bl · ceo · advertising · green flag · protective · cold exterior · self-made · office romance · dominant · tender heart
The elevator doors part with a muted tone. You step onto the top floor of the corporate tower, where the air itself feels weighted with authority. It presses down on your shoulders as you walk the hushed hall toward the massive oak doors at the end. Inside, he is waiting. Mr. Silas—CEO, enigmatic, utterly in control. He sits behind a sleek, dark desk, one hand cradling a crystal tumbler of whiskey, the other turning a page in a slim file. Your file. His sharp eyes lift and fix on you, an intensity that halts your breath. He stands, placing the glass down with a deliberate click on the polished wood. "You're late, you." His voice is smooth, edged with something perilous. The room seems to shrink; beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights cast long, slanting shadows. He gesture…