All Chapters of His Cold CEO: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Chapter Twenty-One: Eyes in the GlassPOV: Noah HartHe could feel it before he saw it.The shift.The way conversations clipped when he entered a room. The glances. The too-casual smiles that didn't quite reach anyone's eyes.He’d been invisible in this office for months — a sharp assistant, clean record, barely a ripple in the pond.Now, people were noticing him.And he hated it.---The morning after Elias showed him the photo, Noah sat at his desk outside the CEO’s office and tried to act normal. He typed. He scheduled. He drank coffee. He answered emails like his world wasn’t burning beneath the surface.But he could feel it.Lena, two desks down, kept glancing at him like she was trying to solve a puzzle.Ben from accounting gave him a nod that felt more like an inside joke.Even Tessa, the receptionist, asked, “Rough night?” with a smile that lingered too long.Noah smiled back.Tight.Controlled.He was good at smiling when everything inside him screamed.---At lunch, he slip

Chapter Twenty-Three: So That’s What You ArePOV: Noah HartHe was used to whispers.But this—this was different.They weren’t whispering anymore.They were watching him like he’d walked into the building naked, wearing Elias Voss’s name on his skin.The elevator doors opened to the executive floor, and Noah stepped out like he always did: head high, posture perfect, heart pounding.He knew something had shifted.Yesterday, it was a quiet warning. A red-inked “Careful” in a manila envelope.Today, it was a public reckoning.He passed by a glass-walled meeting room. Jared Hale sat inside with three department heads — laughing, but not with his eyes.When Jared saw him, he didn’t look away this time.He smiled.And that smile said everything.So that’s what you are, Hart.Noah swallowed and kept walking.But the moment he sat down at his desk, his phone buzzed with a message.UNKNOWN: Break room. 5 minutes. Come alone.His stomach dropped.He stared at the screen.He could ignore it. He

Chapter Twenty-Five: Where the Silence StaysPOV: Noah HartThe city glittered below the penthouse windows like it didn’t know the world had changed.Like it didn’t care.But Noah cared.Because Elias had walked in and kissed him like it meant something.Like he meant something.And now they sat on opposite ends of the couch in a quiet too heavy to be casual.---Noah turned toward him. “You’re brooding.”Elias didn’t deny it. “It’s a habit.”Noah tucked one leg under himself. “You always do that. Retreat into yourself.”“I’ve lived a life where silence was safer than sincerity.”“And now?”Elias looked at him — truly looked. “Now I’m trying to relearn the sound of being wanted.”---The words hit Noah like heat and ice at the same time.He stood and walked toward Elias, slowly. Each step deliberate.Elias didn’t move.When Noah straddled his lap and sat down, Elias inhaled like he’d forgotten how to breathe.Noah touched his face. “I want you.”Elias closed his eyes.“I want the man

Chapter Twenty-Seven: You Don't Touch What's Mine POV: Elias Voss The late morning sun gilded the city skyline outside Elias Voss’s office window, transforming steel and glass into a river of molten gold. It was a view he’d commanded for years, a symbol of dominion hard-won and fiercely guarded. Today, its beauty was lost on him. He stood motionless, a silhouette etched against the brilliance, his gaze fixed on a point far beyond the gleaming towers. His jaw was a hard line, clenched tight enough to ache. His mind, usually a whirlwind of strategy and calculation, was unnervingly still, honed to a razor’s edge. And beneath the controlled exterior, deep in his marrow, a familiar, glacial chill was spreading – the visceral precursor to war. *They had called Noah into a private board meeting.* The fact echoed in the silent room, a detonation muffled only by his iron will. They had summoned *his* assistant, *his* shield, *his* heart, into that sterile chamber of knives known as Conferen

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Put My Name In Your Mouth POV: Split — Noah & Elias Noah The sleek black town car idled at the curb, feeling less like sanctuary and more like a holding cell before the execution. Noah stared through the tinted window at the brutalist studio building – a monolith of black glass and sharp angles reflecting the harsh midday sun. It looked like a guillotine fashioned by a modernist architect. In the distorted reflections, he could make out the restless silhouettes of paparazzi pacing like predators outside the main entrance. Sunlight glinted off long lenses – sniper scopes aimed at his life. A woman in impossible stilettos rapped sharply on their window, her mouth moving in a silent shout lost behind the soundproofing. Someone else held up a crudely lettered sign: `BEDROOM BOARDROOM`. Noah clenched his hands into fists in his lap. His palms were slick with sweat. The crisp fabric of his shirt clung unpleasantly to the damp skin of his spine. The air conditioning b