The boardroom buzzed with soft conversation and the rhythmic shuffle of papers. Executives filed in one by one, all sharp suits and measured voices.
Then came silence.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Lila Penrose walked in—head held high, blazer tailored to power, blouse carved like temptation beneath structure. Her black stilettos tapped against marble like a clock counting down to something no one could name.
Except him.
Rowan Vale.
He had been reviewing numbers. Or trying to. His almond hazel eyes flicked up—casual at first. Just a glance.
But it stayed.
Longer than it should.
Her hair caught the light—honey-blonde streaks like rebellion, like she'd walked through sunlight and decided to wear it. She greeted someone on the opposite side of the table, voice poised, tone smooth.
And then it happened.
She looked at him.
Not long. Not dramatic.
Just enough.
A glance that slid across him like velvet… then away again, like he didn't quite deserve to hold it.
Then she smiled.
The kind of smile that wasn't warm.
It was curated.
It was dangerous.
It said, "I see you. And I want you to know I don't need to."
Rowan shifted slightly in his chair, the fabric of his tailored suit brushing against his skin like static. His jaw clenched. Not visibly. Just enough to remind himself that he was still in control.
He returned his gaze to the document in front of him, but he wasn't reading.
He was watching her reflection in the glass window beside him.
The outline of power and perfume.
Lila Penrose wasn't trying to seduce him.
She was turning him into a spectator of his own unraveling.
And she knew it.
Meeting adjourned, voices lifted again in loose conversation.
Rowan stood as she passed. He didn't speak.
But she paused just briefly near him—just long enough for the scent of her to drift up and pull something out of him he didn't even know was buried.
Then, as if on cue, she turned her head—not toward him—but toward the elevator…
And smiled again.
Just with the corner of her mouth.
As if to say, "We'll both pretend I didn't just own that room—and you."
And then she was gone.
---
#Rowan – After the Storm#
He stayed behind.
The boardroom emptied like a tide rolling back to sea, leaving him in the center of a wave he didn't know how to ride.
Rowan exhaled slowly, hand braced on the back of the leather chair. His cologne—subtle, clean, precise—felt like a shield that had started to crack.
Nico sauntered in like he owned time, tossing a folder on the table with a smirk.
"You good?" Nico asked, one brow lifted knowingly.
Rowan didn't answer right away. He was still watching the elevator numbers climb down on the digital display across the hall, even though Lila was long gone.
"Yeah," he finally said, too late.
Nico laughed softly. "Man, you're not good. You're choking on a power move that wasn't even spoken."
Rowan turned, slowly. "She's an employee."
"Sure," Nico grinned, "and that blouse was purely functional."
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the tension sink into his bones. "She's smart, poised. Plays her silence like it's a language. But today…"
"Today," Nico finished, "she walked in like a question you don't want answered."
Rowan's voice was quieter. "She smiled at me like she already had."
---
#Lila – Queen Behind Her Curtain#
Her apartment welcomed her like a throne room, soft jazz humming low in the background. She dropped her bag, let her blazer slide down her arms, revealing the full strength of the neckline she had chosen.
Not for him.
But because she could.
Lila stood before the mirror again, eyes smoky, lips still pressed in that slight, knowing curve.
She had seen him looking.
More than once.
And she'd made him earn nothing back.
It wasn't cruelty.
It was discipline.
He wasn't hers to break. Not yet. He was hers to observe. Like art behind a velvet rope—too valuable to touch, too magnetic to ignore.
She ran a hand through her warm blonde strands, tilted her chin.
"If I'm a game," she whispered to herself, "he doesn't know he's already playing by my rules."
She unclasped her necklace, one slow motion at a time. Let the quiet deepen.
Tomorrow, she'd wear something softer.
Make the flames flicker, not blaze.
And when he thinks the storm passed...
She might just smile again.
---
#Red All Over#
The weekend felt like a breath of fresh air after the claustrophobic pressure of the past week. Lila needed a break. And Piper had insisted.
So, they were in the heart of Beverly Hills now, standing before the towering, glass-clad walls of The Regent Royale, a hotel that screamed money, class, and exclusivity.
