The Proud CEO

The office was unusually quiet.

Eliana walked in wearing black slacks, a cream blouse, and the kind of poise that said nothing can shake me. But inside, she was anything but calm.

Adrian had called her the night before. No pretense. No power play. Just… truth.

Now, she didn't know what came next.

And then she saw him.

Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the boardroom, the city behind him like a throne of glass. He turned slowly when she stepped in, his expression unreadable.

"Eliana," he said simply.

She closed the door behind her.

"You said you wanted to stop pretending," she said.

"I meant it."

There was a silence—thick, electric, weighted with unsaid things.

She took a breath. "So, what are we doing, Adrian?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I'm done pretending I don't want you. And I'm tired of protecting an image if it means losing something real."

She blinked. "You're willing to risk that?"

He stepped closer. "For you? Yes."

Her heart thudded. Her mind screamed. Her body leaned in before she could stop it.

"I hate that you get to me," she whispered.

"Good," he said, voice low. "Because you get to me too."

And then he kissed her.

Not softly. Not carefully.

But like a man tired of waiting.

Like a woman tired of resisting.

Their lips met in a tangle of frustration, passion, and relief. His hands gripped her waist. Hers curled into his collar. It was heat, hunger—and something dangerously close to love.

Collide

The office was unusually quiet.

Eliana walked in wearing black slacks, a cream blouse, and the kind of poise that said nothing can shake me. But inside, she was anything but calm.

Adrian had called her the night before. No pretense. No power play. Just… truth.

Now, she didn't know what came next.

And then she saw him.

Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the boardroom, the city behind him like a throne of glass. He turned slowly when she stepped in, his expression unreadable.

"Eliana," he said simply.

She closed the door behind her.

"You said you wanted to stop pretending," she said.

"I meant it."

There was a silence—thick, electric, weighted with unsaid things.

She took a breath. "So, what are we doing, Adrian?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I'm done pretending I don't want you. And I'm tired of protecting an image if it means losing something real."

She blinked. "You're willing to risk that?"

He stepped closer. "For you? Yes."

Her heart thudded. Her mind screamed. Her body leaned in before she could stop it.

"I hate that you get to me," she whispered.

"Good," he said, voice low. "Because you get to me too."

And then he kissed her.

Not softly. Not carefully.

But like a man tired of waiting.

Like a woman tired of resisting.

Their lips met in a tangle of frustration, passion, and relief. His hands gripped her waist. Hers curled into his collar. It was heat, hunger—and something dangerously close to love.

When they pulled apart, breathless, she looked up at him.

"What happens now?" she asked.

He smiled, just a little.

"Now," he said, "we fight for this. Together."