He was waiting for her in his office. She had told him to wait—just for a while. But the clock ticked mercilessly past midnight, and by 1:30 AM, Dominic Petrov’s patience was hanging by a thread.
He stood outside the company building, arms crossed, jaw tight with fury. The streetlights lit up his brooding face as he muttered to himself, “If she’s so busy she can’t even give me five minutes, why the hell did I make her the main designer? I should’ve cut her whole team off.”
Moments later, a taxi screeched to a stop nearby. Clara stepped out, breathless and guilty, her eyes locking onto his. The moment their gazes met—her warmth against his simmering anger—she ran toward him, arms ready to embrace.
But he turned away, cold and silent.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dom… I didn’t mean to be late. The meeting—it dragged on too long,” she said, her voice soft and apologetic.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he cut her off sharply, his voice low and dangerous.
“Sorry na... I’ll never be late again, promise! I’ll always come on time,” she said with a nervous smile, trying to lighten the tension.
“You’re promising?” he asked, turning his head slightly. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yes,” she replied, nodding, her voice filled with confidence.
He finally turned to face her. Without a word, he touched his lips twice, a silent signal.
She blinked. “Mr. Dom—it’s a public place!”
He shrugged and turned to walk away. “Okay then, I’m going home.”
“Wait—wait! Okay, fine, I’m doing it!” she groaned, glancing around nervously.
She stood on tiptoe, closed her eyes, and leaned in for the kiss… but Dominic teasingly leaned back, raising his chin so high she couldn’t reach.
Her eyes snapped open. “Mr. Dom!” she huffed, starting to walk away in frustration.
But in one swift move, he grabbed her waist and lifted her up into the air—effortless, as if she weighed nothing. Her feet dangled as they were face-to-face, his hand gripping her waist, the other braced at his hip socket.
“I’ll keep you safe… right here with me,” he whispered.
And then—they kissed.