Masuk“You think you can just stand there and breathe my air while deciding if I’m worth the risk?”The words grate against my throat, raw and jagged. I don’t wait for her to answer. I can’t. Every second Sabrina Mendoza stands by that door, vibrating with a conflict that threatens to tear her apart, I feel my own composure eroding. I’m a man built on foundations of steel and calculated interest rates, yet here I am, reduced to a heap of nerves and primal instinct because she’s touching a brass handle and thinking about leaving.She turns her head. Her dark hair spills over her shoulder in a silk waterfall, and those eyes… God, those eyes have haunted every boardroom meeting and every sleepless night for years. They are wide, shimmering with a defiance that is failing her.“I’m not breathing your air, Drake,” she whispers, her voice a fragile thread in the cavernous silence of the room. “I’m trying to find enough of my own to survive you.”I move. I don’t think; I just close the distance. M
“Why do you look at me like I already belong to you?”The question leaves my mouth sharper than I intend, but I do not take it back. I cannot. Not when Drake is standing in front of me like that, sleeves rolled, jaw tight, eyes locked on me as if the rest of the world has been deleted.His silence stretches, thick and suffocating.Then he steps closer.“Because you do.”My chest tightens.Arrogant. Possessive. Completely insane.And yet my pulse betrays me, racing harder the closer he gets.“Say that again,” I challenge, my voice lower now, quieter, more dangerous.His lips curve, not into a smile but something darker. Something that makes my stomach flip.“I do not repeat myself,” he says, voice steady, controlled. “You heard me.”I let out a breath I did not realize I was holding. My fingers curl against my palm, nails digging into skin just to ground myself.This is what he does.He pushes.He claims.He decides.But I am not the same girl he left behind.I step forward until there
“Try not to fall in love with them too quickly, Ms. Mendoza.”“I don’t fall in love easily anymore,” I replied, placing the velvet case gently on the glass display table. “But my designs? They demand it.”Camille’s lips curved, intrigued, not amused. That was a difference I had learned to recognize fast. Amusement meant dismissal. Intrigue meant possibility.The boutique was quiet, controlled, curated. Not intimidating like the last one. This space felt… observant. Like it was waiting to see if I deserved to exist inside it.My pulse still refused to calm down.This was it.My first real chance.Not a cold rejection. Not a polite brush off. Not a “come back when you’re someone.”This was a test.And I intended to pass it.“Open it,” Camille said, folding her arms.No wasted time.No small talk.Good.I inhaled once, steadying my hands, then flipped open the case.The room shifted.It always did.Even my team noticed it the first time. The moment my collection was revealed, something c
“Who the hell even is Mendoza?”I froze mid-step, my hand hovering over the boutique’s glass door, as the words echoed through the chic SoHo showroom. The voice belonged to a sharply dressed woman in her forties, a buyer whose reputation had built and broken careers in a single lunch meeting. She clicked her pen deliberately against her pristine notebook, the sound like a metronome counting down my professional death.I swallowed, forcing my expression into calm professionalism. “I’m Sabrina Mendoza,” I said, letting my voice steady itself even though my heart was hammering like a drum in my chest. “I represent my own line, Mendoza Luxe. I believe our pieces could complement your boutique perfectly.”Her laugh wasn’t just dismissive—it was the kind that carved spaces in your soul, that made you question your existence in front of her. “Complement?” she repeated, rolling the word as if it were sour on her tongue. “Sweetheart, you’re unknown. I don’t do unknowns. I do what sells. And I
“Do you trust me?”“I have to,” I whispered back. “Because if I don’t, this whole thing falls apart.”Aria stared at me across the cluttered worktable, gemstone tweezers frozen mid-air. Her eyes searched my face, not for doubt—but for fire.“Then stop holding back.”The words struck harder than she probably intended.I inhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the charcoal pencil. The sketchpad beneath my hands was already crowded with half-formed ideas: sharp-edged necklaces, broken-chain bracelets, imperfect rings that looked like they had survived a war. But none of them were enough.None of them felt like me.Not yet.“Okay,” I said hoarsely. “Then I’m going to design something I’m scared to admit exists.”“Good,” Kai muttered from his station. “Fear makes better art.”Theo rolled his chair closer, eyes bright behind his glasses. “This is it. This is the collection that defines Mendoza Luxe.”The name still made my heart stutter.Mendoza Luxe.Mine.No longer Drake’s shadow. No
“You’re late.”“I know,” I said breathlessly, shoving the glass door open with my shoulder while juggling three boxes of materials. “But the supplier changed the drop-off time and—”“And you still look like you fought a dragon,” Lila finished, eyeing my smudged jeans and paint-streaked hands.“Details.”The small office smelled like fresh wood, metal dust, and ambition. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating half-built tables, scattered tools, and sketches taped messily across the walls. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t polished. But it was alive.My dream had a heartbeat now.And today, I was about to bring in the people who would help keep it alive.Three chairs stood in front of my desk—mismatched, secondhand, slightly crooked. I’d spent hours arranging the space to look professional despite our limited budget. The chipped table now gleamed. The walls were freshly painted. Even the cheap coffee machine hummed optimistically.“You nervous?” Lila asked, leaning against
The office was quiet now, but the tension lingered like smoke. Drake had returned to his desk, but every movement, every glance over his shoulder, every subtle flex of his jaw screamed possession.And me? I was trembling, heart pounding, every nerve screaming that we were on the edge of something I
The moment I walked into the office that morning, my chest tightened.It wasn’t the usual Drake energy—cold, calculated, magnetic—it was warfare in human form. He hadn’t spoken a single word to me since yesterday, not even a glance that wasn’t controlled, measured, sharp.I knew exactly why.Yester
The elevator doors slide open to the executive hallway—quiet, polished, intimidating. And colder than usual.Drake walks ahead of me, long strides, shoulders tight. He hasn’t said a single word since we left the boardroom.Not one.I swallow, trying to break the silence. “Sir, about awhile ago—”He
Drake’s office door shut behind him with a soft but heavy click—like the sound of a guillotine right before it drops. His last words still echoed inside me, hot and frightening and beautiful: “She will never replace you.” God. I hated how that sentence wrapped itself around my ribs and pulled ti







