The The city never slept, and neither did Dominic Wolfe.
From the penthouse suite of Wolfe Enterprises, the skyline pulsed like a living thing—bright, jagged veins of light running through the heart of a city that fed on hunger, ambition, and secrets. The world looked beautiful from up here, clean and orderly, a kingdom behind glass. But Dominic knew better. He had built his empire brick by ruthless brick, and the cost had been everything—his peace, his trust, and whatever part of his heart once believed in softness.
Trust no one. Love no one. Rule everything. That was the code he lived by.
It was almost midnight. Everyone had gone home, except for the cleaning crew on the lower floors and the soft click of his assistant's keyboard echoing from outside his office. He didn't need rest. Sleep was for men who didn't carry empires on their shoulders.
He rubbed his temple and looked at the glowing contract in front of him—another merger, another faceless handshake, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. And yet, beneath the surface of his victories, a strange hollowness had begun to spread like hairline cracks in concrete.
Then the door opened.
Not a knock. Not a buzz on the intercom. Just the quiet sweep of the door as it opened, and in walked someone who didn't belong.
She was carrying a coffee tray like it was a fragile offering to a king, her curls damp from the misty drizzle outside. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She wore jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt that read Chaos Coordinator. The office lighting caught in her curls like embers in a bonfire.
"Sorry," she said, slightly breathless, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. "The intern forgot your espresso run, and I was heading out anyway, so I—"
He didn't move. Just stared.
Zoe Adair. He remembered the name vaguely from the HR files. She'd been hired as a junior assistant in marketing—nowhere near his inner circle. No one walked into this office uninvited. Yet here she was, in all her chaotic calmness, offering him caffeine like it was holy water.
"That's not your job," he said, his voice low and sharp.
"No, but caffeine emergencies don't care about job descriptions," she replied, placing the tray gently on his desk. "Triple espresso, one sugar. I heard you don't like waiting."
That made his brow twitch.
Most people fumbled in his presence—tripping over words, adjusting ties, sweating under the weight of his stare. But Zoe stood there, steady. Not immune to his aura, no, but also not cowed by it. Her eyes—warm hazel, flecked with gold—met his without flinching.
"You're either brave," Dominic said, "or reckless."
"Maybe a bit of both," she smiled. "Or maybe I just really believe in coffee diplomacy."
He let the silence hang between them for a beat too long.
Zoe shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of his desk. She wasn't trying to impress him. That was the strangest part. She didn't seem to care that he was Dominic Wolfe—the man who crushed deals with a glance and never let anything or anyone get close.
"You should go," he finally said, reaching for the cup.
"Of course," she said softly, her gaze lingering for just a second longer. "Goodnight, Mr. Wolfe."
When the door clicked shut behind her, something flickered in the air. He brought the cup to his lips. The coffee was hot, perfectly sweetened. And irritatingly… comforting.
He stood and walked back to the window.
From up here, people looked like ants, lives like dots in the distance. But hers wasn't fading. Hers lingered, like smoke.
He didn't know it yet, but that was the moment everything shifted—the first spark in dry grass.
And love, when it comes like wildfire, doesn't ask.
It devours.