تسجيل الدخولThe penthouse felt unnaturally vast and silent without Oliver’s presence. Vivian stood in the center of the spacious living room, listening to the soft hum of the air conditioning. Outside, twilight was painting the harbor in deep shades of violet and navy. She looked toward the guest bedroom corridor. For days, she had suppressed her instincts, distracting herself with corporate battles and board votes. But the echo of his cold, commanding phone call on the balcony—and the sheer, terrifying authority he had displayed on the street with Julian—kept repeating in her mind. Oliver Ross was not an ordinary man. And now that he was thousands of miles away in Italy, she had a window of opportunity to figure out who he really was. Vivian walked down the hallway, her heart drumming softly against her ribs as she pushed open the door to his room. The space was immaculate. The bed was neatly made, the lines crisp and undisturbed. Vivian began her search methodically, opening the nigh
Julian dropped to his knees on the pavement, clutching his bruised wrist and whimpering like a beaten dog. The moment Oliver relaxed his grip, Julian scrambled backward, threw himself into a yellow taxi, and sped away without looking back. Vivian stood frozen, her chest rising and falling heavily as she stared at Oliver. "What... what are you doing here? You were at the penthouse forty minutes ago." Oliver turned toward her, the terrifying darkness in his eyes melting away so fast Vivian wondered if she had imagined it. He reached into his pocket and handed her a set of keys with a faint, apologetic smile. "You forgot your office spare keys on the counter," he said softly, his voice once again gentle and warm. "I brought them to you. But I also came to tell you... I have to leave the country for a few days. An urgent family matter came up." Vivian blinked, trying to reconcile the protective titan who had almost crushed Julian’s wrist with the soft-spoken man handing her keys.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the penthouse kitchen, but it did nothing to soothe the cold knot tightening in Vivian’s stomach.She sat at the marble island, her hands wrapped around a warm mug. Every few seconds, her eyes drifted toward Oliver, who was calmly wiping down the counter. He looked entirely harmless—dressed in a comfortable gray sweater, offering her a soft, affectionate smile whenever their eyes met.Yet, every time she looked at him, the echo of his voice from the balcony last night rang in her ears.“The target has reached the end of his usefulness... Finish him completely.”"You're very quiet this morning," Oliver observed softly, setting a plate in front of her. "Did you sleep well?""I slept... fine," Vivian replied, forcing a neutral tone. She carefully watched his hands—broad, calloused, and perfectly steady. There was no trace of nervousness in him. "Just thinking about the company.""Don't work yourself too hard, Chairwoman," Oliver murmured,
The city skyline sparkled through the glass walls of the penthouse as subtle jazz music echoed softly through the warm, dimly lit living room. When Vivian walked through the front door, exhaustion was still clinging to her posture, but the heavy weight on her chest was gone. She was officially the permanent Chairwoman and CEO of Miller Group. "Congratulations, Chairwoman Miller," Oliver’s deep, soothing voice greeted her. He was standing near the dining table, wearing a simple cream sweater and dark jeans. The table was beautifully set with roasted rack of lamb, wild risotto, and two glasses of chilled white wine. Vivian smiled, a genuine, relaxed expression that made her eyes soften completely. "You didn't have to do all this, Oliver." "A historic victory deserves a proper celebration," Oliver said softly, pulling out a chair for her. "Sit down. You've had a long day." As they began to eat, Vivian took a slow sip of her wine, observing the calm, handsome man across from
The early morning fog still hovered over the harbor when two federal agents stepped into the executive suite of Miller Group. Vivian was sitting at her mahogany desk, reviewing financial ledgers, when her secretary ushered them in. Her heart instantly hammered against her ribs. Any sudden visit from federal authorities usually meant disaster for a logistics company. "Miss Miller," Agent Cross began, adjusting his dark trench coat. "We are here regarding Terminal 4. Late last night, an armed crew breached Warehouse 4 with arson equipment, intending to ignite the Northern Star’s high-value cargo bay." Vivian’s face drained of color. "Arson? Was the cargo damaged? Fifty million dollars of electronics—" "Everything is completely intact, Miss Miller," Agent Cross interrupted, his tone remarkably calm. "Before the intruders could spill a single drop of accelerant, our local task force received an encrypted, anonymous tip detailing their exact entry point, timing, and schematics. We
The leather interior of the luxury limousine was silent, save for the faint purr of the engine as it glided through the neon-lit city streets. Vivian sat across from Oliver, her sharp gray eyes locked onto him. She had spent the entire ride back from the Regency Gala trying to piece together the puzzle sitting in front of her. "Arthur Cole doesn't greet random strangers like old family," Vivian finally broke the silence, her tone demanding answers. "He is the most ruthless man in global shipping. People wait months just to get a five-minute meeting with him, yet he hugged you like a son. Who are you really, Oliver?" Oliver didn't flinch. He slowly unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, leaning back against the leather seat with that same calm, unbothered posture. "My father was a chief marine engineer," Oliver answered softly, his voice smooth and believable. "He spent thirty years working on Chairman Cole’s primary cargo fleet. When my father passed away a few years ago, Arthur took







