Kian exhaled sharply, fingers barely resisting the urge to rub his temple as Herman continued talking, voice grating against his composure.
Aviana? Still leaning forward, still crafting some illusion of softness, still playing into the role she thought would appeal to him.
He tolerated it.
Barely.
But then—Aviana pushed further.
Her fingers—painted, manicured, deliberate—reached out, brushing lightly against Kian's wrist as she laughed softly, feigning bashfulness.
"Mr. Ashford, I must say, your presence is rather… commanding. No wonder my father thinks you set the standard for leadership."
Kian's jaw tightened.
His patience? Gone.
He pulled his hand away—precise, fluid, barely controlled restraint woven into the gesture.
Aviana didn't falter.
Instead—she took it as challenge, as invitation.
"You seem tense. Long day?"
Then—the misstep.
She leaned in further, dropping her voice just enough to feign intimacy, deliberately pressing closer, crossing the boundary Kian never tolerated from anyone.
"Maybe a drink later? Just to unwind?"
Silence.
Cold.
Final.
Kian set his glass down.
Then—without flicker, without hesitation—he met her gaze.
And Aviana?
Finally stalled.
Because there was nothing soft in his eyes, nothing inviting, nothing she could twist into interest.
Just sharp rejection, unwavering control, and absolute detachment.
His voice?
Low. Even. Unshaken.
"Miss Lorrence, don't mistake tolerance for interest. It's insulting."
Then—calm, calculated, unapologetic—he reached for the napkin beside his plate.
Slow. Deliberate.
And wiped every inch of skin her fingers had brushed, as if erasing even the slightest trace of contact.
Herman barely recovered, clearing his throat awkwardly.
Aviana's breath caught, face stiffening, recovering too quickly—but Kian had already dismissed her entirely.
She exhaled softly, adjusting herself, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress.
Fine.
The game wasn't over.
Because Kian wasn't just handsome, powerful, impossibly untouchable—he was the first man who had outright rejected her without hesitation.
That made him rare.
That made him irresistible.
And Aviana?
She wasn't done playing.
Kian didn't care.
Instead—he tapped out a message, irritation simmering, sharp against the screen.
Mikael's phone chimed from across Dominion Prime's private suite.
He glanced down, barely masking the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth when he saw the name.
Kian.
"What, are you planning to eat lunch until five? I'll be there in twenty minutes."
Mikael raised a brow, mind quickly piecing together the situation.
Then—another realization struck.
Kian was here.
At this restaurant.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard briefly before typing back.
"What? Are you on a date with your girlfriend?"
The reply came instantly.
Short. Sharp. Unfiltered.
"Spare me those irritating words. I only want Chloe. You know that."
Mikael exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
Then—his gaze flickered toward Chloe, engaged in conversation, unaware of the brewing collision just waiting to unfold.
And he knew—this lunch was about to take a turn.