The courtyard was alive with tension. Derek's men formed a loose circle around him, their bodies tense, their eyes filled with caution. One man was already on the ground, holding his shoulder in pain. Beside him, Mathew , Derek assistant stood, wiping the sweat from his brow with a cloth, his expression worried but resigned.
In the centre stood Derek, the epitome of strength and dominance. This wasn't an unusual sight—Derek had a habit of practicing combat with his men on weekends, a way to hone their skills and, perhaps, to release the intensity that constantly simmered within him.
His shirtless figure gleamed under the morning light, his black jogging pants sitting low on his hips. Sweat ran down his toned body, from his temples to his neck, tracing every curve of his chiseled chest and firm six-pack. Each movement of his muscles seemed to command the air around him, radiating a power that was both intimidating and magnetic.
His damp hair clung to his forehead, framing a face that was breathtakingly handsome yet held an edge of danger.
A man rushed forward, aiming a punch at Derek's stomach. Derek shifted to the side, his movements so smooth and quick it was almost impossible to follow.
Before the man could recover, Derek hand shot out, gripping his arm like a steel trap, the muscles in his biceps flexing with an almost hypnotic rhythm .
With a sharp twist, Derek forced the man off balance, then swept his legs out from under him. The man landed hard on the ground with a loud thud, groaning in defeat. The force of the fall echoed in the courtyard, drawing gasps from the onlookers.
Another man took the opportunity to charge from behind his back. His back bore the scars of countless battles, yet they only added to the allure of a man forged through storms and pain.
Derek didn't even flinch. A sly smirk curved his lips, dangerous and thrilling. His eyes glint as he turned, moving with the grace and speed of a predator.
The attacker swung wildly, but Derek ducked low, his broad shoulders and back muscles rippling with the motion. He retaliated with a punch that landed squarely on the man's side, followed by a quick, calculated kick that sent him stumbling.
"Too slow," Derek said, his voice deep and teasing. His tone was calm, but it carried an edge that sent shivers down the spines of everyone watching.
Derek straightened, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Sweat glistened on his skin, making him look even more powerful. His smirk remained, and his intense gaze swept over the remaining men. None of them dared to step forward.
Mathew stood at the sidelines, shaking his head in disbelief. "Boss is really in a mood today," he muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, the shrill ring of a phone broke the tension. A maid hurried into the courtyard, holding the phone carefully in both hands, as though it were something precious. "Mr. Mathew," she said nervously, "it's Grandma."
Mathew let out a breath of relief and quickly called out, "Boss, it's your grandmother call."
Derek paused mid-kick, his foot hovering just above his opponent's chest. Slowly, he lowered it and stepped back.
His face, which had been so fierce moments before, softened slightly. The men around him let out a collective sigh of relief, silently thanking whoever had saved them from their boss's relentless practice.
Derek accepted the phone from Mathew, wiping his face with the towel handed to him. He spoke into the phone, his voice deep but much gentler now. "Grandma."
"Derek, my dear boy. Don't you miss your grandmother?" her sweet voice came through the line, instantly melting away the tension in his body.
"Is something wrong, Grandma?" Derek asked, his tone warm but concerned.
"Do I need a reason to call my grandson? I miss you. Come home today for dinner"
Derek's lips curved into a genuine smile—a smile that softened the fierce aura he carried moments ago, transforming him into someone warm and approachable, yet still heartbreakingly handsome.
"Alright, Grandma. I'll be there this evening," he promised.
Just as the call ended, a loud commotion drew everyone's attention to the other side of the courtyard.
Derek's pet , A white lion named Jax, was pacing restlessly in his enclosure, his massive paws kicking up dust. The maids, tasked with feeding the beast, stood frozen, unsure of how to approach.
Sensing his master's presence, Jax let out a low growl of excitement, his golden eyes lighting up. The lion strained against his leash, eager to break free.
Derek walked over calmly, his steps confident. The moment Jax saw him, the lion stilled. The fierce predator became calm, his powerful body bowing low in submission.
Derek crouched, placing a hand on Jax's head. "Good boy," he said softly.
Jax purred, the deep rumbling sound reverberating through the courtyard. Derek set the bowl of meat in front of him, watching as the lion ate obediently.
The maids exchanged looks of amazement. No matter how many times they saw it, they could never understand how this deadly predator turned into a docile kitten under Derek's touch.
Mathew sighed, shaking his head with a mix of awe and exasperation. "Only you can tame him, Boss."
Derek chuckled softly, standing and giving Jax one last pat before heading inside. His steps were steady, each one radiating quiet authority.
What they didn't know—and what would leave them utterly stunned in the future, including Derek himself—was that someone else could tame Jax too.
After a quick shower, Derek emerged dressed in casual clothes, his damp hair adding a rugged charm to his already devastatingly handsome appearance.
At the breakfast table, he sipped his coffee, scrolling through documents with a focused intensity that only amplified his magnetic allure.
"Boss, these are some Board of Directors trying to go against us by conspiring with our competitive companies," Mathew said, pointing toward the document in Derek's hand. His voice steady but edged with concern.
"Handle them", Derek said, handing over the documents.
"Got it, Boss," Mathew replied without hesitation, already formulating a plan.
Derek leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on Mathew. "Anything else?" he asked, his tone steady but carrying an unmistakable weight.
Mathew paused, his expression shifting to one of quiet understanding. "No, sir. Nothing about her yet," he said, his tone respectful and measured.
For a fleeting moment, Derek's jaw tightened, his fingers tapping a thoughtful rhythm on the table. Then, with a small nod, he responded, "Alright. Let me know the moment you hear anything."
Mathew gave a sharp nod and turned to leave, but not before catching the faintest glimpse of Derek's eyes shifting toward the window, as though searching for something—or someone—beyond the horizon.