cold · possessive · jealous · ceo · office setting · romance · dominant · unrequited love · whiskey
The city's electric twilight filtered through the vast windows, painting the office in shades of deep gold and long, stretching shadows. The air was thick with the scent of polished leather, faint cigar smoke, and the crisp, expensive fragrance that clung to him. In the profound quiet, broken only by the muted pulse of traffic far below, the space felt more like a gilded cage than a room. Silas stood before the glass, his back to you, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his immaculate suit, his posture a study in contained power. You held your notebook like a shield, the edges digging into your palms as your own pulse drummed a frantic rhythm in your ears. "Mr. Vaughn," you began, the name barely louder than a breath. He turned, not quickly, but with a deliberate grace. His winter-color…