Elias Voss was not a patient man.
He was controlled.
Precise.
Measured.
But patience—
was not something he practiced when his authority was being ignored in his own home.
And right now—
it was.
He stood in the center of his penthouse, shoulders squared, posture sharp, every line of his body pulled tight with restrained tension.
Across from him—
Catherine Vale sat on his couch.
Eating chips.
Like none of this mattered.
Crunch.
The sound snapped something.
Elias moved.
Fast.
In two steps, he closed the distance between them, his hand coming down on the table with a sharp, controlled impact that made the glass tremble.
"Enough."
His voice wasn't loud.
But it hit.
Cold.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
Catherine paused mid-bite.
Then slowly—
very slowly—
she lowered the chip.
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
Green.
Bright.
And completely unafraid.
"…You're loud when you're irritated," she said softly.
Elias leaned forward slightly, one hand still braced against the table, the other tightening at his side.
His jaw was clenched now, the sharp line of it more pronounced, a muscle ticking once beneath the skin. His dark hair, usually perfectly in place, had shifted slightly from when he loosened his tie—just enough to make him look less untouchable.
Less perfect.
More dangerous.
"Stop talking," he said.
Catherine blinked once.
Then smiled.
"You first."
That—
was it.
Elias straightened slowly, dragging a hand down his face before fixing her with a look that could cut through steel.
"Who. Are. You."
Each word landed heavy.
Deliberate.
A demand—not a question.
Catherine tilted her head slightly, her red hair sliding over her shoulder like a slow flame catching light. It wasn't styled. It didn't need to be. It moved naturally, effortlessly—completely opposite to everything Elias controlled.
"Catherine," she said lightly.
His eyes darkened instantly.
"Don't."
A pause.
Then sharper—
"I asked how you got in."
"I walked."
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
"It's not one I accept."
Catherine leaned back slightly into the couch, completely undoing the pressure he was trying to build.
"That sounds like a you problem."
Silence.
Elias laughed.
Once.
Short.
Humorless.
"You think this is a joke."
"I think you're overreacting."
"You're in my house."
"Yes."
"You're sitting on my furniture."
"Yes."
"You're eating—" his gaze flicked to the bag in her hand, irritation flashing clearly now, "—that."
"Still chips."
"I know what they are."
"Good," she smiled. "You're learning."
Elias stepped closer again.
Too close.
His presence filled the space, tall, imposing, controlled—but the control was thinner now. Cracking at the edges.
"You don't get comfortable here."
"I already am."
"You don't speak like that to me."
"I just did."
"You don't ignore me."
"I'm not ignoring you," she said calmly. "I'm just not listening."
Elias's eyes narrowed, his gaze locking onto hers with something sharper now—something less controlled.
"You don't understand who you're talking to."
Catherine studied him for a second.
Then—
softly—
"I do."
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Unstable.
Elias's jaw tightened again, his fingers flexing once at his side before stilling.
"Then act like it."
She smiled.
"No."
That single word—
simple.
Light.
Final—
snapped something deeper.
Elias moved again, faster this time, grabbing the bag of chips from her hand in one sharp motion and tossing it onto the table.
It landed with a dull sound.
Catherine blinked.
Then looked at him.
Then at the chips.
Then back at him.
"…You're getting aggressive over snacks."
"It's not about the chips."
"I figured."
Elias leaned down slightly, one hand braced against the back of the couch now, caging her space without touching her.
"You walk into my office," he said, voice low and cutting, "you walk into my home, you ignore everything I say—and you expect me to what? Accept it?"
Catherine didn't move.
Didn't lean back.
Didn't flinch.
Her gaze held his.
Steady.
Calm.
And that—
that made it worse.
"I don't expect anything from you," she said softly.
"Then why are you here?"
A pause.
Her eyes didn't leave his.
"Because you're interesting."
"That's not a reason."
"It is to me."
"It's not enough."
"It will be."
Silence stretched between them.
Tight.
Charged.
Elias stared at her like he was trying to take her apart piece by piece—understand, control, eliminate the unknown.
But nothing fit.
Nothing made sense.
"You're not leaving until you answer me," he said.
Catherine's lips curved slightly.
"You keep saying that."
"And I mean it."
"And I don't care."
That—
again.
Elias exhaled sharply, straightening just enough to create space—but not enough to step away.
"You think you're in control here."
"I don't think," she said lightly. "I know."
His eyes flashed.
"You know nothing."
"I know you haven't made me leave."
Silence.
Dead center.
That line—
cut clean.
Elias didn't answer.
Because he couldn't.
Not in a way he liked.
Catherine watched him for a second.
Then—
she shifted slightly on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, her posture relaxed again—like the tension didn't exist.
Like he didn't exist.
"You're intense," she added.
"You're irritating."
"I've been called worse."
"I can do worse."
Her smile deepened.
"I'd like to see that."
Elias went still.
Completely.
Because that—
was not fear.
Not challenge.
Not even defiance.
It was—
interest.
And that was far more dangerous.
His voice dropped.
Lower.
Colder.
"You're pushing something you don't understand."
"And you're holding onto something that's already slipping," she replied.
Silence.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Elias held her gaze.
Long.
Unmoving.
Then—
quietly—
"How did you get in?"
Not shouted.
Not snapped.
But worse.
Demanded.
Catherine looked at him.
Really looked.
Then—
softly—
"I just walked in "
And that—
that was the moment—
Elias Voss lost the last thread of calm he had