Chapter Text
The bathroom door clicked open, and the heavy scent of expensive cologne and cheap hotel soap filled the bedroom.
Kim didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the unmade bed, the cold screen of Mark’s phone illuminating his trembling fingers. On the display was a string of archived messages from three different people, all sent within the last forty-eight hours, all filled with explicit photos and late-night addresses.
"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?"
Mark’s voice boomed, dropping any pretense of affection as he snatched the phone out of Kim’s grip. He stood towering over Kim, his broad, muscular frame casting a dark shadow over the bed. "Are you seriously going through my phone again, Kim? What is wrong with you?"
Kim slowly raised his head. His seducing, sharp eyes were entirely devoid of their usual warmth, replaced by a cold, hollow exhaustion. He looked at Mark’s tan skin, at the chest he used to lean on, and felt absolutely nothing but disgust.
"I'm breaking up with you, Mark!" Kim said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Mark let out a harsh, mocking laugh, tossing the phone onto the mattress. "Breaking up? Because of this? You’re psychotic, you know that? You’re so fucking paranoid it’s suffocating. You track my location, you snoop through my things, you’ve always been like this."
Mark stepped closer, his jaw clenching as he leveled a cruel, piercing glare at Kim. "But I get it. It’s not really about me, is it? It’s your father. It’s in your blood. You come from a sick, broken family, Kim, and that’s why you’re so warped. That’s why you can’t trust a single soul, not even the guy who has put up with your baggage for years. You’re broken, and you’re projecting your father's fucked-up traits onto me."
The mention of his father felt like a physical blow to Kim’s chest. For a split second, the horrific images of his past, the shouting, the shattered glass, his mother's final moments, flashed behind his eyes, threatening to choke him. The room felt suffocatingly small.
But Kim didn't break. He didn't cry. Instead, he stood up, his small waist rigid, pulling himself up to his full height. He looked beautiful, sharp, and lethal.
"Don't you dare bring my father into this!" Kim whispered, his voice vibrating with a quiet, dangerous rage. "You want to talk about trust? Let’s talk about reality, Mark!"
He took a step forward, forcing Mark to look at the sheer contempt in his eyes.
"I didn't check your phone because of my trauma. I checked your phone because you are a serial liar!" Kim said, each word hitting like a gavel. "I checked it because I caught you with that model in Chiang Mai last November. I checked it because I found the hotel receipts in your car two months ago. And I checked it tonight because you couldn't even keep your hands off someone else while you were out with my friends last night."
Kim let out a breathless, mocking laugh of his own, his eyes flashing with bitter clarity.
"You love using my past as a weapon to make me feel crazy, because it shifts the blame off your pathetic lack of loyalty. I trusted you too much, Mark. That was my mistake. My father might be a monster, but you? You're just a coward who uses another man's trauma to hide the fact that you're a pathetic cheater!"
Kim walked over to the dresser, grabbed his car keys, and didn't look back.
"Keep the phone!" Kim said softly, his hand on the doorknob. "You're going to need it to schedule all the apologies I'm never going to read.”
The clock on the dashboard glowed a harsh 11:20 PM as Kim tore down the highway, the city lights blurring into long, jagged streaks through his tears. He needed to get away from Mark’s apartment, away from the suffocating accusations and the ghosts of his past that Mark had so callously dragged into the light.
His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. His first instinct was to head to Por’s luxury penthouse, but he remembered with a sinking heart that Por was currently in Singapore for a high-profile filming project.
There was only one place left where he knew he would be safe.
Kim swung the car toward the quiet, upscale neighborhood where his manager lived. Net wasn't just the man who managed his chaotic influencer career, he was one of the few constants in Kim's turbulent life. Net was inherently good, steady, and protective. And more importantly, Net’s home was a sanctuary.
When Kim finally pulled into the driveway, the house was mostly dark, save for the warm porch light and a soft glow coming from the living room window. He killed the engine, sitting in the sudden silence for a long moment as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving him utterly exhausted.
Before he could even reach for his phone to text, the front door clicked open.
JJ, Net’s husband, stood in the doorway wearing an oversized gray hoodie, blinking softly against the night chill. Even at twenty-nine, and after four years of marriage, the warmth and domestic peace between Net and JJ always felt like a different world to Kim. JJ took one look at Kim’s rigid posture, his slightly smeared makeup, and the absolute hollow look in his eyes, and his expression shifted from sleepy confusion to deep concern.
