LEVEL UP MY COLD CEO {MxM}

Gloss povThe lights in this office were too bright for my eyes. The kind that burns through your skull like a sort of exorcism until you can see your reflection trembling in the table while praying for salvation. I can’t even look up for long without feeling small.He’s sitting at the end of the table, the man everyone fears. Dream Lancaster, the world most eligible and youngest CEO, handsome but also a tyrant at least to me. The kind of man who doesn’t raise his voice because his eyes alone were enough to erase your whole existence, his presence alone commands respect. His aura? cold as hell.He looks perfect, unrealistic and too perfect. His black suit, his hair, those gray eyes that cut right through me like I shouldn’t exist here. It’s not even anger in his eyes, It’s disgust. Like I’m something slimy and gross that accidentally crawled into his view when having dinner and ruined his appetite.“Maybe I am.” I sighed while mumbling to myself.The system’s voice from last night sti

Gloss POV“You’re still nothing to me.”Those were his parting words before he walked out of the boardroom like some cold, silver-eyed king in a three-piece suit. The doors closed behind him with a heavy sound, leaving me standing there with my notepad clutched tight in my trembling hands. I probably looked like a secretary who had been hit by a truck, dragged across gravel, and sprinkled with glitter to make it look less tragic.A shaky laugh escaped me, echoing in the empty room. “Nothing, huh? System, I hope you’re proud of me. I survived termination, humiliated a director, and got called ‘not entirely useless’ by my boss. That’s basically an achievement unlocked.”As always, the system stayed quiet. Of course it did. It never praised me when I needed it to. It only appeared when it wanted to throw me into another impossible mission.Still, I was alive, and that was what mattered.I gathered my papers, straightened my shirt, and told myself that from now on, I’d keep my head down a

Gloss POV The car door slammed behind me with the finality of a prison gate. I sat stiffly in the leather seat, staring out the window while the city blurred past. Neon lights bled into streaks of color, and I wondered briefly if I could fling myself out and make a run for it. Probably not. Dream’s driver looked like he could chase down a cheetah in a tuxedo. The air inside the car was suffocating, thick with expensive cologne and fury. Dream hadn’t said a word since the gala. Not a single word. He sat beside me, his suit immaculate as ever, one hand resting on his knee, the other clutching the door handle with quiet restraint. His jaw flexed once, twice. That was all the movement he allowed himself. But his eyes, those cold, silvery eyes, hadn’t stopped burning holes through me since the moment we got in. If looks could kill, I’d have been buried twice over by now. I swallowed hard and adjusted my tie, pretending to be fascinated by the dashboard. My heart thudded in my chest

Gloss POV I froze by the doorway, still gripping the note he left on my nightstand. Dream Lancaster stood there, half-leaning against the doorframe in his tailored suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone like he hadn’t just threatened to murder me again. “You’ve got five seconds to run,” he repeated. My body tensed. “You’re serious?” His brow lifted. “When am I not?” “Okay, just.. hear me out…” I started, then tripped over the edge of the rug. My arms flailed, the note went flying, and before I knew it, I landed squarely against his chest. The air left my lungs. His cologne hit me, clean, expensive, and dangerously distracting. For a second, neither of us moved. Then a sound I never expected broke the silence, a low, rough snort. I blinked, tilting my head up just in time to see it. His lips twitched, his shoulders stiffened, and then he laughed. Not loud, not dramatic, just a small, genuine sound that didn’t belong in this ice-cold penthouse. My jaw droppe

Gloss POV The next morning began with stares. It started in the lobby. I could feel eyes on me the moment I stepped through the glass doors of Dream Corporation. The receptionist’s smile faltered halfway, her gaze flicking from my face to the elevator and back again. A low whisper passed between her and another worker, barely audible but sharp enough to cut through the hum of morning chatter. I pressed the elevator button and kept my face neutral. The metallic doors reflected a faint image of myself, calm, collected, pretending nothing was wrong. Inside, though, my stomach was tight. By the time I reached the executive floor, the whispers had already grown. The air felt heavier, the kind of tension that fed on curiosity and jealousy. A few people greeted me with forced politeness, others didn’t bother to hide their side glances. I walked to my desk, trying not to think about it. But of course, thinking about it was impossible when everyone else was doing it for me. Two a