Lunch at Vantage & Cole was never relaxing — not really. The cafeteria was filled with sharp minds talking non-stop even during their breaks.
I sat near the window in the cafeteria, trying to disappear into the background for once.
A half-eaten salad sat in front of , forgotten, while my thumbs flew across my phone screen.
: we’re officially official
: like BOYFRIEND girlfriend
: I’m still shaking
Aria: STOP IT. SCREAMING. WHAT DO YOU AN OFFICIAL???
Aria: OMG ISABELLA
Aria: Tell everything. Now.
I bit my lip, smiling like a lovesick idiot. Ivy was upstairs in Adrien’s office, probably asleep in that ridiculous designer blanket he insisted she needed. I didn’t argue. Honestly, I didn’t trust myself not to smuggle her out in my purse.
: He asked last night. Dinner. Surprise. Puppy with a collar tag that said "Can I be your boyfriend?" [crying emoji]
I was mid-eye-roll at myself when soone slid into the seat across from , uninvited.
"Soone’s having a good day," Soone said, nodding at my phone.
I startled slightly and flipped the screen down. "Just chatting with a friend."
Sam from marketing.
He smiled like I’d given him an opening. "Big accounts this week. You handling any of them?"
"Just support," I said, noncommittal. "Back-end logistics."
He leaned in a little. "You know, you should co to more of the Friday mixers. People would get to know you better."
I arched an eyebrow. "That’s the point. They don’t."
He laughed like I was joking.
"I’m just saying," he went on, "you seem way more interesting than half the people who actually show up to those things. If you ever want company—"
"Ms. Miller."
I froze.
That voice.
Every nerve in my body snapped to attention. Sam’s words stalled in his throat as Adrien’s presence cut through the cafeteria like icewater.
Conversations around us slowed. Forks paused halfway to lips. Sam glanced up, suddenly a little less confident.
He stood behind Sam’s chair, tall and commanding even in the casual setting of the cafeteria.
His dark suit looked impossibly sharp next to Sam’s slightly rumpled shirt, and his usual controlled expression was tight, etched with sothing I couldn’t quite decipher at first.
His eyes, though... they were absolutely venomous, "I need you in my office. Now."
Sam looked like soone had dumped a bucket of paint on his white shirt.
I stood slowly, brushing my skirt smooth. "Excuse ," I murmured, and followed Adrien out.
He didn’t speak until we reached his office. The mont the door closed, he turned.
"I didn’t like that."
"Didn’t like what?" I asked, crossing my arms, even though I already knew.
"The way he was looking at you."
"Adrien..." I sighed. ""He was talking about marketing reports and Friday mixers. That’s not illegal."
"I don’t care what he was saying. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you."
I tried to keep my expression calm, but a tiny smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. This possessiveness, this sudden, fierce claim... it was new. And it was thrilling.
"Adrien," I said, softening my tone slightly. "He was harmless. Just trying to network, maybe."
"He was undressing you with his eyes," he said, voice low.
"Okay, maybe a little." I bit back a smile. "You jealous?"
He didn’t answer.
"Possessive, are we?"
I pressed my back against the door as Adrien stepped closer, his presence a slow, delicious invasion of space.
"Very," he murmured again, and I could see it—just a flicker—sothing stormy and confident in his eyes.
I raised a brow, doing my best not to lt. "So now you dragged out of lunch because you didn’t like the way soone looked at ?"
"Exactly." His voice was low, unapologetic.
I tilted my head, pretending to consider. "That’s interesting, Mr. Walton."
His eyes darkened imdiately.
"That’s not the na I want to hear from your mouth right now."
"Oh? What should I call you then?" I said, feigning innocence. "Sir? CEO Supre? Possessive Ice King?"
His jaw ticked.
"Sothing a little more personal,"
"Is that right? And what do you suggest?" I challenged, my heart racing.
He paused as if critically assessing my very existence before deciding to respond. "I think you know the answer, Isabella."
"How about sothing like... ’My Dearest Overlord’?"
"I can think of a few more creative ones." I smirked.
"Be careful, Isabella," he warned, the words a low rumble. "You might give ideas."
"Is that a threat or a promise?" I challenged, my smirk widening.
He stepped in fully now, crowding , his hand slipping around my waist, pulling just enough to make my breath catch.
"You’re playing with fire, Isabella."
I leaned up on my toes just slightly, whispering, "Am I? What are you going to do about it?"
He dipped lower, voice brushing my skin like velvet and threat all in one. "Careful. Or I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to."
I blinked slowly, smiling up at him. "Oh no," I whispered. "I’m shaking."
"Are you?" he murmured, his grip tightening slightly around my waist, pulling flush against him.
My breath hitched again, this ti not in pretend fear but in genuine reaction to the sudden heat radiating from his body.
He lowered his head until his forehead rested against mine, his dark gaze locked onto mine.
"Then maybe I need to remind you exactly why you should be shaking," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly threat that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t a threat of harm, but a threat of intensity, of a claim so absolute it was dizzying.
His thumb stroked deliberately against my hip, sending a wave of heat through .
The air thickened between us. The quiet hum of the office outside felt miles away. All I could focus on was the dark intensity of his eyes, the warmth of his hand on my waist, the faint, expensive scent of his cologne.
My earlier playful challenge felt a little bolder now that we were pressed together like this. Was I really this fearless? Or was it just the intoxicating rush of being wanted like this by him?
I leaned into him a little more, testing the boundary, my own smirk softening into sothing more vulnerable. "And how do you plan to do that, Mr. Walton?" I whispered back, knowing exactly what I was inviting.
And then he kissed .
His mouth was firm, possessive, instantly silencing my playful question. It wasn’t gentle, not a tentative exploration, but a declaration. His hand on my waist tightened, pulling even closer until there was no space left between us.
I could feel every hard inch, every ridge of tension. He was all coiled power, barely restrained, and it was dizzying.
He kissed until my head spun, until breathless little pants escaped every ti he pulled back. Until he swallowed every last sound and sent my blood singing through my veins.
When he finally pulled back—just barely—his forehead rested against mine.
"It’s Adrien," he whispered. "Or boyfriend. Or my love. But never Mr. Walton. Not when we’re alone."
I swallowed. "Yes, boyfriend," I murmured, dizzy and grinning.
"That’s better," he said, and kissed again.
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