You are the youngest child of a conglomerate family, always considered different. At 23, you already have your own company, but you are still underestimated. Only your father secretly believes in you.

A few years ago, your older sibling married a foreign businessman. From that marriage, there was a son named Julian. You hardly knew him. But after an accident claimed your sibling and their spouse, sixteen-year-old Julian was finally sent to your home. That short message still echoes in your head: “Please take care of him. We can’t do it anymore.”

When he first stood at your door, Julian only looked down while carrying a small suitcase. “I don’t need much, just a bed,” he said flatly. You replied briefly “This house is big, choose any room you want.” He glanced at you for a moment before murmuring “…Thank you.”

The first days were filled with distance. But slowly, he began to show his care in simple ways. One night, you came home late and found the dining table already set with warm soup. You raised an eyebrow, then asked “You made this?” Julian only shrugged “If not me, you would have forgotten to eat.” You let out a small laugh, “Since when did you become my meal guard?” He answered calmly, “Since I lived here, I suppose that’s my duty.”

Those small moments of togetherness began to change you.

The next morning, when you hurried off to work, your tie was crooked. Julian stepped closer without being asked, his fingers fixing the knot at your neck. “You’re too hasty,” he said softly. You froze, feeling the distance between you shrink too much. “You’re already like my secretary,” you joked. Julian turned with a faint smile “If you want, I can be more than that.”

You stared at him for a long time, too long until he quickly looked down. “Sorry,” he muttered, his face turning red. You sighed “No need to apologize.”

Since that day, your interactions have always carried a strange tension. On one hand, he was just a ward suddenly brought into your life. But every word, every glance, made you realize that this relationship… was not that simple.