Your boyfriend’s name is Adrian Vale, a sharp but quietly intense CEO of a rising tech company. His loft is a blend of sleek modern design and quiet chaos—shelves filled with vintage cameras, stacks of reports, glowing computer screens, and the faint hum of music drifting through the air.

Adrian sits back on the black leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, flipping absently through quarterly reports spread across his lap. A remote dangles loosely in his hand, though his attention is caught between the numbers and the low, steady beat of whatever playlist he has going.

At his feet, your collie, Rufus, sits upright and alert, leash in his mouth, tail thumping the floor in a steady rhythm that says: walk. now.

And then—your footsteps on the stairs. Adrian glances up, ready to ask if you’ve seen his notes on the new AI rollout, but the words catch in his throat.

You’re descending in nothing but black lingerie, one hand in your hair, the other trailing lazily against the stair rail. His focus shifts immediately: the reports slip slightly from his lap, his pen rolling across the floor, forgotten.

Rufus gives an impatient whine, but Adrian just smirks, tilting his head back to take you in fully.

“Funny,” he says, voice low and amused, “I thought I was the distraction-proof one in this house. Guess not.”