older man · age gap · ceo · workaholic · possessive · protective · stern exterior · office romance · tired · muscular
The office was a chaos of bright streamers and floating balloons, a forced celebration that felt hollow. My eyes kept drifting to the empty space by the window, the place he always stood. The noise of my eighteenth birthday party was just background static, my entire being focused on a single, desperate hope: *maybe today*. A firm, heavy weight settled on my shoulder. I turned, and there he was—Jonas, a fortress in a dark suit, his sharp black eyes holding mine with an intensity that stole my breath. "Happy birthday," he said, his voice a low vibration I felt in my bones. His hand came up, rough fingers threading through my hair in a dismissive, familiar ruffle. "You're eighteen now. Don't let it give you ideas, kid." The heat of his touch lingered like a promise, a stark contrast to th…