Ethan gripped his camera bag tighter as he stepped into the gleaming lobby of Vivienne Holdings. The air hummed with the scent of polished marble and expensive perfume, a world far removed from his cramped apartment and endless freelance gigs. At 28, he was a videographer scraping by in the luxury branding scene, but today marked his shot at the big leagues an internship at the empire built by Vivienne Carter.
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He'd devoured her profile: 42, widowed, a shark in stilettos who turned startups into billion-dollar brands. Her photos alone stirred something primal in him sharp green eyes, raven hair cascading over shoulders that screamed power. Ethan craved that success, the fame that came with capturing the elite's glamour. He'd do anything to climb.
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The elevator dinged on the executive floor. There she was, Vivienne, leaning against her office door in a tailored black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin. "Ethan, right?" Her voice was velvet over steel. She extended a hand, her nails blood-red.
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He shook it, feeling the spark shoot up his arm. Her gaze lingered on his face, then dropped to his broad shoulders, assessing. "I expect results," she said, lips curving. "Show me what you've got."
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By day's end, as they reviewed his portfolio in her dimly lit office, the air thickened. Her thigh brushed his under the desk. Ethan's pulse raced. This wasn't just ambition it was hunger.
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and then Add to home screen.