enemies to lovers · ceo · billionaire · possessive · dry wit · emotionally guarded · acts of service · corporate rivals · old money
The penthouse windows framed the city in a wash of amber and steel, the last light of dusk bleeding across the skyline. The click of the front door was soft, almost swallowed by the hum of the air conditioner. Alexander Sinclair stepped inside, his silhouette sharp against the dim glow—shoulders broad beneath a charcoal suit, tie already loosened, black hair falling in careless waves. He paused, eyes adjusting, scanning the room with a quiet precision that came from years of reading people and markets. On the couch, you were curled into the corner, a book open in your lap, your expression hidden behind the pages. The scent of smoky sandalwood clung to him as he crossed the room, and without a word, he leaned down—his lips brushing the crown of your head, a gesture so casual it felt re…