ADRIAN
It's been a week since that kiss.
Since we painted school walls with laughter and shared looks that said more than words ever could.
Since I started waking up with his name caught between breath and heartbeat.
We aren't official. We haven't said the words.
But in the quiet moments—in every text, every dream, every distracted smile—I know something's changing.
And even when we're apart, I still feel him.
Leaving a constant smile on my face.
"Good morning," came the familiar voice. "Mr. Lover Boy."
The morning light slanted across my desk, catching the edges of scattered files. My office door was slightly ajar, so I didn't even need to look up to know who it was.
"What are you doing in my office this early, Rodrick?"
"My best friend ghosted me on our coffee date," he replied with mock indignation, flopping onto the office couch with full dramatic flair.
"Oh, don't act like you don't know the reason."
"That you'd rather be texting your boyfriend all day?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. "Uuuu, never mind."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Okay, okay. Are you sure this is what will make the board respect you—for you, not just because of your father?"
"Ugh, those old folks," he groaned. "They keep reminding me how my dad shook the industry twenty years ago with that historic acquisition—being the only company granted publishing rights for anything royal or high-profile."
"Like, how is that still the standard?" I muttered. "That was two decades ago."
He shrugged. "So, when I got the invite to Mr. Gavin's listing party, I couldn't say no."
"Hey," I said, my voice softening. "Adrian, you're smart. Sharp. And more importantly, you're passionate. Your parents and Uncle James saw that. That's why they gave you this position."
"You've earned it. Through training. Through vision. Through your right. Don't let anyone make you feel otherwise."
Rick stood from the couch, arms open. "Come on, hug it out, bro."
I stood too, and we shared a warm, grounding embrace.
"Thanks, Rick."
"It's okay… as long as you don't replace me with your boyfriend," he added with a dramatic sniff.
I scoffed. "No wonder you're an actor. So dramatic. And no—Maxen isn't replacing you."
We both laughed, falling into easy banter again, planning to meet after work—until a knock at the door changed everything.
Rachel peeked her head in. "Your father and uncle are here."
In an instant, the room's temperature shifted. The air thinned. The light didn't seem as warm anymore.
Dad walked in with Uncle James. His expression was carved in stone, disapproval barely veiled. Uncle James looked more worried than angry.
Rick greeted them politely and started to leave, but my father's voice cut through.
"Rodrick, don't leave. It's good you're here."
He placed a photo on my desk.
My heart dropped.
It was from one of the charity events I'd been quietly attending—one where I'd been with Maxen. The image showed us mid-laugh, my arm brushing his, our expressions soft and open. A candid moment. A real one.
Not much of a secret anymore.
Rick and I exchanged a glance—tight, knowing.
Dad didn't miss it.
He turned to Rick, his voice quiet but lined with steel. "I thought you were the more logical and practical one between the two of you."
Disappointment dripped from every word, cold and precise.
I wanted to speak. To defend myself.
But my father wasn't interested in a conversation.
"We'll talk at home tonight," he said, brushing the photo aside like it was dust. "For now—I'm here about Mr. Gavin."
I straightened, swallowing hard, already shoving my emotions into their usual corner.
Compartmentalize. Focus. Deliver. That's what he expects.
"Gavin is one of the most celebrated actors of the decade. If we can work with him—bring his life story to screen through Veymar—it would be monumental. He's notoriously selective."
He gestured toward the photograph again, the corner curling slightly under his fingers.
"So instead of wasting time on… unnecessary distractions," he said, his voice clipped and steeped in disdain, "focus on what matters. Gain his trust. Secure that deal."
Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned and left.
Uncle James lingered for a beat longer, eyes soft, almost apologetic—before quietly following.
Silence pressed down on the room.
I stared at the photograph. The warmth from earlier already fading.
One moment, I was flying. Now I was bracing for impact.
Rick let out a low, slow breath.
"…Oops."
MESSAGE FROM ADRIAN
Oh, so I heard Maxen spilled some tea to you last weekend?
Wow. He didn't even tell me anything—can you believe that?
Now, before you jump to conclusions—no, no, no, I wasn't snooping through his phone. Promise.
I just… accidentally saw it. You know, miracles happen.
Should I be jealous? Hmm?
But somehow, I'm still sharing him with you lovely people.
Anyway, I hope your weekend was good.
Tell Maxen I said he should watch his phone next time.
Kidding. (Mostly.)
Stay sweet,
—Adrian
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TO BE CONTINUED...
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