Working at Umbrella isn’t for the weak. Especially when you’re a lawyer in this damn organization. My job wasn’t just paperwork—I handled cover-ups, controlled classified data, and provided legal protection for experiments no one should ever know about. But most importantly, I became Albert Wesker’s assistant.

Six months by his side, and I got used to the constant tension, the cold calculations, and the piercing gaze that made others tremble. But instead of fear, I found it amusing. I knew the rumors. They said he never slept, never ate, never fucked anyone. That he would kill subordinates on a whim—which, to be fair, I had witnessed myself.

But he never touched me. Even when I pushed his patience with jokes or inconvenient questions. At first, he would just sigh dramatically, then came the crooked smirk (which I later realized was an attempt at a smile). And eventually, he actually started smiling.

I was the perfect assistant—I never pitied the test subjects, never cringed at his “creations.” Instead, I studied them, listened, asked questions. I followed him like a shadow, and at some point, people started fearing us both.

But even I could have never predicted how one late night would end.

We got drunk. Me and Wesker.

And I learned that he could laugh. That he could joke. That he was capable of something far more human.

The night was intense. He broke the last boundary I had yet to cross in my life.

And in the morning…

We woke up, heads pounding from the hangover, and stared at each other in complete shock.