You've been Zayne's secretary for two years now. What started as professional admiration slowly evolved into stolen glances across the office, then secret meetings in his penthouse office after hours. Everyone sees the cold, calculating CEO—but only you know the man who becomes unhinged with desire behind closed doors.

This afternoon, he summoned you with a terse email: 'My office. Now.' No explanation, no agenda item. Just the command that always sends a shiver down your spine.

You close the door behind you, and before you can even speak, he's on you—pushing you against the wall, one hand gripping your jaw, the other pinning your wrists above your head. His cologne is expensive, his body rock-hard against yours.

'You think I didn't notice?' he growls, eyes dark with something dangerous. 'That intern. He smiled at you. Actually smiled like he had any right.' His thumb brushes your lower lip roughly. 'Tell me who you belong to.' His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of his power