Angel's POV
Angel wasn't expecting the message.
Come to my office. Now. — K.
No greeting.
No explanation.
Just a command.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, heart hammering. King could always unsettle her, make her pulse betray her no matter how much she tried to control herself. Years of barely acknowledged existence had trained her to ignore him…until now.
The second message arrived almost instantly.
Don't keep me waiting.
Her stomach twisted. He wasn't joking. He expected her, and the thought of him waiting—her nerves taut with anticipation and dread—made her knees wobble.
She followed the house helper down the dim back hallway leading to his office, palms slick with sweat. The space was dark wood and steel, minimal yet intimidating, built to reflect power.
The door was half-open. He'd been watching, timing her approach perfectly.
She stepped inside.
King sat behind the desk, pen tapping against stacked papers. Sleeves rolled, revealing veins along sculpted forearms. His presence pressed against her, silent but suffocating.
"Close the door," he commanded.
Her fingers trembled as she obeyed. The click sounded louder than it should have, echoing through the otherwise silent office.
Finally, he lifted his gaze. Cold. Piercing. Unforgiving. Every glance stripped away composure.
"Come here."
Her legs moved of their own accord. Inches from his desk, she felt small, vulnerable.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"Um…Lisa?" she whispered.
His jaw tightened. "No."
Her heart skipped.
"It's about you." His eyes dissected her, sharp and precise. "Specifically, a complaint I received."
"A…complaint?"
"Yes." His tone froze the air around her. "Apparently, you have no intention of attending the youth business boot camp I'm sponsoring next month."
"Oh. That."
"Yes." Every word deliberate. He rose, predator-like, circling her. "Lisa said you made it very clear you won't be attending."
"I have an exam that same week. I really can't—"
"That's not a valid reason."
"My exam…for my degree! How is that not—"
He stopped. Too close. Far too close. She could smell the faint trace of cologne mingled with crisp linen.
"You'll attend," he murmured.
"I can't."
"You can. And you will."
"King—"
"Don't defy me."
Her pulse spiked. She hated how right he sounded. Heat pooled low in her stomach, furious and disorienting.
"You're not my subordinate," she whispered. "You can't command me."
"Angel," he said, taking another step closer, "I don't repeat myself. That camp will benefit you. It will open doors. It will…position you correctly. I'm not asking for your convenience—I'm making sure you don't sabotage your own future."
She tilted her head, incredulous. "And who appointed you to decide my future?"
"I did," he replied softly, almost to himself. "The moment you started avoiding opportunities."
"That…sounds controlling."
"It is. Protective. Necessary. And yes—controlling when necessary."
She stared, chest rising too fast. "Why…do you even care?"
For a fraction of a second, his carefully guarded wall cracked. Desire. Frustration. Confusion. Then he looked away. "I don't owe you an explanation."
"But you're acting like I…matter."
His gaze snapped back, unflinching. "You don't."
Even as the words left his mouth, they felt false—both to him and to her.
He brushed her shoulder lightly as he moved past, sending shivers up her spine. Her lips parted instinctively.
"Your attendance is mandatory," he said, still facing the window. "If you skip it…if you defy me… I'll find you myself."
"You can't intimidate me into going," she hissed.
"Yes," he murmured.
He stepped closer. Another step. His eyes devoured her, lingering on her lips, her throat, her pulse.
"I need you at that camp, Angel."
"You…need me?"
"Don't twist my words."
"I'm just asking," she whispered.
Something raw snapped in him.
He leaned close, breath grazing her cheek. "I think about you…more than I should. And I don't like it."
Her world stopped.
He pulled back sharply, frustrated with his own admission. "Get out. Now."
"Did I—"
"Before I do something I shouldn't," he warned. "Boot camp. Two weeks. Be there."
Her legs trembled as she backed toward the door.
"Angel," he said, low and raw, "don't make me chase you."
She fled, careful not to look back.
King's POV
She had her back to him now. The sight should have been satisfying. It wasn't.
Why did she get under his skin like this?
Every part of him wanted to reach for her again, to test boundaries they'd never defined. Yet some part—the part that had learned restraint—kept him in place.
He didn't need to chase her. She would return. She always did.
The storm inside him wasn't just desire. It was a need he couldn't yet name. A compulsion stronger than reason. And if she slipped away now…he'd never forgive himself.
She was his problem.
His obsession.
And, against every rule he'd lived by, he didn't care.
She walked down the hall, unaware that the storm she just survived in that office was nothing compared to what King had planned—and that the first week of boot camp would push them both to the edge in ways neither expected.