Victor stepped into his office, his gaze narrowing as he spotted Milo sitting on the plush couch near the expansive window. The late morning light filtered in, casting a soft glow on Milo's hair as he looked up, meeting Victor's intense stare.
"Give us the room," Victor said in a low, commanding voice to his assistant, who had walked in behind him.
The assistant nodded, casting a brief glance at Milo before slipping out, leaving the two men alone in silence. Victor approached, his eyes assessing Milo, who instinctively rose to his feet, holding himself with calm composure but a hint of hesitation.
"My father, Mr. Kingsley, isn't in the office today," Victor informed him, his voice cool. "He's on a business trip and will return in a few days."
Milo's expression fell slightly, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his face, but he quickly masked it, offering a polite nod. "I understand," he replied softly, bowing slightly. "Thank you, I'll just return when—"
Victor's gaze sharpened as his eyes landed on Milo's wrist, catching sight of the faint, angry red marks circling it—a handprint. The moment lingered between them, and Milo noticed Victor's sudden change in expression.
"Hold on," Victor said curtly, stepping closer. Without waiting for permission, he gently grasped Milo's arm, guiding him back to sit on the couch.
Milo was caught off guard, but he complied, silently curious about Victor's unexpected gentleness. Victor pushed up Milo's sleeve, his eyes narrowing at the visible bruises that were beginning to darken along Milo's wrist.
"Stay still," Victor ordered, his voice surprisingly soft but still holding an edge. He leaned over to his intercom and buzzed his assistant. "Bring a first aid kit and some ice. Now."
Milo sat, silently observing the man before him. There was a focused look in Victor's eyes as he examined the marks on Milo's wrist, seemingly ignoring the awkwardness of the moment. Milo couldn't help but think, Is this the same Victor who seemed so cold and commanding?
The assistant arrived quickly with a first aid kit and a small ice pack, handing them over with a respectful nod before stepping out once more. Victor took the ice pack, wrapped it in a soft cloth, and carefully placed it over Milo's bruised skin. Milo couldn't help but wince slightly at the initial coldness, but Victor's grip was steady, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"This is from earlier, isn't it?" Victor muttered as he pressed the ice against Milo's wrist, his tone softer than before.
Milo didn't respond, merely nodding as he focused on Victor's face. He was captivated by the concentrated look in Victor's eyes, the careful way he handled the ice, and how focused he was on ensuring Milo was comfortable.
He's… different now, Milo thought, his heart beating a little faster as he tried to process this unexpected side of Victor.
After a moment, Victor carefully unwrapped the ice pack, inspecting the bruise again. Satisfied with the treatment, he wrapped Milo's wrist in a soft bandage with practiced care. "It should heal quickly if you take it easy," he said, his voice slightly softer, as if the small act of caring had tempered his usual harshness.
Milo offered a quiet "Thank you," feeling both comforted and a little flustered by Victor's unexpected gentleness.
Victor stood up, straightening himself, his face resuming its cold, unreadable expression. "You came about the contract, didn't you?" he asked, his tone back to businesslike.
Milo blinked, snapping back to reality, and nodded. "Yes, I did," he confirmed, clasping his bandaged wrist with his other hand, almost protectively.
"Good." Victor walked over to his desk, pulling out a sleek black folder and opening it. "My father wanted you to have your own space to work, undisturbed," he began, flipping through the document. "So you'll be provided a private studio, fully furnished and equipped, here within our building. We'll arrange for any additional supplies or materials you need."
Milo's eyes widened slightly as Victor continued listing the terms with an impassive expression.
"You'll also have access to your own office space, separated from the usual hustle. We understand that artists often require solitude to work properly." Victor's voice softened momentarily, betraying a faint understanding of Milo's needs, though his face remained inscrutable.
Victor glanced at Milo, catching the astonished look on his face. "Is there an issue?" he asked coolly.
"N-no," Milo stammered, trying to compose himself. "It's… generous, honestly. I didn't expect this kind of treatment."
Victor's lips quirked into something that almost resembled a smirk. "My father takes partnerships seriously, Milo. He's willing to invest in you because he sees potential. Don't waste that."
Milo nodded, still processing. "And… my responsibilities?" he asked, curious yet cautious.
"You'll work on exclusive pieces for Kingsley's brand events," Victor explained, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Of course, we'll be expecting a high standard of work, but my father seems convinced that you can deliver. If you're here, it's because he trusts you'll be an asset."
Victor took a breath, and Milo sensed the slight tension in him, as if he was holding back more than he was saying.
"Is there something else?" Milo asked, noticing Victor's unreadable expression.
Victor hesitated a beat before speaking. "If you sign this contract, you're committing to a long-term association with us. This isn't just a job—it's a partnership." He leaned forward, his gaze hardening slightly. "So don't think you can back out halfway, or disappoint us, for that matter."
The intensity in Victor's voice sent a shiver down Milo's spine, and he felt the weight of the decision he was making. But beneath the intimidation, he could sense a hint of Victor's concern—a surprising yet compelling mix of expectation and challenge.
Milo squared his shoulders, meeting Victor's gaze steadily. "I understand, Mr. Kingsley. And I won't let you or your father down."
Victor's expression softened minutely, an almost imperceptible nod acknowledging Milo's resolve. He reached out, offering a pen. "Then let's make it official."
Milo took the pen, his heart pounding as he leaned over the contract and signed his name with a steady hand. The weight of the moment settled between them as he set the pen down, looking up to find Victor watching him closely.
Victor closed the folder with a satisfying snap, a hint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Welcome aboard, Milo Winters," he said, extending his hand.
Milo hesitated briefly before taking it, feeling the firm grip as they shook hands. For the first time, he felt a shift in their dynamic—an understanding, albeit tentative, had begun to form.
***