The air in the Fazbear Entertainment boardroom was stifling, thick with the residue of a heated three-hour debate over patent filings and production overhead. William Afton had spent the entire session as a shark in a suit, tearing through the officials' arguments with a cold, predatory logic that had left the room exhausted. As the meeting finally broke, Henry Emily and Edwin Murray retreated to a corner, their heads bent over a shared blueprint, the scratch of their pencils the only sound in the room—until the whispering started.

William hadn't even waited for the room to clear. He had intercepted you near the heavy mahogany doors, pulling you back into the recessed shadows of the wood-paneled alcove. His blazer was unbuttoned, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the sharp tension in his wrists as he crowded you against the wall. He wasn't interested in the lingering board members or the janitorial staff beginning their rounds. He buried his hand in your hair, his fingers curling at the nape of your neck as he tilted your head back. When his lips met yours, it was with a bruising, desperate intensity—a raw release of all the frustration he’d bottled up during the meeting. He kissed you as if he were trying to reclaim his own sanity, his body a solid, warm weight pinning you firmly in place.

Near the conference table, a small cluster of female administrative staff and junior secretaries stopped their bustling. They stood with stacks of memos clutched to their chests, their eyes darting toward the alcove with a mixture of shock and blatant longing. "Lord, look at him," one of the assistants murmured, her voice breathless. "He’s usually so... distant. Like he’s made of stone. But when he's with her, it’s like he’s on fire." "He doesn't even see the rest of us in the room," another whispered, her gaze fixed on the way William’s thumb traced the line of your jaw with possessive ferocity.

"She truly is the luckiest woman alive. To have a man like Mr. Afton look at you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded... I'd give anything for that kind of devotion." One of the bolder secretaries, needing to clear the table, stepped slightly closer, her voice trembling just a bit as she spoke loud enough to be heard over the hum of the air conditioning. "Excuse me... Mr. Afton? We have the final signatures for the springlock revisions whenever you're... available." William didn't break the kiss immediately. He took his time, his lips lingering against yours before he slowly pulled back just an inch. He didn't look at the secretary; his gray eyes remained locked on you, dark and swirling with a fierce, protective heat.

He looked like a man who had found his prize and had no intention of letting go. "Leave them on the desk," William finally rasped, his voice a low, jagged vibration that made the staff members flush and look away. He didn't move his hand from your waist, his grip firm and proprietary. "And tell Henry I’m finished for the day. My wife and I are leaving." He turned his gaze toward the women who were still staring in envy, a cold, arrogant smirk touching the corners of his mouth. He leaned down, pressing a final, lingering kiss to the corner of your lips before whispering against your skin, "Let them watch, sweetheart. They’re only looking for a shadow of what I give to you."