A place that felt as untouchable as the upper-echelon of society itself.
It had been on their bucket list for years, but the stars had finally aligned. After all, what was the point of climbing the ladder of life if you couldn't occasionally stop and admire the view from the top?
Lila adjusted her sunglasses, the warmth of the California sun caressing her caramel skin. Her red swimsuit—a daring, skin-tight, cutout number—clung to every curve with a seductive precision. The bold color made her stand out among the sophisticated crowd, turning every glance her way into a visible weight, as if the air around her vibrated with expectation.
"Girl, you are killing it!" Piper grinned beside her, adjusting her own designer shades as they made their way towards the poolside.
Lila gave her a wink. "It's not about what you wear. It's about how you wear it."
And Lila knew she owned this look. The swimsuit wasn't just a garment—it was a declaration. Confidence wrapped in fire-engine red, flaunting every curve and sharp line of her body with a power that could make any man second-guess his footing.
As she and Piper made their way to a luxurious cabana, Lila couldn't help but notice the pool area was filled with the typical A-listers—Hollywood executives, tech moguls, and media stars all lounging with an air of entitlement. The soft murmur of voices and the clink of champagne flutes filled the air, but amidst all the opulence, Lila was like a flame among dim lights.
But then…
She spotted them.
Across the pool, Rowan Vale and Nico Hart were leaning against the edge, their dark, well-tailored suits abandoned for swim trunks. The two men had their usual, effortless cool. Nico, ever the flirt, was surrounded by a group of women already fawning over him. But it was Rowan who caught her eye.
He stood there, a man who had everything—chiseled jawline, sculpted muscles that seemed to be crafted out of marble, and eyes that never let anyone in unless they were lucky enough to break through the wall of impenetrable control.
But today, there was something different. His gaze, though composed, lingered on her as if he had been waiting for her. His usually unreadable eyes were now tracing every curve of her body as she confidently walked past the poolside lounge chairs.
Lila met his gaze for a moment—just enough for him to catch the full force of her attention, before she turned her head away in casual indifference, her red lips curling into that knowing, flirtatious smile.
She wasn't here to show him how much she wanted him. She was here to show him just how unbothered she was by him.
"Let's grab a drink," Lila murmured to Piper, already feeling the magnetic pull of Rowan's presence from across the pool.
As they passed the bar area, she allowed herself one final glance over her shoulder.
Rowan's eyes were still locked on her, an unspoken question in them. But Lila didn't break. She just smiled again—the kind of smile that sent a hundred unvoiced promises into the air.
This time, he wouldn't have the answers. She would make him wait.
Piper, catching the tension in the air, leaned in with a smirk. "Girl, I think you've officially broken him."
Lila laughed softly, enjoying the thrill of the chase. "No, Piper. I've just begun."
---
#Heatwave#
As dusk painted the sky with lavender and gold, The Regent Royale poolside shimmered with fairy lights. The hotel had transformed the lounge into a luxury twilight escape, complete with a live DJ, vintage cocktails, and a dance floor kissed by soft spotlights.
It was elegance laced with temptation.
And Lila Penrose was the center of it all.
Her red swimsuit now partially hidden beneath a sheer mesh sarong tied artfully at her waist, heels swapped for glossy gold sandals. Her curls bounced as she walked, her hips swaying with casual dominance.
Then the music shifted—Afrobeats met sultry R&B—and the crowd was drawn in.
Lila stepped onto the floor, the rhythm slipping into her spine like it belonged there. She didn't dance to perform.
She danced to feel.
And oh, she felt.
Her hips moved like poetry, her waist fluid, back arched, her body dipping and rising like the beat lived under her skin. A slow twirl, a low drop, the flick of her hair over one shoulder—each motion deliberate and unbothered.
Rowan saw her.
God, he saw her.
From across the terrace, seated with a tumbler of aged bourbon in hand, his posture was stone still—but his eyes? Unforgiving. Unrelenting. Unblinking.
It wasn't lust.
It was longing bottled in silence.
"Bro," Nico muttered beside him with a wide grin, swirling his glass, "I swear—if you don't make a move, I will."
Rowan didn't respond.
