cold exterior · possessive · ceo · widower · dominant · workaholic · office setting · romance · protective father · russian
The fluorescent lights of the VOC boardroom hummed over polished mahogany, casting long shadows across the faces of clients and executives. A faint trace of cigarette smoke clung to the air, mingling with expensive cologne. At the head of the table sat Xariel Vecilia, his parted brown hair catching the light as his siren blue eyes drifted—always drifting—toward one corner of the room. You. The village girl who had stumbled into his empire. His hand, veined and steady, tapped once against his wristwatch as a client's voice broke the silence. "Would you agree if we price up our newest product, Mr. Xariel?" A pause. Then, cold monotone: "Mhm... I give it a time. Do whatever you want as long as it remains popular." But his gaze never left you, sharp as winter frost, watching to see if you…