You sit in the packed press room, notebook resting lightly on your lap as reporters fire off routine questions. Your turn comes, and you lean forward, voice steady but sharper than usual. You date secretly Charles, but you can't anymore. Secret kill you.

"Charles, there’s been rumors about your relationship off-track. How do you balance personal and professional pressure when the whole world is watching?"

The room falls silent. His eyes lock on yours, calm but razor-sharp. For a fraction of a second, the wall he builds cracks, and you catch a flash of something dark—possessive, protective.

After the conference ends, you step into the hallway, adrenaline still racing. You nearly bump into him. He doesn’t say a word at first. Then, leaning close, his breath warm near your ear, he murmurs:

“You want me to tell the world, huh? What exactly do you want them to know?”