Nico leaned in closer, his voice slick with provocation. "Seriously. You're really gonna let that walk around unclaimed? That girl is temptation in heels. A whole damn miracle in red."
Rowan's jaw clenched slightly.
Nico smirked. "Imagine her on your bed. Or mine. Hell, I'd settle for just a dance."
Rowan's stare remained locked on Lila, the grip on his glass tightening ever so slightly.
She bent low into the rhythm—slow, sultry, unstoppable—her body riding the beat like it was crafted for her curves. The lights caught the shimmer on her skin, the arch of her neck, the wicked dip of her waist.
And just as Rowan felt the ache deepen—
She looked at him.
Over her shoulder.
Dead in his eyes.
And smiled.
A slow, sly curve of the lips. The kind of smile you give a man when you know he's imagining things he'll never dare say.
Nico laughed. "You're so screwed."
Rowan stood abruptly, not looking at him. "Enjoy your drink," he muttered.
As he disappeared into the shadows of the terrace, Nico raised his glass and murmured with a smirk, "Guess I hit a nerve."
---
The last note of the song faded, but the heat she left behind on the dance floor lingered like perfume in the air.
Lila smiled to herself, the kind of smile that knew the effect she had.
The kind of smile that didn't apologize for it.
With fluid grace, she walked away from the pulse of the crowd, back toward the pool, loosening the knot at her waist until the sheer sarong slipped away. Beneath the soft evening lights, her red swimsuit looked even more dangerous—clinging to her hourglass frame like second skin, the high cut elongating her legs, her curves highlighted like sculpted velvet.
She dipped her toes into the water first, the chill sending a teasing shiver through her. Then, without hesitation, she dove.
The world went quiet.
Under the water, there was nothing but calm.
But when she rose—
It was cinematic.
Her head tilted back, droplets cascading like diamonds down her chest and shoulders. Her hair slicked back, water tracing her collarbone. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, pout perfect and unbothered. Her nipples, firm under the wet fabric, pressed through—but subtly, tastefully, unapologetically feminine.
She stood there, waist-deep in water, a goddess in red, backlit by stars.
And that's when she saw him.
Rowan Vale.
Not with the cold, unreadable expression he wore in boardrooms.
No.
This time, he smiled.
It wasn't full. It wasn't safe.
It was… flirtatious.
A dangerous curl at the corner of his lips, the kind of smile that wasn't meant for meetings or men like Nico.
It was meant for her.
And she saw it.
Her response?
She tilted her head, water dripping from her lashes, giving him the briefest look of disinterest.
Then she winked.
And turned away.
Her exit from the pool was just as deliberate—hips gliding, water sliding down the curves of her thighs, the dip in her lower back. She grabbed a white towel, wrapping it around her waist, and with her chin held high, began the walk back to her suite like she hadn't just lit every nerve in Rowan Vale's body on fire.
Tonight wasn't about surrender.
It was about letting him know who had the upper hand.
---
Rowan stood half-shielded in the shadows of the terrace, the soft clink of ice in his untouched glass forgotten.
She rose from the water like a siren written into the stars.
Every step she took toward the edge of the pool felt like a dare. Each motion was unhurried—unapologetic. And when she caught his gaze?
He felt it in his bones.
He hadn't meant to smile. It had been instinctual. A pull from the corner of his mouth that betrayed everything he'd trained himself to keep hidden.
And her reply?
That wink.
That goddamn wink.
It hit him harder than any boardroom blow, more intoxicating than the single malt in his hand. And as she turned—hips swaying, back straight, dripping in power—Rowan's composure fractured.
He watched her walk away in that red suit and white towel, like royalty dismissing her audience.
Every man near her glanced.
But she didn't glance back.
Not once.
And yet, it felt as if she'd marked him.
Rowan exhaled slowly, jaw tight, eyes still trained on the space where she had just stood. His knuckles whitened slightly around the glass. Nico chuckled beside him again—this time saying nothing. Just watching his best friend unravel.
Because Rowan Vale was a fortress of a man.
But tonight?
A single woman, in red and dripping wet, had found the first crack in his walls.
And he wasn't sure if he wanted to patch it…
…or let it break wide open.
---