Most people passed through life quietly, leaving nothing behind.

Ethan Wilson wished he were one of them.

Instead, when he fell in love, it happened the way storms did—suddenly, violently, and without permission. Once it began, there was no escaping the damage.

That realization came later.

Right now, Ethan was late.

He sprinted down the narrow apartment hallway, sockless and half-awake, nearly tripping over a discarded backpack. His phone vibrated in his hand as he skidded into the kitchen and glanced at the clock.

8:00 a.m.

“Why am I always late?” he groaned.

The answer waited on the refrigerator door, held in place by a neon-pink magnet.

Had a test. Rushed out.

My GPA outranks your job. Wake yourself up next time :)

—Myra

Ethan crumpled the note with a sigh.

Work started at 8:20.

He was still barefoot.

He grabbed the first slice of bread he could find, pulled on a wrinkled shirt that smelled faintly of detergent and regret, and tossed a quick salute to his dog.

Randy didn’t move. He merely blinked, unbothered.

“Traitor,” Ethan muttered.

He bolted out the door—forgetting to lock it—and ran.

By the time he burst into the office, lungs burning and hair a mess, it was 8:30 a.m. exactly.

Ten minutes late.

And directly into his worst possible mistake.

Ruhan stood there, arms crossed, expression already thunderous.

“And how many times,” Ruhan demanded, voice echoing down the hall, “do I have to tell you to set your alarm before eight?”

Ethan froze, clutching his half-eaten toast like a shield. “I’m really sorry, I—”

“Don’t blame your sister. Or your dog. Or the stars,” Ruhan cut in. “You’re hanging by a thread, Ethan. One more screw-up, and I won’t be yelling. HR will.”

That hurt more than the volume.

“…Right,” Ethan said quietly. “No more snoozing.”

Ruhan exhaled sharply, frustration crackling beneath the surface. “Get to work.”

As he walked away, Ethan felt the weight settle in his chest.

Ruhan wasn’t just his boss. He was the reason Ethan had this job at all. The reason he’d survived when things at home had fallen apart. Brother in everything but blood.

And Ethan had disappointed him. Again.

Ruhan was only twenty-seven but already a manager—sharp, reliable, unshakable. The kind of man who never cracked under pressure.

Unless Ethan was the pressure.

“Fix it,” Ethan muttered to himself. “Before the storm turns catastrophic.”

Lost in his guilt, Ethan didn’t see the figure rounding the corner.

They collided hard.

“Seriously?” Ethan groaned, stumbling. “What kind of cursed day—”

A firm arm caught him around the waist.

For one suspended heartbeat, the world stopped.

Ethan opened his eyes.

And everything shifted.

The man holding him was a stranger—tall, composed, impossibly calm. His grip was steady, deliberate, lingering just long enough to feel intentional.

Something charged the air. Heavy. Electric.

Ethan didn’t know his name.

But he knew, with terrifying certainty, that this man would be both a blessing—

And a disaster.

“I’d like to see more of you, Mr. Fall-boy.”

“Hey! I’m not Mr. Fall-boy!” Ethan shouted—much louder than he meant to.

Heads turned. A coffee cup shattered somewhere behind him.

And then—

“Ethan?”

That voice. Smooth as silk and colder than ice.

He turned.

Oh no.

Belle Shane.

President of the company.

Elegant, terrifying, and sharper than the stilettos she probably used as weapons.

Admired by every employee—not just for her cutthroat leadership but for her nearly mythical beauty.

But Belle wasn’t dangerous because she was beautiful. She was dangerous because she had presence.

That smile—icy, calculating. The kind that could freeze you in place… or lure you off a cliff.

Eyes that mirrored Marcus’s in color, but not in warmth.

Jet black hair cascading like ink over her midnight-blue suit.

A goddess carved from frost.

Ethan recognized the smile she gave him.

It wasn’t friendly.

It was the “I’m smiling because HR is watching” smile.

“I’m… very sorry, ma’am. I was just—”

“It’s alright,” she interrupted, her tone velvet-wrapped steel. “But shouldn’t you be at your desk, Mr. Intern?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Just watched. Like a queen toying with a court jester.

Ethan fled to his desk.

“I’m never surviving this internship,” he muttered.

Lunch break. Ethan spotted Ruhan and Cleo at their usual spot near the window.

“There he is!” Cleo grinned. “Late Boy strikes again.”

“Late Boy!” Ruhan burst into laughter. “That’s sticking.”

“Oh, come on!” Ethan groaned. “Why do I keep getting nicknames? Marcus started it. Then Miss Belle. Now you two—”

“Wait.” Cleo leaned in. “Did you say Marcus Shane?”

Ethan blinked. “Uh. Yeah? He caught me earlier when I tripped. Laughed. Called me Mr. Fall-boy. Then Miss Belle showed up and—”

“You need to stay away from both of them!” Ruhan said suddenly, making Cleo nod in agreement.

