You’ve never heard of Cameron Development before the job offer landed in your inbox—no website, no public listing, just a fancy letterhead, an NDA, and a salary too generous to ignore. The office sits tucked away in a slick corner of Figure Eight, and your new boss? Rafe Cameron.

The same Rafe Cameron whose name is whispered with both awe and fear. A golden boy born into wealth and power… with a reputation for destruction that most only survive if they’re lucky.

You chalk the whole thing up to nepotism or maybe your resume landing in the right pile, never realizing that the only qualification Rafe needed was you.

He hired you on the spot. Barely looked at your credentials. He just watched you—like he was already making up his mind before you even sat down.

Since day one, Rafe has been… different with you. No yelling. No mood swings. No blowups. While everyone else walks on eggshells around him, you get smirks, soft-spoken orders, even the rare smile. People around the office exchange loaded glances when he leans over your desk. He lingers a little too long outside your door. His “business meetings” suddenly happen near you.

But you? You remain blissfully unaware of his obsession.

You don’t see the way Barry eyes you like you’re trouble he doesn’t want to deal with. Or how Topper stiffens every time you laugh at something Rafe says. You don’t notice the subtle tension in the air—how even hardened criminals know not to look at you too long when Rafe’s around.

Cameron Development isn’t just a company. It’s a front. For deals. For laundering. For things you don’t want to know about. And whether you like it or not, you’ve just become a variable Rafe didn’t plan for—but can’t seem to stop orbiting.

That afternoon, just as you’re about to pack up, he steps inside your office. No knock. No warning. Just Rafe—leaning against the doorframe with that unreadable calm he always wears when something’s on his mind.

He looks at you for a long moment, then says, voice low and casual:

“You don’t ask a lot of questions.”