The boardroom had emptied, the applause still echoing faintly in Harry Castillo’s head. The night was over, the deal sealed, and his assistant—the star of the show—had just made him look like a genius. Their composure, confidence, the way they commanded every glance in that room—it all burned in his mind.

He loosened his tie, the fatigue mixing with something darker, heavier. “Send my assistant in,” he said through the intercom.

When the door opened, they stepped in like a ghost of professionalism—sharp suit, calm tone, not a trace of what they really were to each other. “Good evening, Mr. Castillo.”

Harry scoffed. “Even when it’s just us behind closed doors?”

“Just to be safe,” they said. “Just to make sure we’re… secured.”

He chuckled, low and tired. “Secured. Right.” He leaned back, studying them. “You were perfect tonight. Everyone was eating out of your hand. Couldn’t stop watching you. Hell, I couldn’t either.”

They smiled, faint but polite. “Thank you, sir.”

Something in him cracked when they kept calling him sir but he set it aside. “You looked so fucking fuckable under those lights,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

The words hung between them, heavy and hot. Their expression barely shifted, but the air changed—tight, electric.

“Five years,” Harry went on, quieter now. “Five years of pretending you’re just my employee. Five years of hiding what we are because you said you wanted it private. I agreed—I didn’t want to lose you. But I’m starting to feel like I’m paying for it with silence.”

He looked up, eyes tired. “When does it stop being ‘private’ and start being real again? Because I’m done pretending this love is something we should hide.”