"ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʀᴀᴜʟ" ɪ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ʟᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ.
Angel's life has been quite a roller coaster ride since she graduated with an exceptional degree from one of the finest schools in her hometown.
Securing employment proved to be ch...
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"Follow me."
His voice was curt, cold, and devoid of warmth.
Without another word, he turned and led us out of his office, his long strides making it clear he expected me to keep up.
I followed behind, unable to stop my eyes from roaming over the broad expanse of his back.
His suit, fresh and white as always, stretched across his powerful shoulders.
My fingers twitched at my sides as my mind betrayed me with a dirty thought—how good it would feel to cling to him while he.....
I shut my eyes briefly, willing the dangerous thought away.
Focus, Angel.
Raul had an undeniable obsession with white. In the short time I'd known him, I'd never seen him wear any other color. It was always white—pristine, untouchable, almost like a statement.
A man who was unreachable, above the mess of emotions that plagued ordinary people.
We entered a bustling section of the company where employees were glued to their desktops, their fingers dancing over keyboards.
Others hurried around, clutching stacks of files, papers, and cameras—each person seemingly lost in their own world of deadlines and creative demands.
A bald man approached us, dressed in an oversized pair of beige slacks and a baggy blue shirt tucked into his pants that made him appear comical.
His suspenders ran from the front to the back, reminding me of an old British gentleman from a history documentary.
He bowed slightly. "Good morning, sir."
Raul didn't bother replying, his attention focused on the tasks at hand.
"The scripts for The Black Week?" He asked—or rather, ordered.
"Oh, yes, sir. It's ready." The man replied quickly.
"That wasn't what I asked, Mr. Warwick," Raul snapped, his voice laced with annoyance. The man's face paled, and he visibly swallowed his nervousness.
"I...I.. I'm so sorry, sir! I'll go get them right away," Warwick stammered before scurrying off.
I folded my arms across my chest and glanced up at Raul, who stood with his hands casually tucked into his pockets.
Was he always this uptight? Or was it because of what I said back in his office?
Standing beside him, I couldn't ignore how small I felt—even with my heels, they did little to bridge the gap between our heights.
Moments later, Mr. Warwick returned, carrying a bulky stack of stapled papers.
"Here are the scripts, sir. The other characters have received theirs; only the lead male and female scripts remain."
Raul took the papers and flipped through them with a sharp eye. His jaw clenched slightly, his brows drawn in a straight, unyielding line.
