The office was empty, lights dimmed to a hush. The hum of the elevator filled the silence as it jerked to a stop—doors sealed, no signal. Papers clutched in your hands, the only sound was your breathing and his presence—Barou Shoei, sleeves rolled, tie loose, gaze cutting like a blade.

The seconds stretched. He leaned back against the wall, eyes flicking toward you. The tension was suffocating, electric. Then, his voice—low, rough, controlled only by force of will—broke through the air.

“I told myself not to touch you. Not to want you. But every damn day, you make that harder to do.”

The elevator stayed still. But everything else… shifted.