegant.
A necklace with interlocking pieces that formed a soft floral shape, but edged with bold metallic cuts.
He traced the lines with his gaze.
"Where did you learn to draw this?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.
"I— I didn't learn," Andrea whispered. "I just draw."
He raised one eyebrow. "Just draw?"
His tone carried that familiar arrogance, as if her talent personally offended him.
Andrea stepped back, bumping into the couch. "Give it back."
He ignored the command entirely.
Instead, he studied the drawing even deeper, eyes darkening with something intense.
Interest.
Suspicion.
Maybe even fascination.
"You've been hiding this," he said quietly.
Andrea flinched.
He wasn't wrong.
Designing was the dream she never shared. Not with her family. Not with her friends.
Especially not with him.
"You're wasting your time on medicine," he muttered.
She felt her brows knit. "That's none of your business."
He looked up finally—sharp, cutting gaze meeting hers.
"It became my business the moment you stood in my way."
The air tightened.
He was too close.
Too tall.
Too everything.
Andrea snatched the sketch back, hugging it to her chest like a shield.
"Don't act like you know me," she snapped. "You don't get to decide my life."
His jaw twitched.
The man hated being talked back to—she had learned this well.
"And you don't get to speak to me like you did in that event," he replied, voice low. "You're lucky I let you off lightly."
"LIGHTLY?"
Andrea laughed bitterly.
"You kidnapped me, took my phone, insulted me, ruined my family's peace, and dragged me here like luggage—"
He cut her off sharply.
"Your father made the deal. Not me."
Her voice broke.
He didn't deny it.
His silence made her blood boil.
He turned away suddenly, running a hand through his hair in irritation.
This girl—this tiny, stubborn girl—had managed to annoy him more in 48 hours than his entire underworld empire had in years.
"Sit down," he ordered.
"No."
His head snapped toward her.
"Sit. Down."
"No!" she yelled again, louder this time.
Her courage shocked even herself.
His steps were slow as he approached her, and Andrea instinctively backed up until she hit the edge of the desk.
His shadow fell over her.
"You really don't know when to apologize," he murmured, a cold smirk playing on his lips.
"I'll never apologize to you," she spat. "NEVER."
Something flickered in his eyes—dark, dangerous amusement.
"Careful," he said softly. "I enjoy breaking stubborn things."
Her breath caught.
For a moment, everything stilled.
A knock shattered the tension.
The door cracked open.
His secretary bowed. "Sir, the board is waiting."
The CEO didn't look away from Andrea.
Not even for a second.
He spoke without breaking eye contact:
"Delay the meeting."
The secretary blinked. "But sir—this is the project review—"
"I said delay."
The secretary disappeared instantly.
Andrea felt her hands tremble.
He leaned forward, close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek.
"You draw like someone who belongs in my world," he said quietly. "But your attitude…"
He tilted her chin up with one finger.
"…your attitude needs work."
She jerked her face away, heart racing. "Don't touch me."
He straightened, amused.
"Get used to it."
He watched her, the fire in her eyes.
She's trouble.
A lot of it.
But the type that stirred something in him… something dangerous, something thrilling.
No one had ever talked back to him.
No one had dared.
But she had.
She still did.
And for the first time in years—
He wasn't bored.
He walked to the door and leaved for the meeting.
The moment he left, the room suddenly felt too big.
Too quiet.
Too heavy with his scent — cold metal, faint lavender, and danger.
Andrea started shadow fighting ,"I hate him…" she whispered.
But her voice trembled, and she didn't know if it was fear, exhaustion… or this strange tension he kept pulling her into like a whirlpool.
He entered the meeting room late.
Everyone stood immediately.
No one breathed.
No one blinked.
But his mind wasn't in the project discussion.
Not even for a second.
It was replaying her voice in his ear:
"I'll never apologize to you!"
Her fire.
Her stubbornness.
Her tears.
Her trembling fists.
His jaw flexed.
Why did this girl get under his skin like this?
He had seen fear.
Begging.
Respect.
Desperation.
But never defiance wrapped in trembling innocence.
In the mind of thoughts ,the meeting ended.
As the meeting ended ,he came back in the cabin.
"You want freedom?"
Tap.
Tap.
Tap — he hit the her head lightly.
"Earn it."
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
He locked eyes with her.
"You're going to design for me."
Her heart stopped.
"I—I didn't agree to—"
"You don't have a choice."
He smirked.
"You wanted a dream? Congratulations. You just got one. With chains."
Her chest tightened.
He handed her the sketchbook — almost gently.
A contrast so sharp it was almost cruel.
"Starting tonight," he said.
"You work for me."
Andrea felt heat rush to her face — part anger, part fear, part something she couldn't name.
"Why me?" she whispered.