“What? Why?”

“They’re dangerous,” Cleo said softly. “Especially if you’re caught between them.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“No, but Marcus…” Cleo hesitated, then whispered, “He’s the CEO.”

Ethan froze. “Wait—what?! I thought he worked in, like… I.T. or something!”

“And Belle seeing you with him?” Ruhan said. “That’s bad.”

“Why? They’re siblings, right?”

“They are. Technically. But it’s more like a cold war than a family dinner,” Cleo said. “And word is, it all goes back to Belle’s mother.”

“Ophelia Shane?” Ethan asked. “I’ve seen her on TV. She seems… gentle.”

“That’s the TV version,” Ruhan said. “In real life? She’s the final boss.”

Ethan sighed, stabbing at his salad. “Maybe it’s just tough love.”

Cleo shook her head. “Nope. It's a full-on soap opera.”

Back at his desk, Ethan nearly collided with something tall and expensive-smelling.

Belle.

Standing a few feet away.

Glaring at…

Marcus Shane.

Leaning casually on Ethan’s desk.

“Mr. Marcus! You—you really shouldn’t be here,” Ethan blurted.

Marcus smirked. “Just admiring your mountain of paperwork. I thought I’d help.”

What?

Before Ethan could respond, Marcus grabbed a stack of files—and locked eyes with Belle.

Tension crackled in the air.

Belle didn’t speak. Her smile thinned, her eyes like sharpened knives.

Then—wordlessly—they turned and walked in opposite directions.

Storm clouds departing in different directions.

And Ethan?

He sank into his chair, dazed.

His brain? Fully scrambled.

By 6 p.m., the office had emptied out.

Ethan stretched, grabbed his bag, and stepped out into the evening air.

No sign of Ruhan.

Of course not. He’d promised to walk home with Ethan.

But nothing. Not even a text.

Sighing, Ethan pulled out his phone.

“Fall-boy. Out here again?”

The voice made him jump.

“Mr. Marcus?!” he yelped.

Marcus Shane stood in the glow of the streetlamp, hands in his coat pockets, looking like he belonged on a noir movie poster.

“You looked anxious,” he said. “Everything alright?”

“Just waiting for someone. He bailed.”

“Then… may I walk you to your destination?”

Ethan blinked. “Sure. That’d be… great. Thank you, Mr. Marcus.”

Marcus fell into step beside him.

And Ethan?

He was so confused.

Why was Marcus being so… kind? Gentle?

Wasn’t this man supposed to be cold and untouchable?

But as they walked, neither of them noticed the shadow watching them across the street.

A woman.

Slim. Still.

Eyes glowing like wildfire beneath the streetlight.

She saw everything.

And she was smiling.

A smile full of secrets.

And storms.

“I—uh—sure. That’d be… great. Thank you, Mr. Marcus.”

He smiled awkwardly, completely thrown.

During the ride, silence hung between them—thick and uncomfortable.

Neither of them seemed ready to speak.

Ethan stared out the window, pretending to be fascinated by passing streetlights, though his mind was anything but calm.

He was shy, sure. But this silence? It was crushing.

Meanwhile, Marcus sat beside him—silent, still… but watching.

His eyes flicked to Ethan now and then, intense and unreadable.

They weren’t just eyes; they were dangerous eyes. The kind you’d expect from a mafia boss in some dark crime drama.

That vibe? Yeah. He had it. All of it.

Then, suddenly—

“Anyway… Mr. Fall-boy?” Marcus said, voice low and careful.

“Uh—yes, sir?” Ethan replied, jolted out of his thoughts.

There was a pause. Marcus shifted in his seat, gaze flicking out the window.

“Ah. Sorry… for making you feel awkward earlier,” he said, almost too quietly. “I was—”

He stopped himself.

Then smiled faintly. “Forget it.”

Something about his voice felt like a door had almost opened… and then slammed shut again.

Ethan blinked, unsure whether to press him—or to just pretend he didn’t hear anything at all.

“It’s okay, Mr. Marcus. I understand,” Ethan said, trying to lighten the mood. “You wanted to talk about, uh… the football match that’s on tonight, right?”

His voice perked up at the mention of it.

Football had always been a comfort.

He could still remember sitting on his dad’s shoulders, the stadium lights glowing like stars, the roars of the crowd wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

Those were the sweet days—before everything got complicated.

“Yeah… right,” Marcus said after a pause. “Who do you think will win?”

“Oh, the Lions, of course! They always pull through. That’s my team.”

Marcus let out a low chuckle. “Looks like we support the same team, then.”

Ethan turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? Wow… didn’t see that coming.”

A smirk played at Marcus’s lips. “Yeah… Well—”

The car slowed.

“You’ve arrived at your destination.”

