Christopher King had a habit of breaking people without ever raising his voice.
He didn't yell. He didn't curse. He simply looked at you — that quiet, unreadable stare — until you started questioning your entire existence.
And this morning, his focus was locked on Amelia Jones.
She sat across from him in the conference room, her notes perfectly organized, posture straight, expression calm.
Too calm.
He didn't like that.
"Miss Jones," he said finally, flipping through the guest list she'd submitted. "Do you know what this is?"
"A draft of the preliminary guest list for the Summit Gala, sir."
"Incorrect." He dropped the papers onto the table. The sound was soft — but sharp. "This… is mediocrity."
The room went dead silent.
Amelia blinked once, keeping her voice even. "I apologize, sir. I cross-checked every name twice—"
"You missed one."
He slid the page toward her, tapping his finger over a name circled in red ink. "Senator McCarthy. Retired. Irrelevant. We don't do nostalgia at King's Corporation."
He leaned back, studying her reaction. "You seem thorough, Miss Jones. But not intuitive."
Amelia's jaw tightened. She wanted to tell him she'd spent all night researching, that she hadn't even slept — but instead she nodded. "Understood, sir. I'll correct it."
Christopher's lips twitched — almost a smile, but not quite.
He liked obedience, but he craved resistance. There was something about this woman's composure that irritated him. Like she wasn't afraid of him. Like she'd seen worse.
As she gathered the papers, his eyes lingered — not on her looks, but on the quiet fire behind her restraint. It made something unfamiliar stir in his chest, something he instantly smothered.
"Redo the entire list," he said, voice cool again. "By tonight."
She looked up, startled. "Tonight?"
"I assume you don't have plans."
Her throat tightened, but she met his gaze. "I'll have it done, sir."
"Good."
When she left, his assistant, Mark, exhaled loudly. "You're really pushing her hard for day two, sir."
Christopher didn't look up. "If she can't handle pressure, she doesn't belong here."
Mark hesitated. "Or maybe you're testing her for a different reason."
That made him pause. His pen stilled midair. "What do you mean?"
Mark smirked slightly. "You don't usually notice new employees, sir. But you've called her in twice today."
Christopher's tone chilled. "I notice competence. Nothing else."
But when Mark left, Christopher found himself staring at the guest list again — at her handwriting.
It was neat, curved… strangely familiar.
He frowned. "Amelia Jones," he murmured. The name felt like a whisper from another life.
Meanwhile, Amelia sat at her desk, redrafting the list with tired eyes. Her coworkers had long gone home, the office quiet except for the hum of the AC.
She rubbed her temples. "He's impossible," she muttered. "Completely impossible."
But as much as she hated to admit it, there was something about his energy — his cold precision, his drive — that reminded her of the man she'd once loved. The man who smiled in the dark and disappeared by sunrise.
She pushed the thought away.
That man was gone.
And her boss? He was the exact opposite. Ruthless. Controlled. Untouchable.
At least, that's what she wanted to believe.
Because from the glass walls above her, Christopher King stood watching — hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
For reasons he couldn't explain, he felt something dangerous flicker beneath the surface.
Not attraction.
Not yet.
Just… curiosity.
And for a man like him, that was the most dangerous feeling of all.
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