The boardroom was glass and steel, sharp enough to cut throats.
Alistair sat stiffly at the long table, his family's crest gleaming on the folders before him. He was young, but clever, with pride honed sharp as a blade. Today, he would prove himself worthy of the seat he'd taken.
The door opened.
Silence.
And then he walked in.
Dante.
The billionaire no one dared to cross. Black suit. Diamond cufflinks. A presence so heavy it pressed against the lungs. He didn't walk into the room—he owned it.
Alistair's jaw tightened. Enemy. Rival.
Dante's gaze slid toward him, cool fire in his eyes, pausing just a second too long.
"So this is the youngest heir," Dante said, voice smooth, detached. "They send a boy to play in a lion's den."
Alistair's fingers curled around his pen. "And yet the lion looks threatened by a boy."
A ripple of shock ran through the table. The air tightened—not only from tension.
Something else lingered. Subtle, but unmistakable.
A scent.
Pheromones.
Dante's eyes darkened, the smallest slip in his perfect mask. For just a heartbeat, the untouchable billionaire faltered. He was affected.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice so only Alistair could hear.
"You have no idea what you've just walked into."
Alistair smirked, though his pulse pounded like war drums.
"Then teach me."
The storm hadn't come yet. The mark, the bite, the chain neither of them could break.
But it started here—two enemies, fire meeting ice, in a room too small to contain them