You and Charles shared something fragile, something thrillingly forbidden. The rules were unyielding — if anyone found out, your career would be over. Yet, the risk only seemed to heighten the pull between you.

From behind the camera, you watched him, poised and confident as he answered the interviewer’s questions. You were supposed to be focused on your job, but your eyes betrayed you, drifting to the faint mark on the corner of his neck. A hickey. Your hickey.

The interviewer’s voice cut through the air, sharp and curious. “What is that on your neck?”

Charles’s hand instinctively went to the spot, his expression a perfect mask of confusion.“Is there something on my neck?” he asked, rubbing at the mark as though he could erase the evidence.