Billionaire murderer

The lobby smelled faintly of fresh polish and roasted coffee beans, a deceptive calm compared to the chaos thrumming in Marie’s chest. She dashed through the glass doors of Reid Holdings Tower, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, her tote bag slipping from her shoulder.Her hair packed in a messy bun. 8:56 a.m. Three minutes late for the weekly strategy meeting. Again. She tightened her grip on the steaming cup of coffee in her right hand and adjusted the strap of her bag. Her curls had already begun to frizz from the morning humidity, her pulse racing from her sprint across the street. The morning had started disastrously. A driver in a sleek black car had splashed water all over her beige blouse when his tires tore through a puddle by the curb. She had yelled loudly at him, her anger hot and fast. The man in the backseat had done nothing. Just sat there, tinted glass rolled halfway down, watching her tantrum with unreadable eyes. No apology. No remorse. Just silence. The kind of silence that made her blood boil harder. She was still thinking about that stupid car when she darted into the waiting elevator. The metallic doors began to slide shut, offering her a second of reprieve. Then, a hand,large, masculine slipped through the narrowing gap, halting the doors with a sharp beep. Marie looked up. And her entire body went rigid. Him. The man from the car. He stepped inside with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t need to announce himself. Tall, immaculately dressed in charcoal gray, his presence seemed to alter the temperature of the air. His tie was perfectly knotted, his dark hair neatly slicked back, his jaw defined like it had been carved to make women forget how to breathe. But Marie didn’t forget. She remembered every second of his indifference from that morning. Her fingers tightened around the cup, heat seeping into her skin. He glanced at her briefly, a single, unreadable look. No recognition. No apology. Just cold, effortless arrogance before he turned his gaze back to the front and pressed the button for the top floor. The doors slid shut again, sealing them both inside. The silence stretched. Marie pretended to check her phone, scrolling through nothing just to avoid looking at him. Her heart thudded louder than the hum of the elevator. She could see his reflection in the mirrored wall, calm, stoic, completely unbothered. Of all the people to get stuck with in an elevator… The absurd thought made her huff softly. Maybe she should say something. Maybe she shouldn’t. Her pride told her to stay quiet, but her anger simmered, itching for acknowledgment. She glanced up at him again, trying to gauge if he remembered her. If he did, he didn’t show it. Then suddenly, the elevator jerked. Hard. Marie gasped, nearly spilling her coffee as the lights flickered and went dim. The floor indicators froze. The steady hum of motion died into silence. “Oh, no…” she whispered, pressing the emergency button. Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. “Are you serious?” She groaned, pressing her palm against her forehead. Behind her, the man sighed quietly, as though this were merely an inconvenience in his otherwise perfect day. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Of course,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Do something!” Marie snapped, her voice slightly shrill from the echo in the confined space. “I am,” he replied evenly, tapping his screen. “Patience.” He pressed his phone to his ear. “We’re stuck,” he said, his tone clipped, commanding. “Get it fixed.” He paused, listening to the voice on the other end. “Yes, now. No, I’m not waiting fifteen minutes. Make it five.” Marie blinked. “You just—you just happen to know who to call when an elevator stops?” He didn’t bother looking at her. “I own the building.” Her mouth fell open. “You—what?” He lowered the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. “Try to stay calm. It’ll be sorted soon.” “Calm?” She laughed breathlessly, the sound too high, too nervous. “I’m trapped in an elevator with a stranger who can’t even apologize for this morning, and you want me to stay calm?” His gaze finally flicked toward her. Gray eyes. Cool. Detached. “Apologize?” he repeated. “For what? My driver’s inability to predict puddles?” Her cheeks flamed. “You sat there! You watched me get drenched and didn’t say a word!” “I didn’t realize I owed commentary on the weather,” he said dryly. Marie let out an exasperated sound, turning away from him. “You’re impossible.” He didn’t respond. He simply leaned back against the mirrored wall, folding his arms across his chest. The silence that followed was unbearable. The air felt thicker. Marie’s chest tightened, her breaths quickening. She pressed her hand against her sternum. Not now. Not this again. She had always hated enclosed spaces — elevators, tunnels, anything that made her feel trapped. And now, with the hum gone and the lights dimmed, the air seemed to shrink around her. Her breathing grew shallow. Her palms grew damp. He noticed. “Hey,” his voice cut through the air, low and controlled. “You’re breathing too fast.” “I—I can’t—” She shook her head, clutching her coffee tighter as if it could ground her. He straightened immediately, the faintest frown tugging at his lips. “Marie, right?” he asked, and the fact that he somehow knew her name startled her enough to look up. He stepped closer — slowly, deliberately — until his shadow merged with hers. “Breathe. In. Out.” “I—” “Now.” His voice was steady, commanding, the kind that left no room for disobedience. She obeyed without thinking. Her lungs drew in air, shaky but deeper. He didn’t touch her, didn’t offer comfort, but the proximity alone was enough to pull her out of her spiral. His scent cedar and something darker, luxurious, filled her senses. After a few moments, her breathing steadied. She met his eyes, expecting mockery. There was none. Only calm restraint, and something unspoken beneath it. Then, the elevator jolted again. The lights blinked back to full brightness. The machinery hummed, returning to life. Marie exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank God…” He stepped back, expression unreadable. “Told you. Five minutes.” She glared at him. “You could at least say are you okay or that was scary, you know? Something human.” He gave her a look that almost,almost resembled amusement. “You seem fine now.” The doors slid open with a soft chime. Cool air rushed in. He adjusted his cufflinks and stepped out first, his voice calm, dismissive. “Try not to pick fights with any more cars today.” Her jaw dropped. “Unbelievable.” He glanced back briefly, one corner of his mouth lifting — not quite a smile, but something close. “You’re welcome for the breathing lesson.” And then he walked away, leaving her in the elevator, cheeks flushed, heart hammering, and an anger she couldn’t quite explain burning low in her chest. Marie exhaled, shaking her head. “What a jerk,” she muttered. But as the doors slid shut, she caught her reflection in the mirror,the faintest trace of a smile playing on her lips.