Dominic was so shocked that he forgot to breathe. Just that word" you handsome and stubborn man". This was the first time a compliment has ever gotten to him. " Did she just called me handsome, he gasps and just like that he was hard...so hard." hey bro calm down "he was referring to no one else than his dick!! " Am I really a stubborn man?, he asked himself.
" I am Kirah, I'm very stubborn, I'll be anything just for you and to have you " he replied himself as the joy drown his eyes to sleep.
**The next morning**
Kirah Evans
The scent reached her before she even opened her office door.
Soft, floral, fresh—like something out of a high-end garden tucked far from the world. When she stepped in, the sight of them made her stop. A bouquet of the most delicate blush-pink peonies and ivory roses sat in a crystal vase right at the center of her desk.
She didn't need a card to know who they were from.
Kirah picked them up, burying her nose in the petals for just a second longer than she should have. The fragrance warmed her chest and tugged at something she'd tried to smother since the party.
Dominic.
She smiled—just a little—before quickly blinking the softness away.
It didn't mean anything. It shouldn't mean anything.
He was her boss.
"Keep deceiving yourself Kirah" ...she almost choked on her own laugh and sense of humor. "I can't believe I love him, the hell!"
Still, she couldn't deny the way her chest fluttered.
The rest of the morning passed in steady hums of keystrokes, phones ringing, voices murmuring just beyond glass doors. Everyone was busy—heads down, tasks in motion. But Kirah couldn't shake the invisible pull that something felt missing.
Or rather, someone.
Dominic wasn't in the office today.
She hadn't seen him since morning when he dropped that soft, melting message on her phone—the one that made her roll her eyes and hold her breath all at once.
Apparently, he had a live business interview today. Some headline-worthy feature on top entrepreneurial leadership in Velandria. She hadn't watched it. She couldn't bring herself to. The last thing she needed was to watch him on her screen, looking like sin in a suit and talking like a man who could command countries.
So she buried herself in work instead. Drowning in reports. Anything to silence the part of her brain that wondered if he thought of her.
***
Meanwhile, miles away under bright studio lights and bold cameras, Dominic Vierra was making headlines again.
His answers were smooth. Calculated. The perfect mix of business and charm. Until the interview took a turn.
"Are you married, Mr. Vierra?"
"Any children?"
"Engaged? Single?"
The questions came back-to-back—some bold, some flirtatious, all dripping with curiosity about the enigma that was Dominic's personal life.
He chuckled, slow and easy. Then his voice dropped a degree lower.
"I'm not married… not a single father either. But I'm not single."
"There's someone," he said, staring straight into the lens.
"Someone I love. Deeply. Someone I'm ready to keep."
The studio air shifted. One interviewer bit her lip in visible disappointment, the cameraman briefly lost focus, and somewhere across Velandria—on a plush leather couch in an upscale villa—Mrs. Vierra watched it all unfold.
Her lips twisted.
Her fingers tightened around the remote.
"Someone he loves…?" she muttered.
Then she picked up her phone and dialed.
"Byanca. We need to talk."
---
Back at the station, the interview had barely wrapped up when Byanca made her move.
She was all sharp heels and exaggerated confidence, stepping right into Dominic's exit path like she belonged there.
The cameras caught her at the perfect angle, just as she reached for his hand—smiling, poised, pretending like she was the woman he had just confessed to loving on air.
Wrong move.
Dominic didn't flinch.
Instead, his eyes narrowed. His voice dropped low.
"Security," he said sharply, pulling his hand back with cold precision.
"Escort her out. Now."
The room froze.
He didn't owe anyone an explanation. But he made his message clear: the woman he spoke of? It wasn't this one. Not some carefully picked socialite chosen by his mother. It was her. Kirah.
Even if she didn't know it yet.
---
He finally made it to the office around closing hours—hours too late to see her face, to hand her another bouquet in person, to watch her roll her eyes and secretly smile at his foolishness.
His messages hit her phone in quick succession:
"I missed seeing you today."
"I hope the flowers didn't upset you."
"I meant every word on air. Every single one."
"Don't shut me out again, Kirah."
Kirah sat on the edge of her bed that night, reading every word under the soft glow of her bedside lamp. She'd told herself she wouldn't fall. That she'd play it cool. That she'd protect herself.
But damn it…
She missed him too.
There's a particular song huming in her head
A Nigerian pidgin song and she just couldn't remember the artiste name.... just the song
I tell myself say I no go fall but I fall oh I fallllll....