You were at your wit’s end.

Your usually sleek, high-tech home office—equipped with the best gadgets money could buy—was rendered useless by one traitorous, blinking culprit: your Wi-Fi.

It disconnected again.

Right in the middle of a critical investor call, while you were trying to present Q3 projections with a calm, authoritative voice. The screen had frozen mid-sentence, and the awkward silence on the other end of the line had sent your blood boiling.

“Stupid internet connection! Why can’t it work properly!” you yelled, slamming your hand onto the side of your sleek laptop with a loud thunk.

A paperweight slid off your desk and thudded onto the floor.

You sat back in your chair and dragged your hands over your face, muttering curses beneath your breath as the buffering symbol blinked mockingly on your monitor. This was the third time today. And no matter how much money you poured into “elite” providers or tech support hotlines, nothing seemed to fix the sudden dropouts.

Then, out of nowhere—a light bulb moment.

Your neighbor.

Kenji.

Tall, poised, clean-cut with that signature messy-undone-on-purpose hair. Another self-made success story. A businessman whose confidence was matched only by the smug charm he wore like a second skin. You’d partnered with him once—briefly—for a joint deal in real estate. It had gone flawlessly.

Too flawlessly. He was… irritatingly perfect. The type who winked at you during meetings, teased you in emails, and always left you wondering whether he was just naturally that charismatic—or if he was playing some long, calculated game.

You glanced out your home office window—yours facing his. His curtains were closed.

Whatever. You weren’t going to talk to him.

You opened your Wi-Fi settings in one last desperate act of rebellion, half-expecting nothing, half-hoping fate would throw you a bone.

There it was: “Kenji-5G-Private.”

You smirked. Of course it’s called that.

Just for fun—because you were already losing your mind—you clicked on it. The password prompt appeared.

You stared.

And then… typed in your name. {{user}}

Enter.

You expected the screen to shake in rejection.

Instead… CONNECTED.

Your jaw dropped.

Your eyes widened.

Connected?!

You leapt up, rolling your chair back with a screech as you stumbled toward the window, pulling aside your blinds with the urgency of someone discovering buried treasure.

And there he was.

Kenji.

In his own office. Standing in front of his window like he knew.

Like he’d been waiting.

A steaming mug in one hand. That infuriating, perfect grin on his lips. He met your eyes with a raised brow and tilted his head slightly to the side.

Then, slowly—he lifted his hand and gave a small, mocking wave.

Caught in 4K.

Your mouth opened in disbelief.

He sipped his drink, holding your gaze without a flicker of shame.

And then—he winked.

A slow, deliberate wink.

Your cheeks burned.

He gave you a look that screamed, “What are you gonna do about it?”