Arrogance And Sweet

Dedication To "You" whom I lost, I am dedicating this beautiful tale of love and magic in a hope of getting you back. To make you acknowledge that I love you more than anything else in this world, I have loved you until we were strangers; I will love you more now you are known.

NoteCopyright © 2021 Michelle Zeah All rights Reserved The names, characters, places, storyline, and everything in this book is entirely fiction. Any resemblance or similarities of events are entirely coincidental.

None part of this book may be reproduced in any form or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief Passages in a review.

DO NOT COPY OR STEAL MY WORK

Content Warning

The book might contain the strong language and theme.Before you read! It's a mature themed story, so read it if you are 18. If you feel uncomfortable, then leave peacefully. Follow me for sneak peak on i***a michelle_zeahofficial. Leave review and comments to tell me what you think about the story.Thanks for Reading!.

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Prologue 

Nathan was the kind of man who seemed to command attention simply by existing in a room. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a presence that pressed down on everyone nearby, as though the air itself bent around him. His dark hair was slicked back, almost too perfectly, and there was a cold precision to the way he moved — every step, every gesture, deliberate and calculated.

His eyes were the most disturbing feature: black and unyielding, like shards of onyx, sharp enough to cut through pretense and straight to your fear. There was a predatory gleam in them, the kind that made every instinct in a woman's body scream to flee. His lips were thin, curved into a permanent, smug smirk that promised nothing good and hinted at everything he shouldn't want.

Nathan carried an energy that was palpably wrong — dark, negative, suffocating. He smelled faintly of expensive cologne, but there was a metallic undertone to it, like iron, that made the back of Matilda's neck prickle. He had the air of someone who believed the world existed for his amusement, that every woman's discomfort was merely entertainment.

He was the kind of man who could charm, but only to manipulate. Every gesture, every word, seemed coated in danger. He thrived on control, intimidation, and fear, and his intentions were as transparent as ice yet as cold as the deepest winter.

Every girl who crossed his path felt the same tightening in her chest, the same unshakable warning in her bones: Nathan was trouble incarnate, a living nightmare, and no one should ever be alone in his presence.

He rose from his chair with deliberate, precise movements. Each step echoed against the polished floor, a rhythm that made her flinch.

"Do you enjoy working here?" His voice was low, smooth, yet edged with something unnervingly sharp. Every word sent a chill crawling along her spine.

"Yes... yes, it's... it's good," she stammered, voice trembling, trying to steady herself.

He closed the distance between them in a few long strides. The air seemed to compress around her, oppressive and suffocating. "Are you free tonight, Miss Huston? I thought a welcome dinner might be appropriate. You may choose the place," he murmured, his tone heavy, with an undercurrent that made her stomach churn.

A flush of anger and unease coursed through her veins. She forced herself to stand taller. "Do you offer welcome dinners to every employee, or is this... just for your amusement, Mr Nathan?" she snapped, voice quivering between fear and defiance.

Her words hung in the air, sharp as knives. His hand shot out, clamping over hers with a grip that made her gasp. "Don't you dare speak to me like that, you insignificant junior," he hissed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Matilda's heart hammered violently in her chest. She tried to pull away, but he closed in, his presence overwhelming. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and she could feel the weight of his eyes tracing her every movement. Every instinct screamed for her to escape.

With every ounce of strength, she wrenched herself free and bolted down the corridor. The polished floor rang under her hurried steps until she reached the lift. She dashed inside, desperate to put distance between them.

Her fingers hovered over the thirty-fourth-floor button, desperate for escape. But before she could press it, a large hand landed over hers, pressing down on the button she had intended.

She looked up.

Easton.

The lift doors closed, and the air between them grew suffocating. His chest brushed her back. The faint scent of his cologne invaded her senses, mingling with something darker — commanding, dangerous. He didn't speak immediately, but his gaze, dark and penetrating, pinned her in place.

She tried to step forward, creating distance, but he mirrored her movements, shadowing her with terrifying precision. The lift descended, stopping at the twenty-ninth floor. Her stomach dropped.

Why twenty-nine? Is he... taking me back to that man? Panic clawed at her chest, making her breath quick and shallow.

When the doors opened, Easton's hand settled lightly — almost deceptively gentle — on her arm, guiding her back toward room seven. Every step was heavy, suffocating. She wanted to resist, wanted to flee, but terror held her frozen. She could feel his proximity in ways that made her skin crawl, every brush of his fingers a silent assertion of control.

"You're trembling," he murmured, low and cold, a faint, dark amusement threading through his words. "Does this frighten you, Miss Huston?"

She swallowed hard, unable to speak. The weight of his presence, the controlled dominance in his posture, pressed down on her like an immovable force.

"And yet," he continued, voice smooth and menacing, "you obey. So willingly. How... intriguing."

Matilda's meekness wasn't choice — it was survival. She had no way to challenge him, no power to resist. Every subtle brush, every calculated movement, reminded her that he held complete control. And he knew it.

Every second, his gaze lingered on her, tracing her unease, her fear, her trembling. She felt small, vulnerable, entirely exposed to his dominance — and there was nothing she could do but endure.

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