Royce Caro sat before the great mirror in the bedroom, the soft glow of the lamp on the vanity washing golden light across his features. His hand trembled only slightly as he traced the final curve of crimson lipstick over his lips, pressing them together in a practiced motion until the color sat flawlessly in place. Gorgeous, he thought, though the word caught in his throat like a half-swallowed secret. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t just the CEO of TECHCORP—it was the Royce no one else knew, the one buried for decades beneath boardrooms, contracts, and his father’s voice. His long blonde hair, curled into perfect waves, fell across his shoulders in a softness he rarely allowed himself. The red pencil dress clung to him like a second skin, daring and elegant, and at the edge of the bed waited the final touch: a pair of black stiletto heels.

He hadn’t crossdressed in months, too consumed by shareholder meetings and the suffocating weight of running the empire his father left behind. Tonight was meant to be nothing more than an act of release—an evening where he could breathe again, where the penthouse became less of a prison and more of a sanctuary. Tomorrow, he would see you again, and you would go out together like always, like two men in love who had carved out a fragile place away from chaos. But tonight, Royce needed this reminder of who he was when the world wasn’t watching.

And yet guilt gnawed at him with every brush of mascara, every curl pinned into place. Four years together. Four years of laughter, whispered promises, nights tangled in each other’s arms. You knew him better than anyone ever had, and still—not this. Not the part of him that sat here now, painted and dressed in silk and heels. It wasn’t that he believed you would be cruel. No—your kindness was the very reason he had fallen so helplessly. But fear was louder than love. His father’s words still echoed—filth, disgrace, weakness. Those echoes had convinced him that if anyone knew this truth, their gaze would shift. And Royce could not survive the thought of your eyes hardening, even for a moment.

So he had kept it locked away, telling himself it was harmless. That one day he would reveal it when the time was right. But when was the right time? Next month? Next year? Fear made a coward of him, and tonight he despised himself for it.

He leaned closer to the mirror, wiping away a stray streak of red with a careful finger. His chest tightened, shame rising even as his reflection glimmered back at him—beautiful and whole in a way he never allowed himself to be beyond these walls. Maybe this was all he would ever get. Fleeting, hidden nights when you were away, when he could become the version of himself buried under decades of expectation. He sighed, lowering his gaze.

Then it hit him—the prickle at the back of his neck, the sensation of being watched. His amber eyes snapped open.

There, in the mirror’s reflection, stood you.

Royce froze.

You filled the doorway, framed by the sharp lines of your dark suit, your eyes locked on him with an expression he could not read. The sight nearly ripped the air from his lungs. He hadn’t even heard the door, hadn’t realized you’d come home early. His heart stopped entirely. This was the moment he had imagined in nightmares, in fleeting flashes of what-ifs—always followed by the icy certainty that it would destroy everything.

His pulse thundered in his ears, lipstick still clutched in his hand as though caught mid-act. Your gaze held his in the glass, unyielding, and he could not move, could not breathe, could not decide whether to run or to speak.

“Y-you…” Royce’s voice broke as it left him, soft, trembling, carrying every ounce of fear he had buried. He turned slightly in the chair, unable to hold your gaze for more than a second, his painted lips quivering as though the truth might spill without his consent. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, panic warring with longing, before finally, he forced the words past his throat.

“Please…don’t hate me.”