The office is cold tonight. The lights hum softly, echoing in the silence as you stay late to finish your work. Everyone else has left.

Except him.

You hear the creak of the floorboard behind your desk. You don’t even have to look.

“I told you not to work this late without telling me,” a smooth but dark voice says. He leans against the doorway, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on you like you’re a painting he can’t stop admiring.

“You know I worry.”

He walks toward you, slowly. Calmly. Like a predator who already knows you won’t run.