Ethan blinked. “Wait… What? How did you know where I live? I never told you my address.”

Marcus glanced at him, the smirk now unreadable. “Let’s leave that for tomorrow’s conversation.”

And before Ethan could respond, Marcus leaned back in his seat, giving a polite nod.

“Bye. Have a lovely evening, Ethan.”

The door clicked open. The car pulled away, disappearing down the street like a shadow.

Ethan stood frozen on the curb.

What the hell just happened?

He never gave him his address.

Not a word, not a clue.

Was Marcus a stalker?

Or worse… a yandere CEO with a good skincare routine and a dark obsession?

He shook the thought off with a nervous laugh, then turned toward his front door—

Only to come face to face with—

“AAAH!”

He screamed, jumping back in pure terror.

Standing right there at the door, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a suspicious detective, was his twin sister—Myra.

She was wearing a black sweatshirt that looked like it had seen better days, paired with pink shorts and those ridiculous yellow slippers she refused to throw away.

Her braids were a mess, tied back with a barely-there yellow elastic band, and her oversized, round glasses were slipping down her nose as she crunched loudly on a bag of chips.

“Bro. Where were you?” she asked, her voice dripping with that signature angry mom energy. “I’ve been calling you like five times.”

“I was…” Ethan started, already stepping past her.

“You were with a rich guy.”

Ethan paused, sighed, and muttered under his breath, “Not your business.”

He brushed past her and entered the small apartment he shared with Myra, their dog Randy, and two uncles.

It wasn’t anything fancy—just a modest flat with three bedrooms, one bathroom, and too many people squeezed into it.

But somehow, it always felt like home.

Especially when that smell hit the air.

The warm, comforting scent of something baking—something hearty. Something Aunt Gracie.

“Children, food is ready!” came her sweet, singsong voice from the kitchen.

Aunt Gracie was a miracle in an apron. Soft-hearted but sharp-witted, she could whip up a feast out of nothing—and tonight, it smelled like she went all out.

As everyone gathered around the cramped but welcoming dining table, Ethan couldn’t help but smile.

Laid out like a celebration: macaroni and cheese, tuna casserole, mashed potatoes, beef stew, and chicken salad.

It was enough food for a party.

But no one said anything about a special occasion.

Maybe Aunt Gracie just had one of her good moods.

Or maybe… she could feel something shifting in the air, too.

“Aunty, Uncle… what’s going on?” Ethan asked, eyes bouncing between the food and their oddly calm faces. He was caught between excitement and confusion.

“Oh, nothing, sweetheart,” Aunt Grace replied with a small smile. “Just thought I’d cook something special tonight. To remember the good days.”

Ethan looked at her, then at the food, and smiled softly. “Thanks, Auntie.”

Aunt Grace, despite being in her forties, looked barely twenty. Her afro puffed around her head like soft clouds, her glowing milk-chocolate skin radiant in the kitchen light. Her pajama of choice? Fuzzy pink with matching puff slippers—classic Aunt Grace.

She smiled like she always did—sweet, but just crooked enough to make you wonder what she was really thinking.

Uncle Micheal, on the other hand, looked like he came from another era. Bald head, thick white beard and mustache, rough hands and arms that seemed like they’d survived war. He didn’t talk much—but when he did, people listened.

After dinner, they all squeezed onto the couch and watched the match. The Lions won, which made Ethan practically buzz with happiness.

Later, as the night crept in and everyone retreated to their rooms, Ethan stretched with a yawn and was about to crash when—

“Ethan… who was he?” Myra asked from her doorway, arms crossed, her glasses glinting in the dim light.

“Who?” Ethan replied, half-playing dumb.

“The rich guy. The one who dropped you off.”

“Oh… that? That was my boss. Mr. Marcus Shane.”

*Myra’s eyes widened. “Marcus Shane?The CEO of your internship company?”*

“Yeah, so what?” Ethan shrugged. “Why are you all acting like I just met a Bond villain?”

*“Ethan,” she said, tone dead serious, “you’ve got Belle Shane—the president—as your second boss. And now Marcus, the CEO, shows up out of nowhere like a ghost from a drama series. You do realize you could end up in the middle of awar zone, right?”*

Ethan scoffed, rolling into bed. “Relax, Myra. Nothing’s gonna happen. It’s not like I’m the lead in a romance drama or anything.”

Myra narrowed her eyes. “Whatever. But I’m warning you. Be careful. You might just end up devoured by the lions… and this time, no one’s gonna save you.”

He glanced at her as she disappeared into her room. Myra was always protective, always looking out for him.

And maybe… just maybe, she was right.

As he closed his eyes, dreading the exam waiting at school tomorrow, a thought lingered in the back of his mind.

He didn’t know it yet, but Marcus Shane was going to be the reason behind both his dreams… and his nightmares.

NEXT DAY

After finishing his exam, Ethan met up with his close friend, Alex Mills.

