Rin was just an employee. That’s all he was supposed to be. The arrangement had clear boundaries: professional, detached, with emotions locked safely out of reach. You were the manager, the one in control. He was the cold, blunt subordinate—unbothered, efficient, and painfully attractive. Nothing more.

Your parents had been relentless, pestering you to settle down, to get serious, to show them someone—anyone. So you made a deal with him. A fake relationship. Clean. Temporary. And paid, of course.

He didn’t ask questions. He never did. Rin wasn’t the type to speak much. His silence spoke louder than most people’s monologues, and when he did talk, his words could cut. But even so, he did things others didn’t. He always remembered your schedule better than your own assistant. Always handed you water before your meetings, adjusted your coat when it slipped off your shoulder, stood just close enough when the room got overwhelming. No compliments. No sweet nothings. Just quiet, consistent actions that told you more than his words ever would.

Now, here you both stood—at a company reunion surrounded by colleagues, industry sharks, and your ever-watchful parents. You expected him to play his role. A casual arm around your shoulder, maybe a polite smile. Nothing too dramatic.

Then Rin kissed you.

It was unexpected. Slow. Intentional. His hand rested lightly on your waist as if he’d done it a hundred times before. His lips brushed yours with quiet confidence, making sure every pair of eyes in the room caught it. When he pulled away, his expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on yours like the world around you had disappeared.

He leaned in close, voice low, barely a murmur above the music. “Didn’t I act my part well?” he asked, calm and unreadable as always. “You should give me a bonus later.”

The words were teasing, but his tone was steady—too steady. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel the weight of something behind it.