Wish you were mine

50. Power Play

The morning sun beamed fiercely across the city skyline, casting golden streaks across the steel and glass façades of towering buildings. The city buzzed with energy-cars honking, heels clicking against pavement, people in tailored suits racing against time. A new day had begun, and for most, it was business as usual.

But not for Sean Anderson.

A sleek black car pulled up in front of one of the tallest, most commanding structures on the avenue. Its dark-tinted windows reflected the sunlight with an almost sinister gleam. This wasn't just any building-it was The Anderson Corporation, a symbol of power and legacy. More than a company, it was an empire. And at its helm was a man the world didn't dare cross.

The back door of the car swung open, and out stepped Sean Anderson.

Clad in a sharp three-piece black suit that looked like it had been stitched with authority, he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve with precision. His ash-blond hair was slicked back neatly, revealing a chiseled face and piercing steel-grey eyes that held no patience for delay. His gaze narrowed at the building towering over him.

He glanced at his watch.

His jaw clenched.

He was late.

Sean Anderson was never late.
Without a word, he stormed forward, his leather shoes echoing against the polished marble as Arthur, his loyal and overworked secretary, hurried to keep up with him. Employees lining the lobby scrambled to greet him, bowing their heads or murmuring "Good morning, sir," but he didn't spare them a glance. His fury cut through the air like a blade.

The private elevator dinged and opened. He stepped in with Arthur and pressed the topmost floor button-the one reserved only for him and the board.

The elevator doors slid open directly onto the executive level, leading to the grand glass-walled conference room. Sean pushed the doors open without waiting, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the room. The board members straightened in their seats, their surprise barely masked. It wasn't every day that Sean Anderson was late to a meeting. In fact, it had never happened before.

They all knew his mantra: Time is money. And wasting it was a sin.
So, what could've delayed the man who once fired an executive for showing up three minutes late?

Sean sat down at the head of the table, his expression unreadable, his jaw still locked in frustration. Silence fell. No one dared question him.

But internally, Sean was a storm.

Penelope.

That girl. That woman. With those maddening eyes and that infuriating smile. Ever since he'd blackmailed her into this marriage, she had been slowly, deliberately dismantling his carefully structured life. And the worst part? He couldn't fight back-not really. Because no matter how much he hated to admit it... she was right to hate him.

She had every reason to want to make him suffer. And she was doing it with terrifying elegance.

He clenched his fist beneath the table, the memory of her mischievous smirk flashing in his mind. That damn plate of spaghetti. The way she looked at him-like she was enjoying every second of his pain. And he had said nothing. Swallowed it. Like a man deserving of punishment. And that's not where she stopped she decided to use his ocd against him.

"Let's begin," he muttered.

The board members started speaking, discussing projections, budgets, expansion plans for the next fiscal year. Graphs were shown, charts passed around-but Sean didn't hear a single word. His mind was still with her. No matter how hard he tried to shake her off, she lingered like a ghost-beautiful, maddening, and unrelenting.