The Billionaire Who Knows My Secret

Jalen’s POV

“Where are you?”

Dean’s voice filled my ear the second I picked up the call.

“At home,” I said, already standing. “Sir…”

“I’m outside.”

There was no other word that came out of the phone. Just the quiet click of the line going dead.

I stared at my phone for a second, then at the half-buttoned shirt on my bed. Dean never showed up unannounced. He'd informed me about the party tonight, but I didn't exactly think he was serious. 

He never involved staff unless it served him. 

Whatever this was, it wasn’t optional.

I dressed fast. Shirt tucked with shaky fingers, shoes slipped on without care. When I stepped outside, Dean’s black car was parked by the curb, engine running. 

He didn’t look at me when I opened the door.

“You’re late,” he said.

“You didn’t say…”

“I said I’m outside.”

That was the end of it.

The drive was quiet. Dean scrolled through his phone, answering messages, making calls I wasn’t meant to hear. 

I watched the city change through the window, buildings became cleaner, lights better, this was the part of the city where money lived. Power breathed easily.

The venue was already glowing when we arrived. Valets, suits, women in dresses that probably cost way more than my monthly rent. 

I straightened instinctively, suddenly aware of my hands, my posture, the way I didn’t belong.

“Stay close,” Dean said as we walked in. “Speak when spoken to.”

I nodded.

Inside, everything felt muted, laughter restrained, smiles looking all practiced. 

People looked at each other like transactions. Dean moved through them with ease, greeting some warmly, others cautiously.

Each time he introduced me, he kept it brief.

“This is Jalen. One of my staff.”

No context. I wasn’t a person, I was proof of utility.

Then I noticed another ‘attendee’ 

He stood near the edge of the room, untouched by the noise, as if it had organized itself around him rather than included him.

He wore a dark suit, simple cut, no visible extravagance. His presence was heavy without being loud. 

People approached him carefully, like they were aware he could afford not to care.

Our eyes met once.

He didn’t look away.

Later, after too many glasses of wine passed by untouched, after Dean disappeared into conversations that mattered more than me, the man approached.

“You look uncomfortable,” he said. His voice was calm. 

“I’m fine,” I replied.

“Nah, don't bullshit me.” He chuckled as he replied. 

I glanced at him then, properly. Up close, his expression was unreadable, but his attention was exact. 

Like he had already decided I was worth it.

“I’m Kristofer,” he said, extending a hand for a firm handshake. 

“Jalen.”

“You came with Dean.”

“Yes.”

“And I'm guessing you didn’t choose to.”

I hesitated. “No.”

That earned the smallest shift in his mouth. Not a smile. Recognition.

“I don’t enjoy these events either,” he said. “But I enjoy observing what happens during them.”

“And?” I asked.

“And you look like you’re counting minutes.”

“I am.”

“Good,” he said. “So am I.”

He wasn't directly flirting with me, but there was this awareness between us, the kind that didn't need explanation.

He didn’t ask if I was gay. He didn’t need to. The way he looked at me, direct, assessing, unashamed, told me he already knew. And worse, that he knew I knew too.

“Walk with me,” he said.

It wasn’t phrased as a command, but it felt like one. I followed anyway.

We moved toward the quieter side of the venue. 

From there, I could see Dean across the room, laughing too loudly with men who looked like they ate risk for breakfast. He didn’t notice me leave.

“You don’t belong to him,” Kristofer said.

“I work for him.”

“For now.”

I swallowed. “Why are you talking to me?”

He studied me for a second. “Because you looked totally lost in there, and so am I.”

“That’s not the answer I was hoping for, but alright.”

There was a heavy pause that came right after that. 

“I’m leaving,” he said eventually. “There’s a hotel nearby. I can't go back to my house tonight.”

My pulse lifted. 

“And you’re telling me this because?”

“I'm assuming you'd like to join me, we could get to know ourselves better, you can say no.” he replied. 

He waited a little while, sipping the last bit of drink in his glass. 

I thought of my life, of restraint, of duty, of always choosing what was sensible.

“Okay,” I said.

We left immediately, stepping out of the wealth and into the night. 

That was the choice. I slid into the passenger seat of Kristofer’s car, the leather cool against the backs of my thighs even through my slacks. 

The event lights still flashed faintly in the rearview as he pulled away from the curb, smooth, deliberate, no hesitation. 

Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The air between us was already thick with what we both knew was coming.

Five minutes. That was all it took to reach the hotel. 

He didn’t even kill the engine before the valet appeared, Kristofer just stepped out, tossed the keys, and I followed. 

At the desk the receptionist barely glanced up. She smiled the practiced smile of someone who had seen this exact scene before, slid a keycard across the marble without a word, and that was it. 

No small talk, just access. The elevator ride was silent except for the soft ding of floors passing. 

Kristofer stood close, close enough that I could smell the faint cedar of his cologne mixed with the heat coming off his skin. 

When the doors opened on the twelfth floor, he simply walked, and I followed. 

That was enough. Inside the room the lights were already low, warm amber spilling from the bedside lamps. 

The door clicked shut behind us and he turned, finally looking at me properly. 

His eyes dark and steady, his expression completely unreadable. 

He stepped in and cupped the back of my neck.