Game on

Sofia's POV

By the time I walked into Rossi Group the next morning, I already knew things were about to go south.

The building felt different — thicker with tension, buzzing with a kind of chaos that hadn’t quite exploded yet, but was already simmering. It wasn’t the usual stress of high-end business operations. It was the kind of energy that came with war.

And Adrian Florencio? He walked in like he owned the damn battlefield.

I saw him before he saw me. Dark tailored suit, smirking like he had a secret. No bruises. No swelling. Nothing on his perfectly sculpted face to hint that Leandro had punched him so hard the night before that it should’ve at least left some kind of mark.

But that was Adrian for you — charmingly evil and too polished for his own good.

His eyes finally landed on me, and his grin widened like a fox spotting a cornered rabbit. I straightened my back and walked straight past him without a word.

Unfortunately, he followed me all the way up to my desk.

“Morning, querida,” he said smoothly, leaning on the divider between my workspace and the hallway.

I didn’t look up. “If you’re still trying to be charming after last night, you might need a reality check.”

“Oh, I’m not here to charm you,” he said, his voice dropping just a little. “I’m just here to enjoy the view while chaos unfolds.”

That made me pause.

I slowly turned my head toward him. “What the hell are you planning?”

He winked. “Nothing... yet.”

Before I could respond, Leandro’s office door opened. And just like a storm cloud, he stepped out, in full black again, eyes scanning the hallway like he was hunting something. Or someone.

His gaze locked on Adrian instantly.

The corner of Adrian’s mouth curved up in slow, smug delight. “Ah, speak of the devil.”

“Florencio,” Leandro said, voice low, calm, but dangerous. “Out of my hallway. Now.”

Adrian straightened from my desk and shrugged. “Didn’t know your hallway was part of your ego, boss. My mistake.”

That earned a few nervous glances from passing employees.

Leandro didn’t even flinch. “You’ve got five seconds to disappear before I call security to escort you.”

“I work here, Rossi. You can’t just muscle your way through HR policy.”

“Try me.”

The two stared each other down in dead silence.

Then Adrian smirked. “Fine. I’ll go. But I’m not done with you.”

He turned and walked away slowly, like he had all the time in the world. And the entire building seemed to exhale when he disappeared down the corridor.

Leandro walked over to me, eyes still dark. “If he bothers you again, tell me immediately.”

“He already bothered me. Again.”

His jaw clenched. “Then I’ll deal with it again.”

“Should you really be punching him, though?” I whispered, glancing around. “You’re risking a lot.”

His expression didn’t soften. “Some lines can’t be crossed. I warned him. He crossed them. That’s on him.”

“And if he sues?”

“I have a better legal team.”

Typical Leandro.

But even I could tell this wasn't over.

By lunchtime, the building was buzzing with whispers.

Adrian wasn’t seen again after the morning confrontation, but word was spreading fast — and he had definitely started something. Emails went out from HR about professionalism and workplace behavior. One of the senior secretaries casually mentioned Adrian had requested a formal meeting with the board about “internal misconduct.”

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was aiming for.

Bri texted me from her floor:

“Tell your scary boss to chill before he breaks the company.”

I replied:

“Tell your chaotic crush to stop playing victim when he was being an asshole in the first place.”

Adrian might’ve been annoying, but he wasn’t stupid. He wanted to get under Leandro’s skin, and now he was using office politics to twist the knife deeper. Passive-aggressive jabs in meetings. Snide comments to other executives. Even casual “concerns” brought up to HR about Leandro being “unreasonably hostile.”

The worst part? Leandro didn’t care.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge Adrian’s petty tactics. And somehow that made it worse — because Adrian thrived on reactions. The more Leandro ignored him, the more frustrated Adrian became.

By the end of the day, you could almost hear Adrian’s ego cracking like glass.

Later that evening, I was gathering my stuff when I saw Leandro step out of his office again. This time, he looked calmer — too calm.

“Come,” he said simply.

I blinked. “Where?”

“I’m driving you home.”

“I can take a cab—”

“I said I’m driving you.”

And just like that, I followed him.

The ride was quiet at first, the city lights flickering past the windows. Then I said, “You really don’t care what Adrian does, do you?”

“No.”

“You probably should.”

He turned slightly toward me, eyes colder than usual. “Let him play his little game. I’m not worried about men like him. They’re all noise and nothing beneath.”

That silence stretched between us again.

“I hate how calm you are about it,” I muttered.

“I know,” he replied.

But underneath that calm? I could feel it.

He wasn’t unaffected. He was just patient. Dangerous people didn’t explode. They calculated. And I knew one thing for sure — Leandro Rossi didn’t play defense. He waited until his opponent was exposed, then he struck in ways no one ever saw coming.

So if Adrian thought he was winning?

He was in for a rude awakening.