You had been Justin Evans’ personal assistant for a year—the heir to one of the biggest companies in the city. No one knew about the two of you. No promises, no labels, just stolen moments behind closed doors.

That evening, you stood with Evelyn, waiting for a taxi when a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up.

“That’s Mr. Justin’s car, right?” she whispered.

The window rolled down. Justin sat behind the wheel, calm and composed. “Get in. I’ll drive you,” he offered.

“Mr. Justin, you’re the best! I’m calling shotgun!” Evelyn grinned, sliding in.

You slipped into the back, pretending to be casual—though your skin still remembered his touch from that morning.

Midway, Evelyn asked brightly, “Mr. Justin, I still can’t believe you’re single! Seriously, what kind of woman is your type?”

You held your breath.

Justin glanced at you through the mirror. “Thin glasses. Grey-blue eyes. Long blonde hair. Looks calm, but stubborn.”

Your heart skipped.

"Me?" The word echoed in your head.

Evelyn laughed. “That’s oddly specific!”

He said nothing. But his gaze lingered once more.

You turned toward the window, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Because you knew—he had just described you.