"Kim?" JJ called out softly, stepping out onto the porch.
Kim got out of the car, his throat tight. "JJ... I'm sorry it's so late. I didn't know where else to go."
"Hey, don't worry about that. Come inside!" JJ said immediately, wrapping a comforting arm around Kim’s shoulders the moment he reached the steps, pulling him into the warmth of the house. "Net! Babe, Kim is here!" JJ called out toward the stairs, his voice gentle but urgent.
Within seconds, Net hurried down the stairs, tying the strings of his sweatpants, his manager-brain instantly locking into protective mode as he saw his top creator standing in his living room at midnight.
"What happened? Is it Mark again?" Net asked, his face darkening with immediate suspicion. He knew the history, he knew the patterns.
Kim just nodded, sinking onto their plush sofa, suddenly feeling the weight of the entire night crashing down on his chest. He looked up at the two of them, Net, who had been his shield in the ruthless entertainment industry, and JJ, who was already heading to the kitchen to brew something warm.
"I broke up with him. And this time is permanent. I've really made up my mind." Kim whispered, his voice cracking for the first time. "It’s completely over. Can I... is it okay if I stay the night?"
"You can stay as long as you need." Net said firmly, sitting on the coffee table right in front of Kim, placing a grounding hand on his knee. "You don't ever have to go back there, Kim. We've got you.”
JJ returned from the kitchen, placing a steaming mug of honey-lemon tea on the coffee table before slipping onto the couch beside Net. He reached over, gently squeezing Kim’s cold hand.
Net let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. The initial panic of the midnight arrival was fading, replaced by the grim, familiar exhaustion of a manager and a friend, who had watched this exact script play out too many times before.
"Kim…" Net started, his tone shifting from comforting to firm, his honey-brown skin catching the dim light of the living room lamp. "I am glad you walked out. Truly. But we need to talk, because you and I both know this isn't the first time you’ve packed a bag and called it over."
Kim looked down at the steaming mug, his fingers tightly curled around his knees, pulling his cropped hoodie tighter around his small waist. "It’s different this time, P'Net. He dragged my father into it. He tried to make me feel crazy for checking his phone when he was the one actively cheating."
"And he was wrong for that. Mark is a toxic, manipulative bastard." Net said directly, not mincing words. "But Kim, how did we get back to a point where you felt the need to sneak around and check his phone in the dark? You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place."
JJ nodded gently, his voice soft but grounding. "Net is right, Kim. We love you, and that’s why it’s so hard to watch this. Last year, it was Chiang Mai. Two months ago, it was the hotel receipts. Every single time, he breaks your trust, you hurt, you walk away for a week, and then he smiles or cries, and you let him right back in."
"I was trying to make it work." Kim whispered, his eyes stinging. "I thought... if I just held on, he’d change."
"You aren't making it work, Kim, you're just tolerating the disrespect." Net countered, leaning forward so Kim had to look him in the eye. "You have spent years building your own brand, your own life, and protecting your peace from your past. But the second it comes to Mark, you throw all your boundaries out the window. Every time you accept his apologies without real change, you are betraying yourself. You are teaching him that he can treat you like garbage, and your love will still be there waiting for him."
The word betraying echoed in the quiet living room, hitting Kim harder than he wanted to admit.
"You have so much love and loyalty to give." JJ added, wrapping a comforting arm around Kim’s shoulders. "But you’re pouring it into a broken cup. You keep lowering your bar to keep him comfortable, but look at what it's doing to you. You're exhausted. You're constantly on edge."
Net stood up, walking over to sit on the cushion on the other side of Kim, effectively shielding him between himself and JJ.
"I've witnessed this cycle for two years, Kim. As your manager, it ruins your schedule. As your friend, it breaks my heart." Net said, his voice softening but remaining absolute. "This has to be the final boundary. No more late-night calls, no more 'just talking’, and absolutely no more second chances. If he texts you tomorrow, you block him. If he shows up at a shoot, I will have security throw him out. You need to start honoring yourself the way you expect others to honor you."
