It’s late. The office is nearly empty, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound as Adrian shrugs on his coat, loosening his tie with one hand. It’s been a long day, and all he wants is a stiff drink and maybe another chance to get under his assistant’s skin before she leaves for the night.

But as he steps out of his office, something stops him dead in his tracks.

Through the glass windows of the lobby, he sees her standing by the elevator, her arms crossed as she listens to him. One of his employees—some smug bastard Adrian barely tolerates—is standing too close, hands in his pockets, head tilted like he’s trying to charm her.

And then he hears it.

“It’s late. Let me give you a ride home.”

Adrian feels the heat rise in his chest, a slow, simmering burn that has his jaw clenching. The hell she is.

Before she can even answer, Adrian moves.

He strides up to them without hesitation, ignoring the employee entirely. His hand wraps firmly around her wrist—not harsh, but undeniable—as he hauls her away from the guy without so much as a glance in his direction.

“We’re leaving,” he says, voice low, edged with a sharp possessiveness that leaves no room for argument.

She stumbles slightly at the sudden movement, eyes widening as she yanks her arm back. “Adrian, what the hell—”

“Not a damn word.” His voice is rough, barely restrained. His grip loosens but doesn’t let go as he leads her toward the elevator. He punches the button with more force than necessary, his pulse hammering as he glares at the closed doors, refusing to look at her.

Behind them, the other employee clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh—boss—”

“Get lost,” Adrian bites out, not even turning around.

The doors slide open, and he all but pulls her inside before the doors shut behind them.

The moment they’re alone, she yanks her arm free, fire in her eyes. “What the hell is your problem?”

He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “The fact that you were even considering letting him take you home is crazy enough.”* His voice is rough, tight with something he refuses to name. “You think I’d let that happen?”

Her brows shoot up. “Let?” She scoffs. “Since when do you get to decide who—”

“Since the moment you got under my skin and refused to leave.”

The confession slips out before he can stop it.

A heavy silence settles between them. She stares at him, lips parted, breath uneven. He steps closer—too close—his gaze flickering down to her lips before meeting her eyes again.

“I take you home. No one else. Get that through your head.”

She should be furious. She should shove him away.

But she doesn’t.

---

The elevator doors open, and Adrian doesn’t give her a second to breathe, his grip on her wrist firm as he leads her through the lobby. She doesn’t fight him, but he can feel the tension in her, the way she’s pulling slightly back with every step they take.

They reach the entrance, and his car is parked just outside—the sleek, black Maserati that’s practically an extension of his arrogance. He pauses for a moment, his hand hovering near the door as he glances at her, the electricity between them thickening the air.

“Get in,” he demands, voice low and laced with a possessive edge.

She looks at him like she’s weighing her options, crossing her arms again in defiance. “I’m not some prize you can just claim, Devereux.”

He smirks, the challenge only spurring him on. “No, you’re not. But you’re mine to take home tonight.”

Her eyes flash with frustration, but she doesn’t turn away. She’s not going to make this easy for him, and that only makes him want her more. He opens the door, and without saying another word, pulls her closer, his other hand brushing against the small of her back as he guides her into the passenger seat.

The action is swift, possessive, but the touch is careful—almost as if he’s afraid she’ll break if he doesn’t handle her just right. The door shuts with a soft thud, and Adrian moves to the driver’s side, sliding into his seat and immediately starting the engine.

As he pulls away from the curb, he glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s staring out the window, arms still crossed, but he can see the way her fingers are tapping lightly against her arm, betraying her cool facade.

“Why do you care so much?” she asks, her voice a mix of curiosity and challenge.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Because I do.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel, eyes narrowing as he focuses on the road ahead. “I’m tired of playing games with you. The way you make me feel—” He pauses, as if the words are more difficult than he thought. “It’s not something I’m used to. But you don’t seem to get that. You don’t seem to care.”

She scoffs, finally turning to look at him, her eyes piercing. “I don’t care? You’re the one who can’t let me make my own choices.”

He chuckles darkly, his gaze flicking to her before returning to the road. “You think I’m doing this for fun? You’re not seeing the bigger picture here. You make me lose control. I’m not used to that. But you? You think you can push me, test me... and I’ll let you get away with it.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t respond immediately. The tension in the car thickens, charged with the unspoken desire and frustration simmering just below the surface.

Adrian glances at her again, the edge of his smirk barely visible. “You’re mine tonight. And you’ll stay that way until I decide otherwise.”

She leans back in her seat, her jaw tight, eyes flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, Adrian wonders if she’s going to push him again—but then she exhales, crossing her arms tighter, and says nothing.

The silence lingers as the car hums down the quiet streets, the weight of his words hanging between them. Neither of them is ready to admit what this really means—but Adrian knows one thing for sure: this is just the beginning.