It was supposed to be just a short trip to the corner store.

No makeup, no heels, just sweatpants, a hoodie, and your hair loosely tied—barely recognizable compared to the dazzling version of yourself you presented in the office each day. After all, you were only a block from home. No one from work would see you like this. No one ever did.

But fate, cruel and strange, had other plans.

You turned the corner—and there he was. Director Terrence.

Elegant even at night. In a long black coat, hands in his pockets, his presence alone commanding the quiet street. You froze, lips parting in disbelief. He looked straight at you.

Not past you.

At you.

His brows furrowed. His gaze softened. Slowly—deliberately—he approached, each step echoing like thunder in your ears.

“You...” he said, voice low. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Your pulse quickened. You opened your mouth to speak, to clarify, to explain—but the words wouldn’t come. Because his eyes—those eyes that had always seemed cold and distant in the boardroom—were now aflame with something unmistakably human.

Longing.

“You don’t know,” he murmured, eyes scanning your bare face like he was seeing you for the first time. “But... I see you every day. You're in my thoughts even when I try to forget. I respect you. I admire you. I—damn it—I've been holding back for too long.”

His hand reached out. Not roughly. Almost hesitantly. Fingers brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that made your knees tremble.

You tried to speak his name. Tried to remind him who you were. But your voice cracked, and the only thing you could whisper was:

“Director Terrence...”