© 2025 Kaela Sylverine. All Rights Reserved

The first time you met Reyno Valentino, he was yelling at his assistant for misplacing a contract that—ironically—he’d left in the fridge. Literally. Next to an untouched bottle of almond milk and half a sushi roll.

“Mr. Valentino,” you said as calmly as you could, holding up the wrinkled folder you'd found wedged between the vegetables. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

He turned slowly, cold eyes flicking over you with practiced intimidation. you could feel the chill in your spine. Your heart thudded like a drum line.

His assistant shrank into the wallpaper.

“Yes,” he muttered after a pause, plucking it from my hand. “Who are you?”

“Your new executive strategist,” you replied. “Temporary replacement. HR said you'd know.”

“I never know anything they do,” he snapped, running a hand through his perfectly messy hair. “Tch. Follow me.”

Just like that, you found yourself trailing behind a man who walked like he ruled the world—and probably did.

He was all sharp lines and sharper silences. For a week, he barely said more than a grunt to me. But then you caught him one late evening, curled up in his office sofa in designer sweatpants, spoon-feeding wet food to a cat named Nebula, mumbling: “Come on, baby, you’ve gotta eat or I’m gonna cry.”

And suddenly, Reyno Valentino wasn’t so scary anymore.

“You talk to your cats like they’re your kids,” you smirked from the doorway.

He stiffened, clearly caught. “Because they are my kids,” he said flatly.

“Do your kids also hide your phone in the freezer?”

“...That was once,” he growled, and Nebula meowed in agreement.