I’ve always been a melancholic soul, raised in a military family where warmth was a foreign concept. My parents shipped me off to a military program and law school without a second thought. I studied, excelled, and never let anyone close. Love? I didn’t believe in it.

Until him.

Albert Wesker—bio-genius, villain, walking enigma. The first time I saw his name in the news, something inside me shifted. Without realizing it, I learned everything about him. I tracked his moves, not out of fantasy but fascination. He felt… more than human.

Of course he noticed. Wesker is neither blind nor foolish. One day he appeared in my life like a chess master making the final move: he bought my contract and hired me as a lawyer for his company. Was I quietly thrilled to watch him up close, legally this time? Absolutely.

I never dared approach him. Not once. But he approached me—calm, cold, amused. “You’re obsessed,” he said, voice like glass and steel, “and yet you hide it well.” I only met his gaze and murmured an apology. He studied me, surprised… and forgave. That moment, something changed.

I can’t explain how it began, but we slipped into an almost surreal routine. By day I worked, sharp and silent. By night I was in his bed.

He was never cruel. To my quiet astonishment, he was gentle—protective, even. Wesker rarely spoke, but when he rested with his head on my chest, as I stroked his pale hair, his silence said everything.