The office felt heavier that day — like every whispered word carried the risk of exposure. You and Rhory had gotten good at pretending: polite nods in meetings, casual hellos in the hallway. But every stolen glance felt like a secret kiss no one could see.

Then Daniel happened.

He’d been friendlier lately — leaning in close when he talked, finding reasons to linger at your desk. You didn’t think much of it, but you knew who would.

And sure enough, when you left work that evening, Rhory was waiting near the entrance — leaning against his car, eyes storm-dark.

“Rhory…” you began softly.

His voice was tight. “You didn’t tell me you had plans with him.”

You frowned. “Because I don’t. He just talks to me at work. That’s all.”

“He asked you out,” Rhory said flatly. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

You sighed, lowering your voice. “And what was I supposed to do? Yell, ‘Sorry, I can’t, I’m secretly dating you’ in front of everyone?”

That stopped him. The tension cracked — just enough for you to see the fear behind his jealousy.

“I hate this,” he murmured. “Pretending I don’t care when I see someone else trying to take you away.”

Your heart softened. You stepped closer, careful, but bold enough to brush your fingers against his hand. “No one’s taking me away, Rhory. But if we want this to last, we can’t let it burn everything else down.”

He looked at you then — really looked — the fight fading from his eyes, replaced by something quieter.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he admitted. “Loving you this much… it’s like trying to hide fire in your hands.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, shadows crossing under the streetlight — love balanced between secrecy and surrender.

Then Rhory whispered, “Maybe it’s time we stop hiding.”