"I'm sorry, sir… I'm sorry… I will never do that again… please…" the man's voice cracked as he kept repeating the same apology, his words tumbling over each other in blind panic, each sentence more broken than the last.
Fiona realized the sound was coming from one of the rooms ahead. The door was slightly open, light spilling into the otherwise quiet hallway. She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress… then, before she could stop herself, before logic could catch up with instinct, she stepped closer and peeked inside.
And her breath caught sharply in her chest.
Inside, a tall man sat on the couch like he owned not just the room but the air inside it. His legs were crossed lazily, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, his posture relaxed in a way only truly powerful people could afford. His presence felt heavy. Commanding. Like even silence itself had to bend and obey him.
His eyes were cold in a way that made it clear he didn't need to raise his voice for people to fear him. His lips held a faint, almost amused smile. The kind that never reached the eyes. The kind that felt dangerous.
He wore a charcoal-dark suit that fit him perfectly, sharp lines hugging broad shoulders, the fabric expensive enough to catch light in soft shadows. Everything about him screamed control. Wealth. Power.
And his face…
Extremely, unfairly gorgeous.
Deep-set dark brown eyes, framed by long lashes and thick brows that gave his gaze a predatory sharpness. His lips were full, shaped almost too perfectly, resting in that same faint, mocking curve. Even sitting, he radiated confidence, the kind built from knowing the world bends slightly when you walk through it.
Below him—
A man was kneeling. Shivering, crying, hands pressed together like he was praying. "I'm sorry, sir… please… I swear I'll never touch your files again… I didn't know… I didn't—"
The suited man tilted his head slightly, watching him the way someone watches an insect they haven't decided to crush yet.
Fiona's heart pounded so loudly she was terrified they would hear it through the walls.
"I don't know… I don't know… I don't like it when someone keeps repeating the same sentence," he said slowly, his voice calm in a way that felt far more frightening than shouting. "It makes me mad. I'm not deaf yet. Though honestly, after hearing your pathetic voice for ten minutes… I might wish I was."
He stood up then, unhurried, adjusting the cuff of his charcoal suit as he looked down at the man kneeling before him like something unpleasant stuck to his shoe.
"Let's end this," he continued casually. "Because I really don't want to hear you speak again." His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, something sharper. "You should have thought before stealing my confidential files."
He flicked two fingers in the air.
As if summoned from shadows, two guards in dark suits and black glasses stepped forward instantly. They grabbed the crying man by both arms and hauled him up. The man sobbed louder, begging, shaking, but the suited man didn't even look at him anymore. It was already finished in his mind.
Fiona's eyes widened, fear crawling cold under her skin.
She stepped back silently, heart hammering, and quickly glanced around. Another door stood open behind her. Without thinking, she slipped inside and pressed her back against the wall, chest rising and falling too fast.
Phew… thank God… she thought, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to calm her breathing.
For one second… two…
Then—
She felt it then, a stare, heavy, direct, burning straight into her skin.
Her eyes snapped open.
"Ah—!" she gasped, jumping back.
He was standing right in front of her.
So close she could see the faint texture of his suit fabric. So tall she had to tilt her head back just to meet his gaze.
"Shhh." His voice was low. Cold but absolute.
Fiona's voice died in her throat instantly.
She stared at him with wide, terrified green eyes, frozen in place. Up close, he looked even more dangerously beautiful. Those deep brown eyes watched her like he was deciding what she was worth. His lashes cast faint shadows over sharp cheekbones. His lips, that cruel almost-smile, twitched faintly as if he found this… interesting.
She swallowed hard.
"What are you doing here…" he said slowly, each word precise, controlled, "on my floor?"
The way he said my made it clear this entire level belonged to him.
Fiona's back pressed harder against the wall. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She had never felt so small. So exposed. So aware of every breath she took.
"I… I came here accidentally… I… I'll leave," Fiona said quickly, the words tripping over each other as panic rushed through her chest. Her fingers curled into the side of her dress as she turned, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze.
She took one step toward the door.
Click.
Her body froze.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, she turned her head.
He was standing right behind her now, one hand resting casually against the door after locking it, his tall frame blocking the only exit. Up close, he was overwhelming. Heat radiated from him, mixed with something darker. Danger. Control. Confidence so absolute it felt like gravity itself.
Fiona had to tilt her chin higher to meet his eyes.
God… he was unfairly, devastatingly attractive.
His charcoal suit stretched perfectly across broad shoulders, the fabric hugging his torso like it was made for him alone. The crisp white shirt beneath contrasted sharply against his slightly sun-warmed skin. A faint, expensive scent, dark, woody, masculine, wrapped around him, subtle but intoxicating.
His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, shadowed faintly like he hadn't bothered shaving perfectly. His lips, full and perfectly shaped, curved in the smallest, most dangerous hint of amusement.
And his eyes were deep brown, colder, darker.
Long lashes softened them just enough to make the contrast lethal, thick brows framing a gaze that looked like it could strip someone apart layer by layer.
"Who told you…" he said, his voice low, cold with anger, "that you could leave?"