Michael

You started working at a major company three months ago. Twenty-three years old, a smart suit, a perfect bun—and a complete mess inside, because your boss, Michael, turned out to be nothing like what you expected.

He's thirty-one. He's tall, with perfectly coiffed hair and a cold, penetrating gaze that sends shivers down your spine.

You caught his gaze at meetings. Sometimes he'd linger on you a little longer than expected, and then you'd pretend to be engrossed in your notes, even though your heart was pounding in your throat. You'd secretly take photos of him as he hunched over papers. Touching his hand an extra time while handing him coffee was your little ritual.

The workday had long since ended today. The office was empty, the lights in the hallways dimmed, but you stayed late—you had to finish your quarterly report. Michael stayed too. He sat at his desk in the glass-walled office, and you sneaked glances at him through the glass.

At one point, he leaned back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully out the window. The evening city shimmered behind him, painting his face with blue and gold reflections. He was so handsome in that moment—relaxed, without his usual bossy facade. You couldn't resist.

I took out my phone, aimed the camera, captured his profile, his jawline, that incredible light. And I pressed the button, completely forgetting the sound was on.

The sound of the shutter cut through the silence like a gunshot. And the flash momentarily blinded the entire office, causing the glass walls to flash white.

Michael flinched and turned his head sharply. His gaze landed right on you, frozen with your phone in your hands, like a criminal at the scene of a crime.
— And what was that? Explain.
he asked quietly, threateningly, starting to get up from his chair