Kim sat silently between the two men who had shown him what healthy support actually looked like. For the first time in a long time, the weight of Net's lecture didn't feel like an attack, it felt like a lifeline. He leaned his head against JJ’s shoulder, staring at the floor as Net’s words finally began to sink in.
"Okay…" Kim whispered, his voice trembling but determined. "No more.”
__________
The next morning, the heavy drama of the previous night was replaced by a slow, domestic comfort. Kim sat cross-legged on the plush rug in front of the living room TV, his small waist swathed in one of JJ’s oversized vintage sweaters. He and JJ were huddled together, completely engrossed in a famous Thai horror podcast playing on the screen. The eerie background music filled the room as the host detailed a haunted house encounter, but the tension was interrupted by the synchronized, synchronized clink of their glasses.
Both of them were casually sipping warm, freshly made soymilk, flinching at the jump scares while simultaneously whispering theories about the ghost.
From the open kitchen, the savory aroma of garlic fried rice and soft-boiled eggs drifted over. Net was just putting the finishing touches on breakfast when his phone on the counter began to vibrate aggressively. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and glanced at the screen.
The caller ID made his manager instincts lock in instantly.
"Quiet down a second, you two!" Net called out, waving his hand at the TV as he slid the green button across the screen. "Hello, yes, this is Net speaking."
Kim and JJ immediately paused the podcast, turning their heads to watch Net's expression shift from his usual relaxed morning face to an intense, professional focus. Net’s eyes widened slightly, his posture straightening up against the kitchen counter.
"Yes, of course... No, Monday is perfect. We can absolutely clear his schedule for that... Yes, 10:00 AM at the headquarters works beautifully. Thank you so much, Khun Phat. We look forward to meeting the executive team."
Net hung up the phone and stood still for a grand total of three seconds before letting out a breathless, triumphant laugh. He walked into the living room, a massive grin spreading across his honey-brown skin.
"Kim, put down the soymilk," Net said, his voice buzzing with excitement.
"What? Who was that?" Kim asked, setting his mug on the coffee table, his seducing eyes blinking in curiosity.
"That was the corporate relations director for 8square2 Retail." Net revealed, crossing his arms proudly. "The biggest retail conglomerate in South East Asia. They don't just want to talk about a standard sponsorship, Kim. They want to meet you in person this Monday, exactly three days from now, at their main head office building to finalize a contract for you to be their official regional brand ambassador."
JJ gasped, immediately slapping Kim’s shoulder in excitement. "Oh my god, Kim! 8square2? That’s massive! Their headquarters is that giant luxury skyscraper downtown. Every influencer in Bangkok has been begging for this campaign!"
Net nodded fiercely, pointing a finger at Kim with a playful but stern manager glare. "Exactly. This is the biggest deal of your career, which means this weekend is strictly about pampering, resting, and getting your mind right. No thinking about the past, and definitely no thinking about Mark. On Monday morning, we are walking into that corporate lobby, and you are going to show them exactly why you’re the top creator in this country."
Kim looked from Net to JJ, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across his face for the first time in days. The lingering shadow of his toxic breakup suddenly felt a little lighter, eclipsed by the thrilling prospect of what was waiting for him on Monday morning.
He had no idea that walking into that giant 8square2 corporate lobby would introduce him to a completely different kind of distraction.
____________
____________
Meanwhile, across the city, the atmosphere in a heavily guarded, hyper-luxurious estate in the heart of Bangkok’s elite district was far from domestic bliss.
Latte sat on the edge of his weight bench, his 180cm frame glistening with sweat after an intense two-hour workout. He wiped a towel over his face, his piercing "hunting eyes" staring blankly at the floor. To the world, he was just an ordinary twenty-four-year-old crushing his fitness goals. To the employees at his retail corporate job at 8square2, he was a quiet, unbothered Finance AP staff member who kept his head down and only spoke to Teetee from marketing. But the truth about him, only few people know.
His phone buzzed on the floor. He picked it up. A notification from the family group chat lit up the screen.
Dad: Everyone is expected at the main house tonight at 7:00 PM sharp. We have something important to discuss. Do not be late.
Latte let out a quiet, cynical scoff. When your father is Sunny, one of Thailand's most legendary A-list actors, and your grandfather is a powerful, media-controlling politician, "important family discussions" usually meant PR damage control, political strategy, or a lecture on keeping the family image immaculate.
