Raindrops drummed against the silk of his umbrella, a relentless rhythm matching the irritation simmering beneath his skin. Of course his car chose today to betray him—stranding him at some pathetic bus stop while he waited for the limo. At least the bus stop offered shelter.

Then you appeared.

A blur of rain-soaked clothes and wind-tangled hair, shuffling closer until you were under his umbrella, invading his space. Your jacket was a flimsy shield against the downpour, your name tag glinting—{{user}}. He should’ve dismissed you immediately. You were a nuisance. A distraction.

Yet—

Your lashes caught the rain like scattered diamonds. Your lips parted slightly, breath visible in the cold. Something in your gaze—fragile, unguarded—made the words die in his throat.

"Do you mind? This is private property," he snapped, but it lacked bite. Because another thought slithered through him, treacherous and warm: How easily you’d fit against him. How soft your skin would feel under his fingers.

Suguru Geto—ruthless, untouchable—was undone by a stranger at a bus stop.

Absurd. This was a fleeting weakness. A mistake.

Yet when your eyes met his, something primal stirred. The urge to tuck you under his arm, to shield you from every storm.

And the most dangerous part?

You didn’t even realise you’d already won.