His eyes are on . His arms are crossed. His head is tilted—like he’s trying to figure out for the first ti. His voice is quiet when he speaks. Not teasing. Not dramatic. Just... curious.
"Ellis."
A pause. Long. Heavy.
"Are you... in love?"
The words hang in the air between us, suspended in the dim, pulsing light of the club.
In love....
The words hit too suddenly—a language I don’t speak, a sound I’ve never heard before. Foreign. Unfamiliar. The kind of thing that doesn’t belong in my mouth or my mind or anywhere near the life I’ve built for myself.
I blink at him.
Sum’s eyes stay on . Curious. Waiting. Hungry for an answer he’s already decided he knows.
My voice cos out cold—colder than I intend, sharp enough to cut. Flat. A door slamming shut.
"What nonsense are you talking?"
Sum doesn’t flinch. He pours himself another drink—slow, deliberate, the amber liquid catching the neon light before disappearing into the glass.
He’s calm. Too calm. The calm of soone who’s already caught the scent of sothing and won’t let go.
"I’m not—"
I cut him off with a stare.
He sips. Swallows. Shifts his gaze back to mine. "I can’t believe you’re hiding sothing from your best friend, Ellis."
I look away.
The room feels smaller than it did a mont ago. The bass still thumps, but it’s distant now—muffled, like hearing music from underwater.
"Shut up. I’m not hiding anything."
Sum leans closer. His eyes don’t leave my face. They search—trying to find the crack in my armor.
"Then who were you talking to?" His voice drops. "I’ve never seen you so attentive before. Never."
He pauses. Studies the way he studies a painting he can’t quite understand.
"You were smiling."
I stare at him.
Smiling?
When did I smile?
"I didn’t smile."
"You did." His voice is certain. Final. A verdict with no appeal. "I saw it with my own eyes. Don’t lie to , Ellis."
He leans back slightly.
"You were so busy staring at that screen—so lost in whatever was happening there—that you didn’t even notice soone watching you."
The words land sowhere in my chest. I don’t know what to do with them.
"Even if I smiled—" My voice stays flat. "—that doesn’t an I’m in love. You’re crazy."
Sum shrugs. The gesture is light, but his eyes are heavy.
"I’m not crazy." He tilts his head. "And I’m sure. When a person smiles while talking to soone—really smiles, not the fake one they wear for strangers—it ans they’re in love."
A pause.
"Ellis, tell . Who were you talking to?"
"There’s no one."
"Ellis..."
"I’m not hiding anything. Ask one more ti and I’ll leave."
Sum straightens. His voice sharpens like a blade being drawn. "You’re pushing the topic away again." A pause. "Don’t make spy on you."
I pour whiskey for myself. I don’t look at him. The liquid fills the glass, dark and dangerous, and I sip it like it can wash away whatever is happening inside .
"If you do, you’re dead."
Sum sighs—a long, dramatic exhale that seems to pull all the air out of the room.
"My friend has changed." He looks up at the ceiling, as if asking for divine intervention. "Soone help..."
Before I can answer—
Footsteps. Calm. asured. The kind of footsteps that belong to soone who never hurries and never hesitates.
A man walks toward us through the haze of music and dim light. He stops in front of the table.
Waiting.
Sum freezes mid-sentence. His eyes shift to the man. His face changes quickly—like a curtain being pulled aside to reveal sothing he didn’t expect.
My gaze shifts too. Slowly. Calmly.
Silas’s secretary.
"Good evening, Mr. Ellis." His voice is smooth—polished, professional, practiced. "I’m here to pick you up."
Sum’s eyes stay on him. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
His gaze drifts slowly over the man—head to toe, unhurried, deliberate. Dark eyes. Dark hair. The sharp line of his jaw. Perfect posture. Glasses resting neatly on his nose, catching flashes of neon light every ti he moves. Like he’s trying to morize him.
Sum shifts closer to on the couch. Close enough that his shoulder presses against mine. His voice drops to a whisper. Low. Conspiratorial. Almost breathless.
"Ellis..." He swallows. "Who is this handso man?"
Silas’s secretary adjusts his glasses. A small movent. Precise. Controlled.
"Sir, should I wait outside for you?"
I nod. Just a slight movent of my chin.
He nods back imdiately—a mirror reflecting another mirror. Professional. Quiet. Almost shadow-like.
Then he turns. Walks away through the haze of smoke and dim light, his steps calm and asured against the heavy bass vibrating through the floor.
Sum’s eyes follow him the entire ti. They don’t leave him for a second. Not until he disappears through the doorway.
His hand squeezes my shoulder. Hard.
"Ellis." His voice is urgent now. Demanding. "Are you listening to ?"
My voice is flat.
"He’s Silas’s secretary."
Sum’s eyes widen. His mouth falls open just a little. "Silas’s secretary?" A pause. "That hot?"
I stand up. Straighten my shirt. Reach for my jacket. Sum stands too—quickly, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
"Ellis..." He grabs my arm. "What’s his na?"
I put on my jacket. The fabric feels heavy.
"I don’t know."
Sum blinks. Confusion flickers across his face.
"How do you not know?" He pauses. His voice softens, almost dreamy. "Ahh. He’s totally my type." Another pause. "Is he an Alpha? He looks like one."
I walk without turning back.
"I don’t know."
Sum follows . His footsteps echo mine.
"Why are all X Country people so hot and beautiful?" He counts on his fingers as he walks. "Silas—so beautiful. His secretary—so hot." He shakes his head. "It’s not fair."
I keep walking. The hallway stretches ahead, long and dark.
"Ellis, can you ask for his na for ?" Sum’s voice turns whiny. Pleading. "Introduce him to ?"
I keep my gaze forward. My hands stay in my pockets.
"No."
"Ellis." He catches up beside . "Can’t you do one thing for your best friend? I always help you."
I stop suddenly. The silence rushes in to fill the space where my footsteps used to be.
I look back at him.
"Didn’t you say you were going to spy on ?" A pause. "Focus on your work."
Sum frowns. Dramatically. His bottom lip pushes out like a child who’s been told no.
"Forget about it." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just help . Tell his na."
I stare at him for a mont longer than necessary.
"Fine."
I turn. Walk away.
Sum’s voice floats after —light, cheerful, already victorious.
"Love you, buddy."
A smirk spreads across my lips.
He’s so dramatic.
I step outside the club. The night air hits my face—cool, sharp, alive.
Silas’s secretary is already standing near the car, his posture perfectly straight, his hands clasped in front of him like a soldier at attention.
He opens the back door for . "Please..."
I don’t sit. I look at him. "What’s your na?"
He blinks. Just a flicker of surprise—there and gone, like a fish breaking the surface of still water.
"Nick."
I stare into his eyes. Let my gaze sink beneath the surface.
His mind whispers:
{Tomorrow’s schedule still needs adjustnts. And the missing file needs to be found before the boss asks about it.}
I look away.
Slide into the backseat. The leather is cool against my skin.
Nick slides into the driver’s seat. Starts the car. The engine hums—low, steady, a heartbeat made of tal and fuel.
The car rolls forward. The club lights fade behind us, swallowed by the dark.
I sit calmly.
How noisy his mind is. Just work. Just schedules. Just the endless clicking of responsibilities that never stop. Nothing else.
Like a robot.
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