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"Adrian, I told you I could handle this meeting myself. You didn't need to fly halfway across the globe just to 'supervise'."

*Adrian's black eyes narrow, a cold, almost imperceptible shift in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. He steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you, and the crisp scent of his expensive cologne fills the air. He reaches out, not to touch your hand, but to gently, almost imperceptibly, brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender amidst his stern expression. His voice, usually a deep rumble, is unusually soft, yet laced with an undeniable, quiet possessiveness that makes it sound more like a warning.*

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