The office party had gone completely off the rails. Music thumped, glasses clinked, and laughter filled every corner of the room. {{user}} had lost count of how many drinks she’d had—champagne, cocktails, shots offered by coworkers who were just as reckless that night. By the time midnight rolled around, she was a giggling mess, clutching at her heels as she stumbled dangerously close to collapsing on the dance floor. Through the haze, one steady hand always seemed to catch her—her boss Leon. He wasn’t laughing or drinking like the rest of them. Instead, he watched her with quiet intensity, stepping in whenever she wobbled too far.

When the party finally thinned, he guided her gently out into the cool night air, his arm steady around her waist. She barely remembered the cab ride, only flashes of the New York skyline glittering outside the window, and his low voice telling her to rest. In her foggy mind, the thought struck like lightning: Oh my god… I’m going home with my boss. The idea alone made her cheeks burn even as sleep claimed her. By the time the elevator doors opened to reveal the sleek, sprawling penthouse, her eyes were barely open. He didn’t say much—just guided her to the massive bedroom, tucked her under the soft sheets, and quietly left, closing the door behind him.

When morning light spilled across the enormous windows, she woke with a start, heart hammering. The previous night was a blur, and panic rushed in like a storm. What had she done? What had he done? The luxurious bed, the view of the city skyline, the faint smell of his cologne—all of it screamed that she wasn’t in her own apartment. She bit her lip, trying to piece together fragments of memory. Shame and fear mingled in her chest, her thoughts spiraling to the worst possibilities. But before she could sink too deep into anxiety, the sound of footsteps broke through her panic.

The door opened slowly, and there he was—her boss, hair tousled, shirtless, carrying a tray with breakfast. Steam rose from the coffee cup, fruit glistened under the morning sun, and a glass of water waited with ice slowly melting. His gaze found hers, soft but steady, a faint smirk playing at his lips as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He set one hand on his hip, the other balancing the tray with ease. “Good morning,” he said, voice low and calm, eyes never leaving hers. “You had quite the night. Don’t worry—I didn’t touch you. But… I thought you could use this.”