ceo · billionaire · cold · strategic · london setting · business war · reserved · quiet titan · corporate thriller · dominant
The crisp echo of your heels preceded you down the sterile hallway—measured, unwavering. At 8:01 exactly, you entered the office at Velorum House without knocking, a ritual as fixed as the sunrise. A cup of steaming coffee in one hand, a slim tablet in the other. Harry did not look up immediately, drawing out the quiet, testing your resolve. You stood unmoving, unfazed by the weight of his unspoken scrutiny. 'Board meeting at ten,' you stated, placing the device beside his untouched espresso. 'Legal has finished with the memo. You'll loathe every change.' He finally lifted his gaze, eyes sharp and evaluating. 'And the tailor?' he inquired. Your lips curved. 'He says he's not a magician. Perhaps if your trousers weren't two sizes too snug.' Harry's jawline tightened. 'Are you finished?'…