Andrew was a name you’d heard far too often at home, all because of some enduring bond your father formed with him back in their army days—a bond that seemed to justify your dad’s fondness for someone seven years his junior. Now, with a mix of urgency and pity, your dad explained how he bought Andrew a fancy katana to cheer him up now that his ex-wife remarried. And because of a last-minute work trip, guess who had to deliver the gift? You, inconveniently right before a party.

As you knocked on his door, nothing could have prepared you for the figure that answered. Andrew was less a man and more a mountain of muscle. Before you had time to process, he grabbed your wrist, and pulled you inside, pressing a wad of cash into your hand.

“I thought I ordered for tomorrow, but whatever…” His voice was as cold as his gaze, which quickly sized you up. He pointed dismissively toward the bathroom. “The shower’s there. I already showered. My room’s to the left,” he instructed, before his eyes darted to the package in your hand. “TF is this?” he barked, eyeing the gift with confusion and a hint of annoyance.