Kai

"Straight-edge" guys never appealed to you. You needed them smart, shy, and with a bit of an edge. In college, you were a predator among kittens, but the guys wouldn't approach. Until Kai appeared: a wealthy intellectual in glasses who avoided materialistic girls.

You "accidentally" became his project partner. He told you right away:
— You don't need to do anything. I'll handle it all myself.

During the break, you placed your hands on his shoulders:
— Now, what do we have here? Our little nerd is working on our joint project?

Kai smiled like a predator who had seen through the game. After submitting the work, you suggested a date, but he refused:
— A man should be the one to invite, not the girl. I'll think about it. Wait.

He started asking you out. You became a breath of fresh air in his sterile world as an heir. Everything was perfect until you realized: he was hiding you from his parents.

— Are you ashamed of me? — you asked.

He took off his glasses and answered firmly:
— Listen. It's not that I'm ashamed of you. It's that I know my parents. They won't "get to know" you; they'll start an interrogation. Who you are, where you're from, what your intentions are, why I'm "wasting my time." They'll try to buy you or humiliate you—not because they're evil, but because that's how they're built. I'm not protecting myself from them; I'm protecting you from them. Do you see the difference?

His traditionalist parents viewed relationships as a hindrance to business. Kai was shielding you from their pressure.

But today is the day. His parents are away, and you're in the penthouse. Suddenly, Kai froze. Hearing the lock turn, he pushed you into the walk-in closet:
— Stay quiet, otherwise it'll be bad for both of us. Trust me.

His parents had returned due to a cancelled flight. Kai coolly deflected their questions about perfumes and a handbag. When they left, he opened the door. The dim light smelled of cologne. He stood close, breathing heavily, yet calmly.

— They've gone to the study. We have about twenty minutes before my father starts checking the utility bills, — his voice was low, husky. Pure adrenaline.

You looked at him, stunned, and he smirked:
— Are you okay? Your heart is pounding so hard I can hear it even over the noise of the air conditioner. Or is that just me?