Conrad Adelson ruled over two of those pillars—Fashion and Fine Jewelry. His name echoed in global boardrooms and couture houses alike, feared and revered in equal measure. His elder brother, Stevan Adelson, headed the remaining two—Fragrance and Beauty along with Accessories—the more sensorial, seductive side of the empire. Together, the Adelson brothers were a force the industry didn't dare challenge.
Liam stepped out once again and circled the car, opening the door with the same practiced grace.
The car door clicked open with a soft thud, and Conrad Adelson stepped out with the kind of presence that made the world pause.
Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and powerful frame, he looked nothing short of a Greek god—cold, composed, and dangerously magnetic. The early morning light caught in his obsidian eyes, sharp and unreadable, while the crisp air did nothing to soften the chill he carried in his aura.
Without a word, he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and began walking toward the entrance of the building, his polished shoes tapping against the pavement in precise, commanding rhythm. Mr. Liam Brown, ever the perfect assistant, fell into step behind him—formal, silent, and composed.
As they moved forward, the crowd parted instinctively, like the sea making way for a storm. Employees standing near the entrance stepped aside hurriedly, heads bowed in quiet respect—no, fear.
"Good morning, Mr. Adelson," they greeted in hushed tones, but he didn't spare a glance. His expression was carved in stone, as if emotions were luxuries he couldn't afford.
He walked straight through the lobby like he owned not just the building—but the ground it stood on.
Which, technically, he did.
At the sleek turnstile gates, Liam reached forward and swiped his access card. The system beeped in approval, and the slim metallic bars slid aside, making way for both men. They didn't slow. Didn't stop. Just moved with lethal precision.
Inside the building, near the bank of elevators, a cluster of employees were waiting in silence, some holding their breath as the two men approached. Each one stiffened at the sight of their CEO—standing tall, dark, and absolutely unapproachable.
They bowed respectfully, eyes cast down, hoping not to draw his gaze.
Because if there was one thing everyone at Amelia knew, it was this:
Conrad Adelson didn't tolerate mistakes.
One wrong move, one misstep, and you were out—no warnings, no second chances. He ruled with ice, and no one dared test how deep the cold ran.
Still, despite the fear etched across every face, every female employee couldn't help but sneak a glance. Because standing in front of them wasn't just their terrifying CEO—he was also the most devastatingly handsome man they'd ever seen in their lives.
His sharp jawline, the brooding depth in his eyes, the way he carried himself like power lived in his veins—it was impossible not to look.
And he didn't even try.
Without breaking stride, Conrad approached the VIP lift, the one reserved exclusively for him and a select few. The doors slid open with a smooth whisper, and he stepped inside with Liam behind him.
No glances back.
No unnecessary words.
Just silence, steel, and the kind of presence that turned blood cold and hearts reckless.
As the doors closed, every employee exhaled as if they'd been holding their breath all along.
Mr. Liam pressed the button for the 18th floor—the third-to-last floor in the building and the highest level accessible to employees. It was the heart of Amelia Fashion, where innovation lived, where fabrics whispered secrets, and where Conrad Adelson ruled in silence.
As the elevator began its smooth ascent, silence stretched between the two men. Not uncomfortable, but practiced. Formal. As always, Liam kept his gaze ahead, hands folded in front of him, while Conrad stood tall and still—like marble, yet pulsing with quiet authority.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the wide, glass-paneled 18th floor.
Conrad stepped out first.
The moment he did, every head in the fashion department turned. Some subtly, some not. Every employee stood a little straighter, fingers freezing over keyboards, measuring tapes halted mid-air. And in perfect synchrony, they bowed.
"Good morning, Mr. Adelson," came the murmured chorus, respectful and slightly shaken.
Conrad didn't respond verbally. He never did. His acknowledgment came only through a fleeting glance, a side-eye sweep that felt more like evaluation than recognition. As he walked, his sharp gaze moved quietly across the floor, as if he were scanning—not the designs, not the employees—but searching for something. Or someone.
They passed rows of desks, workstations cluttered with fabric swatches, sketchbooks, and steaming cups of coffee that had long gone cold under the weight of deadlines. Then came the more polished stretch: large display boards with pinned concepts, mannequins draped in flowing silhouettes, and racks lined with the latest prototypes.
To his left, through the sleek glass wall, he caught sight of the main design studio—a sprawling, sunlit room where a handful of designers worked in organized chaos. Boards covered in drafts and mood palettes, hands busy with needles, threads, and whispered critiques. Creativity thrived there, but even that energy dipped for a beat when the employees inside realized who was watching.
Conrad's gaze shifted.
To the right, through a frosted door with a silver nameplate, was the office of the head designer. Hers.
It was empty.
A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth—not out of amusement, but something quieter… more dangerous. A glint of anticipation, maybe. Or the satisfaction of catching someone out of place.
Without breaking stride, he turned toward his own office—the one nestled at the very end of the floor, encased in smoky glass and cool shadows. the doors sliding open at his presence. He strode in with his usual commanding silence and lowered himself into the sleek leather chair behind his desk—unbothered, unreadable.
Mr. Liam, who had followed behind him the entire time with the posture of a perfect assistant, closed the door softly behind them. The moment the door clicked shut, the formal mask slipped from his face like a dropped act in a play.
He exhaled dramatically, rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Can't you ever be normal, Conrad? Either you're walking around like your face is carved from a block of ice, or you're smirking like you just watched someone walk into a trap."
Without waiting for a response, Liam pulled out the side chair across from Conrad and flopped down, legs crossed casually. "Seriously, man. Now you're just randomly smirking for no reason. It's actually creepy. If we weren't best friends since we were what—ten?—I would never work under a boss like you."
Conrad didn't even blink at the teasing. Instead, the faintest hint of that devilish smirk curled back onto his lips as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.
"Miss Alice isn't anywhere in the office today," he said, his voice low and smooth, a little too pleased with himself. "That means… she's late. Again."
He arched a brow, voice dipped with mock concern. "How unfortunate."
Liam groaned under his breath, already sensing where this was going.
"Go inform the fashion department," Conrad added coolly, like he wasn't at all invested. "We're having a meeting about the new wedding collection. In five minutes."
Liam stood with a shake of his head, muttering under his breath as he straightened his jacket. "Uffff... you and your obsession with Miss Alice. One day, she's going to drive you crazy, and I'll be right here for it, with popcorn."
As he reached for the door handle, he glanced back at Conrad, who was still wearing that smug, knowing smirk.
Liam sighed. "Yup. Definitely creepy."
And with that, he stepped out, leaving the CEO alone with his thoughts… and a very specific designer on his mind.