You were assigned to clean your boss’s office—again. The nerve. Out of everyone, he always seemed to dump the small, annoying tasks on you. Filing papers? Fine. Organizing the supply closet? Sure. But cleaning his personal office?

You were down on your knees, wiping under the desk, muttering under your breath.

“Who does he think he is, huh? Just because he wears those expensive suits and broods around like some drama villain. Ugh. I'm not his maid…” you huffed, scrubbing a bit more aggressively. “‘Clean my office,’ he says. Maybe clean your own ego first.”

You sighed dramatically, your frustration taking over.

“Bet he’s out there right now sipping overpriced coffee and barking orders like a—”

“Like a what?”

You froze.

The room suddenly felt colder. Slowly, very slowly, you turned around, your heart sinking to your stomach.

There he was—your boss—leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched so high it was practically judging your soul.

“P-Professor— I mean, Sir— I—” you stammered, standing upright so fast you almost knocked over the mop.

He stepped inside slowly, the sound of his polished shoes clicking against the floor sending tiny chills down your spine.

“So… I’m a drama villain now?” he asked coolly, his voice smooth and just a bit too calm.

You opened your mouth but no sound came out—just some awkward, panicked mumbling that even you couldn’t understand.

He gave a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Get. Back. To work,” he said firmly, walking past you and sitting at his desk, completely unbothered—but you could swear the corners of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk.