Chapter 51

The next morning, Soraya stood by the large window of her private office, the sun casting a golden glow on her poised figure. Her heart still ached from the call with Harry.

She had loved him for so long quietly, deeply, and hopelessly. But last night had been her closure. The end of a dream that had been slowly fading since their teenage years.

"It's time to let him go," she whispered to herself.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called.

Her assistant stepped in. "Miss Soraya, Mr Ivan Osman is here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment."

The pen in her hand froze mid-sentence. Her expression darkened immediately.

Soraya's jaw tightened slightly. "Don't let him in.

"Tell him to get lost," she snapped coldly.

"Kick him out and call security if you have to."

There was a pause. Before the secretary could respond, the door swung open with a quiet but confident creak.

Ivan Osman strolled in unbothered, exuding that dangerous charm that made women swoon and made Soraya fume. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, no tie, two buttons undone to reveal just enough of his olive-toned skin. His dark hair was tousled like he'd just run his fingers through it, and that infuriating wicked smile curved his lips.

"Now, now, sweetheart," Ivan drawled, shutting the door behind him with a slow click, walking toward her like a cat stalking a cornered bird. .

"That's no way to treat your fiancé."

Soraya's scowl deepened. "You are not my fiancé."

Soraya scowled, rising from her chair like a storm cloud. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I missed you," Ivan said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. "And I thought, what better way to make up for lost time than to come and spend a little quality time with my bride-to-be?"

"You are not my fiancé," she spat. "That was our families' sick arrangement, not mine. And I've made it very clear I'd rather marry a lizard."

"Lizards won't make you feel good like I do," he quipped, eyes gleaming.

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you're impossible."

"And you, my darling, are breathtaking when you're angry." He leaned against her desk casually, his grin never faltering. "Really. That scowl? Delicious."

Soraya slammed her hand on the desk. "You don't get to walk into my office and talk to me like this. We are not friends, lovers, or anything remotely close to what your sick fantasies suggest!"

"According to our parents and society," he said with a shrug, walking toward her like he owned the room, "I very much am."

Soraya stood, eyes blazing. "What do you want, Ivan?"

"I came to see you," he said smoothly, placing a hand on her desk and leaning in. "Spend some quality time with my darling future wife. Is that so wrong?"

She scoffed and crossed her arms. "You've got some nerve walking in here like this."

He winked. "I have more than nerve. You know that."

"Get out before I call security."

"You already tried that." He grinned. "Didn't work."

"Do you enjoy being a nuisance?"

"Immensely," Ivan said, walking around the desk toward her. "Especially when it involves you."

She stepped back, her jaw tight. "You're impossible."

"And you're intoxicating when you're angry." He smirked, eyes dancing with mischief. "The fire in you, Soraya… it's addictive."

"I am not yours to play with."

"Maybe. But the way you tremble when I get close?" He took another step, voice dropping. "That tells a different story."

She grabbed her bag. "I'm leaving. I don't have time for this."

But just as she tried to walk past him, Ivan moved, quick and deliberate. In a blink, she was cornered her back pressed to the glass wall, his arms caging her in on either side.

The air thickened with tension.

"Move," she hissed.

But Ivan only smirked, leaning in, their faces inches apart. "You keep pushing me away, Soraya. But I see it in your eyes... You feel something. Even if it's hate it's passion all the same."

"You're insane," she hissed, struggling. "Get away from me!"

He caught her wrists mid-push and pinned

He tilted his head, gazing into her defiant eyes. "Why? You look too tempting like this."

Her palms pushed against his chest, but he didn't budge. "You're disgusting."

"Your mouth is so disobedient," he whispered, eyes twinkling with dangerous heat. "I think I need to teach it a lesson."

Before she could stop him, he swooped in, capturing her lips in a rough, hungry kiss.

It wasn't soft or slow, it was rough, hungry, invading. Soraya struggled, tried to twist her head, but he held her firm. His lips crushed hers with a brutal insistence.

Soraya's eyes widened in fury. She struggled, twisted, pushed but he held her wrists to the wall, refusing to let go.

Fueled by rage, she bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing blood.

Ivan grunted in pain and loosened his grip for just a second, long enough for her to shove him away. She raised her hand and slapped him hard, the sound echoing through the room.

"You disgusting, arrogant pervert!" she snarled, chest heaving and trembling with fury. "Don't you ever touch me like that again!"

She stormed out of the office, heels clacking against the floor, fury trailing behind her.

Ivan stood there alone, blood trickling from his split lip.

He touched it lightly with his thumb, then licked it.

"Mmm…" he murmured, eyes dark with amusement. "So wild..."

A crooked, mischievous smile curved his mouth.

"This is going to be fun."

, then smiled slow, wicked, satisfied.

"God," he muttered to himself, chuckling, "I really like her."

He glanced toward the door she'd disappeared through, his eyes glinting with dark amusement.

Ivan remained in Soraya's office long after she stormed out, standing like a victorious predator savoring the thrill of the hunt. He strolled toward her desk, running his fingers lightly over its polished surface, a smug look plastered on his face.

"She slapped me…" he chuckled to himself. "Bit me too. God, she's incredible."

He sat in her chair, leaned back, and propped one foot on the desk, completely unbothered by his bleeding lip. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number.

It rang once before someone picked up.

"Jules?" he said smoothly.

On the other end, Jules's voice was cold. "What do you want, Ivan?"

"Just wanted to let you know," he drawled, staring at the crimson smear on his thumb, "My fiancee is very much my type."

"She hates your guts," Jules snapped.

"Which only makes it more exciting." He laughed, then added thoughtfully, "She's fire, Jules. And I intend to burn with her."

Jules scoffed and hung up.

Ivan chuckled and stood, adjusting his cufflinks. He knew Soraya wouldn't be able to ignore him forever. Hate was just another form of attention. And Soraya gave him plenty of it.

Meanwhile…

Soraya burst into the women's washroom, slammed the door behind her, and locked it. Her heart thundered like a drum, her chest rising and falling erratically.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror—her flushed cheeks, her wild eyes, the trembling of her hands.

"Stupid, stupid man," she breathed. "How dare he…"

Her lips still tingled, raw from the forced kiss. She grabbed a tissue and wiped at them furiously, as if she could erase the memory.

Why is he always like this? she thought bitterly. Why does he get under my skin like no one else

A knock came on the door.

"Miss Palanca?" It was her secretary. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Soraya called tightly. "Give me a moment."

The silence returned. She slumped onto the velvet stool beside the sink, placing her head in her hands.