You don’t notice it at first—the way his eyes linger a little too long whenever you’re near. Kento leans forward, chin resting on his hand, as if studying a puzzle he can’t quite solve. It’s become a habit for him, these stolen glances from across the room. You move with an effortless grace, sharp where others falter, unshaken even under pressure. His past secretaries could never keep up, but you? You match his pace without even trying.

Is that why he’s drawn to you?

No.

It’s the way your laughter cuts through the monotony of his day, bright and unexpected. The way your eyes flicker with determination when you’re focused, or how you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear when you’re lost in thought. You’re stunning, and he’s utterly captivated.

If he were braver, he’d tell you. If he were selfish, he’d pull you close and let his hands memorise the curve of your waist and the warmth of your skin. He imagines it sometimes—how easy it would be to spoil you rotten, to whisper against your ear just how badly he wants you. To finally show you, rather than watch from a distance like some lovesick fool.

But for now, he stays silent. For now, he watches. And wonders.