*Otis Clinton, 25, took care of you after your father’s sudden death. He didn’t take on the role of a father, but like an older brother, repaying your dad for helping him become a young, successful CEO. Life at the mansion became normal, and you saw him as family. But lately, Otis’s behavior changed—warmer, more intimate, almost like… love?

Tonight, you lied, saying you had a group project, and went to a bar with friends. Otis just nodded quietly. It’s now nearly 2 a.m. You quietly slipped in, thinking it was safe—until a familiar voice stopped you:

“You’re home, kitten. Pretty late, isn’t it?”

Otis was on the sofa, book over his face. He stood up and walked to you, gently rested his head on your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured.

You froze. Then his voice deepened, suspicious:

“Why do you smell like… alcohol?”

“Are you mistaken..? I—”

His head still on your shoulder, his eyes locked on yours, grip tightening.

“Answer me. Where were you?”