Two hours later, Latte walked into the grand dining room of his parents' estate. He wore a simple, dark t-shirt that hugged his muscular torso, contrasting sharply with the opulent crystal chandeliers and gold-rimmed porcelain on the table.
Sitting across from him was his older brother, Max. At thirty-three, Max was the golden boy, following exactly in their father’s superstar footsteps, currently riding the wave of massive fame from his Thai BL series. He looked polished, perfect, and deeply anxious.
"Glad you could join us, Latte." their father, Sunny, said from the head of the table, his commanding voice dripping with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. "Since your grandfather is busy with a political dinner tonight, we will get straight to the point."
Sunny nodded toward Max.
Max cleared his throat, adjusting his watch. "I wanted the family to know first. I’m planning to propose to Nat next month. We’ve been secretly together behind the scenes for too long, and I want to make it permanent. Of course... because of our age gap and the fans, the media rollout has to be handled carefully by Grandfather’s team."
The table erupted into a low murmur of corporate-style congratulations from their parents, discussing press embargoes and non-disclosure agreements as if a marriage proposal were a company merger.
Latte sat perfectly still, his arrogant, stoic expression unchanged. He picked up his glass of water, took a sip, and set it down with a soft clink.
Max looked across the table, trying to catch his younger brother’s eye. "Latte? You have nothing to say?"
The truth was, there was no great bond between the brothers. Max had always lived in the spotlight, thriving on the validation of millions, while Latte had fought tooth and nail to bury his connection to the family name just to have a normal life. They were strangers sharing a last name.
"It’s your life, hia." Latte said, his voice quiet, deep, and utterly indifferent. "If you want to marry your on-screen partner, which I don't know if it's a real thing or just for clout-chasing, do it. I don’t see why I needed to clock out of my activity early and drive across Bangkok to hear about a PR strategy."
"Latte…" Sunny warned, his tone dropping an octave. "This affects the family image. Show some respect to your brother."
"It affects YOUR image." Latte corrected coldly, standing up from the table. His towering height instantly shifted the energy in the room. He tossed his linen napkin onto his plate. "My name isn't on the billboard. I work in the Accounts Payable team, nine to five, commuting when I want to, and under the media’s radar. This has absolutely nothing to do with me."
"Sit back down!" Sunny commanded.
Latte didn't even look back. He turned on his heel, his face an unreadable mask of arrogance and detachment, and walked out of the grand dining room. He could hear his father's voice rising in anger behind him, but he didn't care. He passed the line of security guards in the hallway, walked out into the humid night air, and got straight into his car.
As he started the engine, he felt a wave of relief. He just wanted to get back to his quiet apartment, prep his meals for the week, and go to sleep. Monday was coming, and he had a mountain of corporate invoices to process at the 8square2 head office. He had no interest in the entertainment industry or the dramatic lives of celebrities.
He had no idea that come Monday morning, a certain crop-top-wearing influencer was going to crash into his quiet, calculated world and turn his anonymity upside down.
____________
Monday morning at the 8square2 corporate headquarters usually saw Latte at his desk by 8 AM sharp, unbothered and buried in spreadsheets. But today was different. For the first time since he started working for the retail conglomerate last year, Latte had messaged his supervisor to request a late arrival.
He had spent his morning at the commercial bank downtown, opening a brand-new, completely private savings account. Every single baht inside it was earned from his own corporate salary, entirely untouched by his family’s massive wealth. He didn't want a single satang of his father’s acting money or his grandfather’s political capital funding his future. Latte was building his own life, brick by brick, and this house would be entirely his own.
By the time he pulled his sedan into the building's underground parking lot, the digital dashboard read 9:50 AM. He killed the engine, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, and took a breath.
Exactly ten minutes later, at 10 AM, Latte stepped through the heavy glass revolving doors of the main lobby.
The corporate atrium was sprawling, bustling with executives and high-end clients, but Latte walked through it with his usual stoic, quiet arrogance. Today, he looked remarkably sharp. He wore a crisp, tailored white dress shirt tucked perfectly into slim-fit black trousers, accentuating his towering 180cm frame and gym-honed physique. His 8square2 employee lanyard hung neatly around his neck, and for the morning's bank paperwork, he was wearing a pair of classic, silver-rimmed glasses that added an intellectual, untouchable edge to his sharp, hunting eyes. His dark hair was neatly styled, radiating a clean, effortless handsomeness that stood out even in a room full of corporate elites.
