The office was tense, charged with the kind of energy that made your skin tingle.
I had just finished presenting a key report to a group of clients when I noticed her—the spy—hovering nearby, her smile too sweet, her eyes glinting with malice.
"Careful," my system warned. She's planning something… and it's public.
Before I could react, she leaned close to a client, whispering in a way meant for everyone to hear: "I hear some people don't really earn their positions… they just… sleep their way up."
A murmur spread through the room. My stomach dropped. Heat rose to my face.
He appeared beside me—silent, commanding, lethal in his calm. His presence alone made her hesitate.
"You dare?" he asked, voice low, icy. His eyes locked onto hers with a dangerous precision.
Her smirk faltered, but she tried to continue. That was her mistake.
Before she could utter another word, his hand shot out—a sharp slap across her face. The sound echoed in the room, startling everyone.
The clients gasped. She staggered back, stunned, rubbing her cheek. Her act of mockery was exposed, laid bare in front of everyone.
"Enough," he said, voice calm but deadly. "Your little schemes end here."
At that moment, security—already tipped off by subtle alerts from my system—entered the room. Police officers followed quickly, taking the spy into custody. The room was silent, except for the soft shuffle of her feet being led away.
I exhaled, relief washing over me. My hand still tingled from his possessive grip on mine. "You… didn't have to—"
"I did," he interrupted, thumb brushing over my knuckles, possessive and grounding. "No one humiliates you. Not here. Not anywhere."
I felt my cheeks warm, my chest tight. Safe. Protected. Obsessed over.
The clients, now fully reassured, turned their attention back to the project. But I couldn't focus entirely—not when his eyes were on me, dark, calculating, and impossibly intimate.
Even with the spy gone, even with justice served, I knew one truth: he would always make sure I was untouchable.