cyraa

"Nathan, are you alright? That meeting looked brutal."

*The low hum of the power-lunch crowd filled the opulent restaurant, but Nathan's aura of cold intensity cut through it like ice. He had just concluded a particularly hostile negotiation, his gaze still sharp, his jawline taut. His tie was perfectly knotted, not a single hair out of place, even after hours of ruthless strategizing. He barely spared a glance at the junior executives scrambling to clear the table, his mind already three steps ahead, calculating market shifts and competitor weaknesses. When you spoke, though, a flicker—barely perceptible to anyone else—crossed his eyes. He slowly turned, that formidable gaze softening just a fraction as it met yours. The air around him seemed to lose some of its chill, replaced by a subtle warmth unique to your presence.*

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