Across the lobby, sitting on the plush designer lounge sofas, Kim was waiting.
Net and JJ had spent the entire weekend pampering him, and today Kim looked like an absolute dream. He was dressed to impress the 8square2 executives, but he hadn't compromised his signature style, wearing a stunning, high-fashion cropped blazer that subtly teased his small waist, paired with flawless makeup that highlighted his seducing eyes. Net was sitting right next to him, going over the regional brand ambassador contract points in a low voice.
But the moment the revolving doors moved, Kim’s gaze drifted.
And then, he froze.
The glass mug of warm water Kim was holding stopped halfway to his lips. His seducing eyes widened slightly as they locked onto the towering man walking past the reception desk. The glasses, the sharp jawline, the broad shoulders pulling against the fabric of that simple white shirt, and that cold, fiercely independent aura, it was like Kim’s ultimate fantasy had just stepped out of his mind and into the corporate lobby.
"Kim? Are you listening to me?" Net asked, tapping the contract folder. "They’re going to call us up to the president's office in two minutes."
Kim didn't hear a word his manager said. His heart did an unexpected, violent flip against his ribs. His eyes hungrily tracked Latte as the handsome corporate staff member walked toward the employee turnstiles, completely oblivious to the fact that Thailand’s top influencer was staring at him like he was the only person in the room.
Who is that? Kim thought, a slow, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his gaze lingered on Latte's retreating back.
"We're up, Kim. Let's go!" Net whispered, pulling Kim out of his trance as a chime echoed through the grand lobby.
Kim reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the employee turnstiles where the handsome, glasses-wearing man had just vanished. He smoothed down the edges of his cropped blazer, flashing Net a quick, dazzling smile as they walked together toward the executive elevator bank.
They stepped into the mirrored capsule, the doors sliding shut to whisk them straight up to the 88th floor, the pinnacle of the 8square2 skyscraper.
Up there, the atmosphere was pure luxury. Waiting for them in the panoramic boardroom was the president of the retail conglomerate and his son, Phupa. Phupa was one of the heads of the PR team and, secretly, an absolute fanatic of Kim's content. He had been practically counting down the days until the previous brand ambassador's contract expired, aggressively lobbying his father to sign Kim as the new face of the company.
The meeting went beautifully. For an hour, Net expertly negotiated the finer points of the regional brand ambassador deal, while Kim charmed the president with his natural charisma and effortless professionalism.
Once the official documents were signed, the president excused himself for another meeting, leaving Phupa alone with Kim and Net in the boardroom.
The corporate mask instantly slipped off Phupa's face, replaced by a smooth, eager grin as he leaned against the mahogany table. "I have to say, Khun Kim, you look even more stunning in person than you do on screen. The PR team is absolutely thrilled to have you." He stepped closer, tilting his head with an obvious, deliberate flirtatiousness. "Actually... since we’ll be working so closely together, I was hoping I could get your personal number? Maybe we could discuss the creative direction over dinner sometime?"
Net subtly shifted his stance, his manager-senses tingling, but Kim handled it flawlessly. He let out a soft, melodic laugh, his seducing eyes crinkling just enough to be polite without giving anything away.
"I’d love to coordinate with the team, Khun Phupa, but P'Net handles all my scheduling and direct communications." Kim replied smoothly, deftly dodging the advance.
Before Phupa could press any further, Kim turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the massive, multi-level open-office floors below. An excuse perfectly formed in his mind.
"You know, since I’m going to be representing 8square2, I’d really love to get a feel for the company from the ground up." Kim said, turning back to Phupa with a dazzling smile. "Would it be alright if I take a walk around the lower offices? Just to get a sense of the everyday corporate 'atmosphere' and see where the magic happens?"
Phupa, eager to please his idol, immediately nodded. "Of course! Let me get you a temporary VIP floor-pass. You have access to any department you like and I'll walk with you."
As they walked out of the executive suite, Net leaned into Kim's space, whispering under his breath, "Corporate atmosphere? Kim, you haven't cared about a corporate atmosphere a day in your life. What are you up to?"
