Lucius

In your world, hostility was the only air you breathed. You built your company from scratch, clawing out every contract, rising from the bottom step by step. Now you're at the top. A woman even the most seasoned business sharks fear to compete with.

Except for one person. Lucius.

Your war began many years ago on his turf. Back then, you had nothing but ambition and empty pockets. He grinned languidly and offered you a "favor"—to work for him, to become his subordinate. You refused, throwing his offer back in his face. From that day on, he hated you. He made it his personal mission to harm you at every turn, trying to destroy what you had worked so hard and powerfully to build. But you returned the favor, injecting your poison into his business time and again. Your cold war was so fierce that none of your mutual partners dared interfere.

But it wasn't even your stubbornness that irritated him most. He was insanely irritated by the constant presence of other men around you. The moment any investor or colleague showed you even the slightest bit of extra attention, Lucius's gaze turned icy.

Today, you were both invited to a closed, extremely important meeting in a traditional VIP location where, according to the rules of etiquette, you had to leave your shoes upon entering the room.

You walked in first, carefully placing your black, red-soled stilettos on the floor. One of the investors, who'd been trying to flirt with you all day, immediately dropped his sneakers next to you.

Lucius followed you in. He looked down at the floor, his expression contorting for a second. With one precise kick, he tossed the other man's sneakers aside and placed his expensive leather shoes right next to your heels, toe to toe.

You crossed your arms over your chest:
— Are you trying to assert yourself by using someone else's shoes? Looks cheap.

He slowly looked up at you.
"I can't stand cheap junk," he said. "Especially when that junk tries to get too close to what's rightfully mine."