The conference room buzzed with discussion, executives exchanging sharp glances as they dissected the latest prototype designs. Simon sat at the head of the long, sleek table, exuding authority without effort, his fingers laced together, expression unreadable.
"Stella, go ahead," Earlene prompted.
Stella stood, sliding a pendrive into the monitor before beginning her presentation. The room dimmed slightly as the screen illuminated with technical schematics, her voice steady, confident.
Simon barely registered a word.
His focus was on her.
She wore a loose beige sweater, soft and unassuming—but that damned skirt. Short, tight, hugging her curves in ways that made his thoughts stray into dangerous territory. Her legs, bare and smooth under the conference room lights, had his fingers twitching beneath the table.
This is torture.
Every cell in his body screamed at him to move, to drag her out of this room, to stake his claim. His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists beneath the table as an unfamiliar, burning frustration built inside him.
Stella continued her presentation, her voice steady, her expression composed—but she felt his gaze like a slow burn against her skin. Simon wasn't paying attention to the data on the screen. His focus was elsewhere, dark eyes locked onto her legs, devouring every inch of exposed skin.
Her grip on the remote tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing through her. Of course. He wasn't even trying to be discreet.
Keeping her tone professional, she casually lowered the project file onto her lap, blocking his view. Then, just for him, she tilted her head slightly and smirked.
Simon's jaw twitched.
The atmosphere in the room remained neutral—business as usual—but beneath the table, his fingers clenched into a fist. He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, but Stella could see the shift in his expression.
It wasn't just frustration.
It was hunger.
A slow, dangerous game had just begun.
After wrapping up her presentation, Stella returned to her seat, keeping her expression unreadable. Simon stood, flipping through the files with calculated ease, offering input where necessary. His voice was steady, authoritative—but his movements were precise, deliberate.
Then, as he reached her file, he lingered.
He pointed out a minor detail, scribbled something quickly, and shut the folder before anyone else could notice. But she noticed.
Her eyes followed his hand, suspicion curling in her stomach.
When the meeting adjourned, Stella waited until most had left before opening the folder. A small note slipped onto her lap.
"Meet me in my office in 10."
Her fingers crumpled the paper as she clenched her fist. Of course.
Ten minutes later, she found herself outside his office, exhaling sharply before knocking. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside—only for the air to be knocked from her lungs as she was lifted.
A sharp gasp escaped her as Simon pinned her against the wall, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
His grip was firm—too firm—his hands settled dangerously on her thighs, fingers pressing into her skin.
His head tilted slightly, eyes dark, lips curled into something between a smirk and something worse.
"Fuck," Simon murmured, voice rough with something raw. His thumb traced small circles against her thigh. "They're so soft." he thought.
Stella's breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs. Heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, but her anger burned hotter.
Her hands flew to his chest, shoving hard. "Put me down."
Simon only smirked. "Make me."
In a flash, Stella thrust her hips forward, breaking his hold just enough to unlock her legs. Without hesitation, she struck—a sharp punch aimed straight at his neck.
Simon barely moved. Just one step back. That was it.
Her frustration flared, and in her rage, she didn't realize she was rolling up her sleeves, preparing for another blow. This time, she swung harder, but Simon anticipated it. He tilted his body, dodging effortlessly before slamming her back against the wall, his grip tightening.
But then, his eyes flickered downward.
A faint bruising marked her forearm.
Something inside him snapped.
His gaze darkened, his entire posture shifting from playful provocation to something much more dangerous.
"Who hurt you?" His voice was ice, laced with lethal intent.
Stella glared at him, her breath coming in short, furious bursts. "None of your damn business," she growled, struggling against his hold.
Simon's jaw clenched. "Was it your husband?" His tone was low, dangerous.
A furious growl ripped from Stella's throat as she lashed out, kicking him hard enough to make him let go.
"I box, dumbass. Bruises are part of the deal," she snapped, shoving him away with all her strength.
Simon let her go—but the intensity in his stare never wavered.
Without another word, Stella stormed out, her office hours over for the day.
The moment she left, Simon turned to his desk, flicking on the security feed.
He fast-forwarded to the entrance cameras, watching as she exited the building.
She didn't drive today.
Someone was waiting for her.
A man stepped forward, and Stella handed him her bag, walking beside him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Simon's body went rigid.
His fists curled.
Even with just a partial view, he knew.
Her husband.
And just like that—everything in his vision turned red.
Meanwhile, Rocco leaned against his car, waiting, when he spotted Stella storming out of the building. One look at her face, and he knew—Simon.
She didn't say a word as she reached him, shoving her bag into his arms before rolling up her sleeves, tension crackling off her in waves. Without hesitation, she climbed into the passenger seat.
Rocco slid behind the wheel and pulled onto the road, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
"I'm going to kill him one day," Stella muttered, her voice low and venomous.
Rocco sighed. "Why don't you just quit?"
Stella exhaled sharply, glaring at the passing buildings. "I can't. At least not yet. I have to work at Blackstone for a year."
Her nails tapped against her thigh in irritation.
"Nine more months," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Just nine more months, and I'm out."