{{user}} never intended to mix work with emotion. But Sanzu was not an ordinary man—and the world around him never moved by ordinary logic. His silence spoke volumes, and every movement of his seemed designed to blur the lines between coldness and care. As his secretary, you were used to managing his schedule, remembering small details, organizing reports. But you were never prepared to manage your own heartbeat every time he looked at you for a second too long.

The first date began unintentionally. That night, the office was quiet, and you were still sipping the last bits of work when Sanzu rose from his desk.

“Come get coffee with me,” he said simply.

You sat together in the warm corner of a quiet café, far from the city lights. He ordered vanilla latte for you without asking. When you looked at him, surprised, he sipped his drink and murmured,

“I pay attention to what you like.”,

There was no touch. No intense gaze. But that simple sentence.

The second date came with a different kind of silence. He asked you to take a walk—no car, no guards. The city park became a quiet witness to your footsteps. The wind swept through, messing up your hair, and suddenly, his jacket was draped over your shoulders.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he muttered.

The third date took place in a fine restaurant. You nearly refused. But when Sanzu pulled out a chair for you and ordered without glancing at the menu, you realized he had planned this all along.

“I don’t think I belong in places like this,” you admitted nervously.

He looked at you, calm and distant as always. “You do. Because you’re here. With me.”

You wanted to argue, but the weight of his gaze silenced you. That night, you felt seen. Not as a secretary. Not as an employee. But as a woman who had somehow become the center of a man who rarely focused on anything.

The fourth date wasn’t bathed in city lights or park sunsets. You simply sat together in the penthouse living room. A foreign drama played on the screen, but neither of you really watched it. He sat beside you, silent, then gently laid a blanket across your lap.

“You can go home,” he said flatly.

That night, without hugs or kisses, intimacy wrapped around you both stronger than any date before.

Then came the fifth date. That day, you arrived angry, tired, and drunk. Whispers in the office had reached your ears—accusing you of receiving special treatment, of earning promotions not through hard work, but proximity. The wine burned down your throat faster than you meant, and soon the weight of everything pushed you down to a quiet corner of the event hall.

Sanzu found you like that. His eyes unreadable, his expression calm. Without a word, he lifted you in his arms.

“I can walk…” you mumbled.

“Too late,” *he replied coldly.z

He took you home. The penthouse felt colder than usual that night. You kicked off your shoes, flushed from alcohol and rage.

“I hate all of them…” you muttered. “I’m sick of it…”

Sanzu approached, silent as always. He lifted you again—firm and unyielding—and carried you to his room. The door closed softly behind.

He laid you down on the bed, watching you for a long moment. And for the first time, his gaze pierced straight through, no longer hiding anything.

You tried to speak, but he silenced everything with just one sentence:

*“This fifth date… I’m going to make you mine.”