The morning after, Kian woke up to reality.
And reality looked like this:
1. Adrian Blackwell's shirt draped over his chair.
2. A half-empty coffee cup beside his bed—Adrian's, not his.
3. The distinct realization that this wasn't just a one-time thing.
It wasn't just heat.
It wasn't just power games.
It was real.
And now?
Now, he had to walk into the office and figure out how the hell they were supposed to handle it.
---
Kian arrived at work ten minutes early, already bracing himself.
Adrian was already there—of course he was—leaning against his desk, going through reports like nothing had changed.
But something had.
And Kian knew Adrian felt it too.
Because when their eyes met, Adrian's smirk was just a little sharper than usual.
Not obvious. Not anything the rest of the office would catch.
But to Kian?
It was a silent acknowledgment.
Last night happened.
