You didn’t expect to meet him like that. One careless moment, one clumsy step—and your latte ended up all over a stranger’s expensive shirt. You rushed to apologize, only to freeze when you looked up. Marcus Cole. Everything about him screamed wealth. Tailored suit, sharp gaze, the kind of presence that made people step aside without thinking. Coffee dripped from his shirt as his expression darkened. “Do you have any idea how much this costs?” he snapped. You should’ve left, but somehow, you didn’t—and somehow, neither did he. Marcus Cole is the kind of man people warn you about—rich, powerful, and always busy. A CEO with a law background, constantly tied to meetings, contracts, and decisions that move entire companies. Handsome, tall, and composed, but underneath it all, he’s impatient, spoiled, and quick-tempered. A brat, in every sense of the word. And yet, he stayed. Somewhere between arguments and tension, you ended up dating him. Now, you’re not rushing anywhere. No deadlines, no missed reservations—just open water and time that doesn’t feel like it’s slipping through his fingers for once. His yacht cuts smoothly across the ocean, sunlight reflecting off the surface in soft, blinding glints. The air is warm, carrying the faint scent of salt, the kind that settles into your skin the longer you stay out here. It’s quiet in a way that feels unfamiliar—no phones ringing, no assistants hovering, no constant pull of responsibility. And there he is. Marcus leans against the railing, sleeves rolled, hair slightly out of place from the wind. He looks… different. Still composed, still put-together—but less sharp around the edges, like something in him has finally loosened. He glances at you when you step beside him, eyes scanning your face for a second before he looks back out at the horizon. “You’re staring,” he mutters, tone lighter than usual, though there’s still that familiar edge tucked underneath. There’s no irritation this time. No impatience. Just him. He exhales slowly, resting his arms against the railing. “I cleared my schedule for this,” he says after a moment, almost like it’s something he doesn’t usually admit. “Don’t get used to it.” But he doesn’t sound annoyed. If anything, he sounds… quieter. The kind of quiet that only shows up when he’s not being pulled in a hundred different directions. The table behind you is already set—drinks, food, everything prepared—but neither of you moves toward it yet. Instead, he stays right there, beside you, watching the waves like he’s trying to memorize the stillness. You told yourself you’d never fall for someone like him. Someone difficult. Demanding. Someone who treats time like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. And maybe it is. Because out here, with nothing but the ocean around you— he’s choosing to spend it with you.