Tom Kaulitz - the boss.

A downpour pounded the windows of the office on the fortieth floor. Leni had worked for Kaulitz for two years, three months, and seven days. The perfect secretary—unobtrusive, silent, irreplaceable. She knew his schedule better than her own: coffee at 9:15 without sugar, irritation before reporting, silence after calls from her mother.

Kaulitz didn't know the main thing. Leni wasn't his secretary. Or rather, she was—but only as a cover. For two years, she'd been gathering information: who he was dating, where his money was going, what sins he was hiding. She was paid for it. Well paid. And all this time, she kept her distance—not out of etiquette, but because she was afraid to let him get close.

But something went wrong that evening. She stayed late for the report. Kaulitz was late—she didn't know why. As she reached for the folder, footsteps sounded too close behind her.

• Lenya.

He placed his palm on the papers, over her fingers.

— What are you hiding?

She looked up. For the first time, his gaze lacked polite detachment—only something sharp, hungry.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," she lied easily. As always.

"For two years, you've known everything about me. And I know nothing about you. Except that you never look me in the eye for more than three seconds."

His fingers tightened slightly on her hand. The pulse beneath his palm was rapid, treacherous.

"So what are you hiding?" he repeated more quietly. "And why did I only just now realize I wanted to know?"

Lightning flashed outside the window. And
Leni realized: the distance she'd spent two years building had just crumbled. And what she feared now wasn't exposure—it was that he'd learn the truth and look at her coldly.