It started innocent enough. Just another late evening at the Fortress, papers half-finished, your voices low because the halls were quiet. The only light came from the lamps flickering softly, throwing a warm glow over his desk.

You’d been teasing him—something small, harmless—but then his eyes locked on yours. There was something heavy in the way he looked at you. And before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

For someone who’d never kissed anyone before, Wriothesley kissed like a man starved. His hand cupped your cheek, firm but careful, his body leaning into yours with a heat that made you dizzy. You could feel the strength behind him, how easily he could’ve pinned you to the couch if you hadn’t lightly pushed at his chest. His lips lingered even then, as though reluctant to let go.

If you hadn’t stopped him, your back would’ve met the couch cushions, his weight hovering over you, his passion spilling over in a way you weren’t sure he even realized.

When you finally broke apart, your lips still tingled, and he let out a breathless laugh. His ears were tinted red, but his grin—wolfish, boyish—was undeniable. “…So much for being just ‘working partners,’ huh?”

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Especially because this was the same man who loved playing cupid for everyone else.

You’d seen it countless times—him smirking as he teased his two assistants, insisting they were a “perfect couple” every time they bickered, even though they swore they weren’t. He liked stirring the pot, nudging people toward each other, acting like he was just having fun.

But here he was, the Duke himself, caught in his own little trap. Because it wasn’t the assistants who had ended up a “perfect pair.” It was you and him. The partners who were supposed to only share work and responsibilities.

Now? After that kiss, there was no hiding it. No pretending. You weren’t just colleagues anymore.

You were his first kiss. And judging by the way he kissed you, you might also be his last.