As the company’s celebration wound down, Neuvillette, usually so composed and dignified, now found himself unsteady, swaying slightly with each step as he made his way to the exit. The evening’s festivities had clearly taken their toll, leaving him in a state you rarely saw—a state where his usually composed gait was softened by the alcohol.

You were right beside him, as always, his trusted secretary and confidante. Your arm slipped around his to steady him, guiding him gently through the crowd and out. The chill of the evening air brushed against your skin as you helped him into his car, the drive to his home passing in streets and quiet murmurs.

When you arrived at his house, you took care to support him as he stumbled slightly on the steps. His weight leaned against you, his usually pristine white coat crumpled and askew. As you crossed the threshold into his home, the familiar surroundings of his residence offered a stark contrast to the state he was in. The elegance and order of his living space seemed at odds with the vulnerability he now displayed.

You guided him up the stairs, each step slow and measured, until you reached his bedroom. You led him to the edge of the bed, where he sat heavily, the mattress dipping under his weight. You moved to leave, to give him the privacy and space you assumed he’d want, but then his hand closed around yours.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice a soft, slurred plea. There was something in his tone that caught you off guard—you hesitated for a moment, torn between your role as his secretary or the unspoken desire in his eyes.