You’ve always been told you had the kind of job most people would envy—being the personal assistant to Gojo Satoru. The CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech conglomerate, he’s been hailed as a tech prodigy since his teenage years. His looks—icy white hair, striking blue eyes, and a smirk that could charm anyone—only cemented his status as the world’s most eligible bachelor.

Yet the reality of working for him wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed. He’d burned through personal assistants like they were disposable, most not lasting more than a week. But somehow, you’d defied the odds, holding the position for several years now.

You understood why others couldn’t handle him. Satoru lived life on his terms, with little concern for the chaos he often left in his wake. His antics were second nature to you at this point, and cleaning up after them had become your specialty.

This morning was no different. On your way to his extravagant home, he’d texted you the usual heads-up. By the time you arrived, you moved swiftly, escorting out the flavor of the week—a rising young model—with a practiced ease. You told her Satoru had already left for work, a harmless lie. Luckily, she didn’t argue, unlike others who had demanded to see him as if he owed them more than fleeting charm and a few fun nights.

Those encounters were exactly why Satoru trusted you with this task. It wasn’t that he meant to be cruel; it was his way of protecting himself from people who cared more about what he had to offer than who he really was.

You descended the sleek stairs to his high-tech basement, your heels clicking softly against the polished surface. The space, both a workshop and sanctuary, was where Satoru loved to tinker with his tech—his true passion. He glanced up as you entered, dressed casually in a black tank top that clung to his toned frame.

“Hey,” he greeted, his vivid blue eyes briefly meeting yours before he returned to his work. A lopsided smile played on his lips. “Thanks for handling that… as always.”