Alex was everything Ethan wasn’t—loud, rebellious, unapologetically rich, and a total heart breaker. He never listened to anyone. Except Ethan.

No one could quite figure out why Alex, of all people, was so chill around him. Maybe it was the gym sessions they shared… or maybe Ethan was the only person Alex didn’t feel the need to perform for.

“So let me get this straight,” Alex said, sipping an iced drink way too dramatically, “Mr. Shane saved you, flirted with you, sat at your desk, and then drove you home?”

Ethan nodded, eyes wide with disbelief all over again. “Yup. All in one day.”

Alex pulled a face. “That’s mad suspicious, bro. I don’t like it.”

“I know, right? It was just so weird…”

Alex leaned in with a sly grin. “I’m siding with your sister on this one. You better be careful around that man. He might just—” He dropped his voice to a spooky growl. “—kill you in your sleep.”

Ethan practically jumped out of his seat with a yelp. Heads turned. Laughter followed.

“Hahahaha! You should’ve seen your face!” Alex laughed, loud and unbothered.

Ethan groaned and turned red. “Oh, come on! That wasn’t funny.”

“You blushed so hard, you’re glowing, dude.”

“I hate you sometimes,” Ethan muttered, but couldn’t help smiling.

A sleek car pulled up, drawing everyone’s attention.

When the door swung open, out stepped… Mr. Marcus?

Ethan blinked in surprise. What was he doing here?

Marcus walked over calmly, his gaze landing first on Ethan, then shifting to Alex with a sharp, almost challenging glint in his eyes.

“Oh, hi Ethan,” he said casually, before turning to Alex, voice dripping with coolness. “And… Alex.”

Alex scowled under his breath and turned on his heel.

“Hey, where are you going? Weren’t we heading to the gym?” Ethan called after him, but Alex was already disappearing down the street without a word.

That heavy, suffocating feeling returned — the same one Ethan had felt yesterday at the office.

What’s happening here?

Marcus shrugged lightly. “Looks like your ‘so-called friend’ bailed. Since he’s gone, why don’t I join you instead?” His tone carried a strange excitement, like he was glad Alex had left.

“Uhm… sure, Mr. Marcus,” Ethan agreed awkwardly.

“Drop the ‘Mr.’ — just Marcus,” he teased, his smile making Ethan’s heart beat strangely faster.

“We’re not at work right now, are we?”

Ethan found himself smiling — a real, unexpected smile.

There was something about Marcus… something dangerous yet inviting.

Without thinking much more, they headed off to the gym together.

And just like that, it marked the beginning of something new — a friendship… or maybe, something much more complicated.

The gym wasn’t too crowded, which was a relief.

Ethan changed quickly into a simple T-shirt and joggers, feeling a little shy when he saw Marcus emerge from the locker room.

Was it even legal to look that good?

Marcus wore a black sleeveless hoodie that showed off his toned arms, veins running along his forearms, and casual joggers that fit way too perfectly.

Ethan tried not to stare. He’s just my boss… he’s just my boss… he reminded himself.

They started with some light warm-ups.

But when Marcus began lifting weights, it was like he forgot the whole “keep it casual” thing.

Every move he made seemed effortless — muscles flexing, hoodie slipping just enough to reveal parts of his toned torso.

And Ethan, poor Ethan, found himself struggling more to keep his focus than with the weights.

“You okay there, Fall-boy?” Marcus teased, catching Ethan completely zoning out.

“I-I’m fine!” Ethan said way too quickly, cheeks turning red. He grabbed a nearby dumbbell, determined to save whatever pride he had left.

Marcus just chuckled, a low, warm sound that somehow made everything worse.

After an hour or so — and after Ethan nearly dropping a weight on his foot twice — Marcus suggested they head out for something to eat.

“There’s this diner nearby. You need to recharge after all that hard work,” Marcus said with a casual grin.

The diner was cozy and not too fancy, just the way Ethan liked it.

They sat across from each other in a booth, sharing fries and milkshakes like two old friends.

Conversations flowed easier now: small jokes, teasing, little glimpses of who Marcus was behind that cold CEO mask.

Ethan learned Marcus actually hated ties, secretly loved bad action movies, and had an embarrassing addiction to blueberry muffins.

By the time they left, the sky was already dark and sprinkled with stars.

Without asking, Marcus offered to walk Ethan home — saying it was too dangerous to let him go alone at night.

When they arrived at Ethan’s place, they paused at the doorstep.

Marcus gave him a look — a soft, unreadable one that made Ethan’s heart skip without warning.

“Thanks for today,” Ethan said, voice a little breathless.

Marcus just smiled.

“Anytime, Fall-boy.”

And with that, he turned and walked away into the night, leaving Ethan standing there…

*heart racing, wondering if maybe, just maybe —*today had changed everything.