1

Adrian sat at his desk, staring at the email glowing on the screen through the blur of his glasses. The pen in his hand found its way to his mouth again, an old, nervous habit he'd developed to distract himself whenever stress threatened to crush him.

And today, he was stressed.

Mondays were always his worst days, but this time, work wasn't the reason.

The email from Lilith Anne's Hospital blinked at him like a cruel reminder: his next payment was due in three days.

"Oh, God…" Adrian muttered under his breath. He pulled off his glasses and set them on the desk, rubbing his tired eyes.

"The boss is coming."

A colleague leaned close just long enough to whisper the warning before wheeling her chair back to her own desk.

Adrian raked his fingers through his short, curly black hair, shoved his glasses back on, and dismissed the email with a quick click. He forced his eyes onto the half-finished design glowing on his screen.

It had been four months since he was hired at Devereux Autos as Alexander Devereux's secretary, and six months since he started working as a junior automotive stylist. He poured his body, soul, and blood into his designs, yet the paycheck never matched the effort. Not because the company was struggling—far from it. Devereux Autos was the top automotive company in New York. The problem was company policy: no matter how good you were, if you hadn't been there a full year, your salary was capped at the bare minimum.

For four months, Adrian had sent loan requests to the company, and for four months, his emails were ignored. But today, he was desperate enough to do the unthinkable. Today, he would ask Alexander Devereux himself.

Because this time, his mother's life was on the line.

The office fell silent at the hiss of the elevator doors. The sound of polished shoes on marble followed—steady, confident, commanding.

The boss had arrived.

Adrian's fingers clenched tight around his pen as the footsteps drew closer.

"Good morning, Boss."

"Good morning, Mr. Devereux."

The greetings came from his colleagues as Alexander strode past. As always, he ignored them. Pleasantries were meaningless to him. He valued results, not wasted words.

Adrian froze when those footsteps stopped just behind his chair. It had been happening for months now—Alexander pausing for a beat at his desk—and every single time, Adrian's heart skipped like it was the first.

"Report your design in my office, Mr. Cole." Alexander's voice was smooth as velvet, deep as the ocean, and polished with authority.

"Y-yes, sir." Adrian shoved his glasses higher on his nose, his reply robotic, as if that could mask the flutter in his chest.

When Alexander disappeared into his office, Adrian let out the breath he'd been holding.

And he reminded himself of the secret he would take to his grave:

He had fallen for his boss.

From the very first day, he'd been a fool for Alexander Devereux—those icy blue eyes that cut through him with a glint of mystery, that sharp jaw carved like marble, that straight, intimidating nose. Adrian had been doomed from the moment he walked into Alexander's office.

But it was a crush he'd never confess. He'd seen the blogs, the glamorous women Alexander was linked to. Models. Heiresses. Women he could never compete with. Even if he could, he would never risk his job by playing dangerous games.

No one knew Adrian was gay, and he wasn't ready to let anyone know.

So, he allowed himself the smallest, most pathetic comfort: admiring his boss only from afar.

Pushing the thought down, Adrian opened his drawer and pulled out his tablet. He hadn't slept all night, perfecting the design he hoped would impress Alexander—and maybe, just maybe, give him leverage to ask for a loan.

Determination steeling him, Adrian rose and walked toward the sleek silver door. His hand tightened around the tablet like it was both a weapon and a shield.

He paused, forcing his face into the calm, collected professionalism he needed to survive. Alexander could never know that the secretary standing in his office harbored forbidden thoughts about him.

He knocked once.

"Come in, Mr. Cole," Alexander's distracted baritone rolled through the door.

Adrian's pulse spiked. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

The office was vast, sophisticated, with glass walls that offered a sweeping view of the city. But none of it mattered. To Adrian, the man behind the desk was the only thing in focus.

"You've got four minutes, Mr. Cole," Alexander said without looking up, his voice cutting clean through Adrian's thoughts.

Adrian blinked, steadied his breath, and stepped forward.

Adrian's shoes clicked softly against the polished floor as he crossed the office, clutching the tablet like it was his lifeline.

"These are the preliminary concepts for the new line, sir," he said, forcing his voice into steady professionalism as he placed the tablet on the desk.

Alexander's eyes stayed on the monitor for another moment before finally lifting to meet his.

The gaze was a weapon—icy, unwavering, stripping Adrian bare with a single glance. His throat went dry, but he swiped the screen and began explaining. He walked Alexander through each sketch, every curve and feature of the designs he'd bled himself dry to perfect. His words were crisp, but inside he was a storm.

Because Alexander was too close. Close enough that Adrian caught the faintest trace of cedarwood and smoke clinging to him. Close enough that Adrian's wrist brushed against the edge of Alexander's sleeve, sending sparks he had no right to feel.

When he finished, silence stretched. Adrian's chest tightened.

"Better," Alexander said at last, his tone clipped but not dismissive. His eyes flicked back to the tablet, scanning the details with surgical precision. "You're improving."

It should have been enough. A rare note of approval from a man who never wasted praise. But Adrian couldn't afford to leave it there. Not this time.

"Sir," Adrian said, his voice lower now, almost fragile. His fingers tightened around the tablet. "If… if I may, there's a personal matter I'd like to discuss."

Alexander's gaze snapped back to him, sharp as glass. "A personal matter?"

Adrian's stomach knotted. Every instinct screamed at him to back down, to keep the line between them clear and untouchable. But his mother's face flashed in his mind, pale beneath hospital lights. He couldn't stay silent. Not anymore.

"Yes, sir," he managed, his throat tight. "It's about a loan."

The word hung heavy between them, fragile and dangerous.

For the first time since Adrian had walked into the office, Alexander leaned back in his chair, studying him with unreadable eyes. The silence stretched until Adrian thought he might choke on it.

And then, in a voice low and deliberate, Alexander said, "Explain."