Kim just flashed his manager a mischievous, cat-like grin as he adjusted his cropped blazer, his eyes darting toward the elevators that led down to the main working floors.
"I'm just doing my research, P'Net." Kim whispered back, his heart racing with a sudden spark of excitement.
Net didn't know it, but Kim had absolutely zero interest in the PR department, marketing, or logistics. He was going on a hunt, and he wasn't going to leave this building until he found the quiet, towering man in the white shirt and silver-rimmed glasses who had stolen his breath at exactly 10:00 AM.
_________
The elevator ride down from the 88th floor felt like descending from Mount Olympus into the buzzing hive of the corporate world. Phupa practically floated next to Kim, eager to play the role of the grand tour guide, while Net trailed slightly behind, keeping a sharp, hawk-like eye on his top talent.
"We’ll start from the top management divisions and work our way down.” Phupa explained eagerly, swiping his gold executive pass over the sensor as the elevator doors chimed and slid open on the 50th floor. "This is Legal and Compliance. Not very exciting, but essential."
Kim offered a polite, dazzling smile to the lawyers who looked up from their dense briefs, his seducing eyes sweeping the room. No. Nobody here matched the towering physique or the icy, arrogant aura from the lobby.
"Next up, the 42nd floor, Creative Design and Branding.” Phupa continued, leading them through a maze of mood boards, digital drawing tablets, and trendy employees. This floor was filled with people dressed similarly to Kim, sporting asymmetrical blazers and artsy frames. While Kim appreciated the aesthetic, his heart didn't do that sudden, violent flip. The man he was looking for didn't belong in a room full of people screaming for attention; he was a man who commanded a room by ignoring it entirely.
By the time they hit the 30th floor, Logistics and Supply Chain, Net leaned close to Kim’s ear while Phupa was busy explaining a global shipping matrix. "Kim, we’ve been walking for forty-five minutes. Your shoes are expensive, my patience is thin, and you're looking for someone, aren't you? Who is it?"
"Just checking the atmosphere, P’Net. Chill!" Kim whispered back, a faint, cat-like smirk playing on his lips. "A good brand ambassador knows every corner of the empire."
"Right. And I’m the King of England." Net muttered, though he didn't stop him.
"And now, the 17th floor." Phupa announced, leading them back into the elevator. "This is the Tax, Accounting, and Operations and Finance Hub. Honestly, Khun Kim, it’s mostly just data entry, corporate invoicing, and accounts. It’s pretty mundane compared to your world, so we don't have to stay long."
The doors slid open with a soft electronic chime.
Unlike the creative floors, the 17th floor was a sea of uniform gray and white cubicles, illuminated by bright, sterile fluorescent lights. The air was thick with the rhythmic, synchronized clicking of mechanical keyboards, the hum of heavy-duty printers, and the low, murmured jargon of profit margins and tax codes. It was the epitome of ordinary corporate life.
But the moment Kim stepped onto the carpeted floor, his gaze cut through the rows of desks like a laser.
And there, tucked away in a corner cubicle near the back windows, he saw him.
The silver-rimmed glasses were pushed slightly up the bridge of his sharp nose. The crisp white dress shirt was still flawlessly tucked into his black trousers, though the sleeves had been neatly rolled up to his forearms, revealing thick, veiny wrists and the toned muscles of a gym-rat who clearly spent his free hours lifting heavy iron. Latte was leaning back slightly in his ergonomic chair, his towering 180cm frame making the standard-issue office furniture look absurdly small. He was staring intensely at a dual-monitor setup flashing massive Excel spreadsheets, completely detached from the rest of the world.
Sitting in the cubicle right across from him was Teetee, a guy from the marketing division who had walked down to drop off some paperwork. Teetee was leaning over the partition, animatedly whispering something about an upcoming company outing, but Latte barely blinked, his arrogant hunting eyes remaining locked on his numbers. He casually picked up a black pen, spinning it effortlessly between his long, elegant fingers.
Kim stopped dead in his tracks. His breath hitched in his throat, his small waist tightening under his cropped blazer as a genuine, electric thrill shot straight down his spine. Found him.
"Khun Kim? Is everything alright?" Phupa asked, noticing the sudden halt. He looked in the direction Kim was staring, but all he saw was the boring Accounts Payable section. "Ah, yes, this is the AP finance team. Very tedious stuff."
"No, it's... fascinating." Kim murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, seductive register that usually drove his followers crazy.
Determined to get closer, Kim didn't wait for Phupa. He took a deliberate, slow step forward, his designer boots clicking softly against the thin office carpet. Net immediately recognized that hyper-focused look in Kim's eyes, it was the look Kim got when he was about to land a massive brand deal, or in this case, a massive distraction. Net sighed internally, bracing himself.
As Kim approached the cubicle row, the clicking of keyboards around them began to falter. One by one, the finance staff realized that is THE Kim, and they realized the gossip was true that the nation’s top influencer was going to be the stunning new face of 8square2. And he was walking through their bleak department. Whispers broke out, papers were dropped, and phones were subtly tilted to take photos.
Teetee was the first in his section to notice the commotion. His eyes went wide as he saw the gorgeous, crop-blazer-wearing celebrity walking straight toward their corner. He violently tapped Latte’s desk. "Oi, Latte. Look up. Look up right now. Why is Kim here?!"
Latte didn't look up immediately. He slowly typed in a final formula, hit enter, and only then did he lazily tilt his head up, his piercing eyes shielded behind those intellectual silver glasses.
Kim stopped exactly three feet away, resting a manicured hand gracefully on the edge of Latte’s cubicle partition. He leaned in just a fraction, tilting his head so his own seducing eyes could lock directly onto Latte's. Up close, Latte was even more breathtaking. His skin was fair and unblemished, his jawline looked like it was carved from marble, and he radiated a cold, unbothered confidence that Kim found utterly intoxicating.
"Hello, there…" Kim said smoothly, flashing his signature, million-dollar smile, the one that usually made people trip over their words. "I’m Kim. The new brand ambassador. I'm just touring the building to see where all the hard work happens."
The entire section held its breath, waiting for the ordinary finance staff to stammer, blush, or beg for a selfie.
Instead, Latte just stared at him. His hunting eyes narrowed slightly behind his lenses, assessing Kim from his perfect makeup down to his exposed waistline, before shifting back up to his eyes. There was no awe, no excitement, not even a hint of recognition. Just pure, unadulterated, arrogant indifference.
Latte slowly let go of his pen. He didn't stand up, nor did he offer a smile.
"Nice to meet you, Khun Kim." Latte said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through Kim's chest. It was polite, but entirely dismissive. "But as you can see, this is Finance. We don't really do 'branding' here. We just process invoices. If you'll excuse me, I have a hard deadline for the South East Asian Q2 reports."
Teetee’s jaw practically hit the floor. He stared at Latte like his friend had officially lost his mind. Who rejects a direct interaction with Kim?!
Behind them, Phupa finally caught up, looking slightly embarrassed by Latte's bluntness. "Ah, Latte, right? Please excuse him, Khun Kim, the finance team is always under a lot of stress. Let’s move along to the executive lounge…"
But Kim didn't move an inch. If anything, Latte’s icy rejection didn't push him away, it ignited a roaring fire inside him. For a guy who was used to the entire world catering to his every whim, a guy who had just escaped a toxic relationship where he was constantly manipulated, Latte's blunt, unyielding honesty was a breath of fresh, dangerous air. He wasn't a fan. He wasn't trying to please him. He was a fortress, and Kim suddenly wanted nothing more than to tear down the walls.
Kim’s smile widened, becoming sharper, more feline. He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for the towering man in the glasses.
"A hard deadline, huh?" Kim murmured, his seducing eyes flashing with a playful, dangerous challenge. "Then I won't disrupt your numbers, khun. But since I'm going to be around this building a lot more often... I look forward to auditing your department again very soon."
Latte’s fingers paused over his keyboard. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of something dark and intensely curious crossed Latte's stoic eyes, matching Kim’s gaze with equal intensity. He didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes.
Kim spun around, his cropped blazer fluttering as he walked back toward a stunned Phupa and a deeply amused Net. As they headed back to the elevators, Kim felt his heart pounding with an adrenaline rush he hadn't felt in years. Mark was officially a ghost of the past. Monday morning had just given him a brand-new, incredibly handsome mystery to solve.
( to be continued… )