*Chapter 1: Late*

Luan was 7 minutes late to his first day.

He knew it the second the glass doors of Vance Corp slid open and the AC hit his face. Everyone inside moved like they had places to be. He moved like he’d been running from the bus stop.

“Floor 3, HR,” the receptionist said without looking up. “Elevators to the left.”

Luan nodded, shifted the stack of folders in his arms, and sprinted left. He didn’t see the sign above the second elevator. _Executive Access Only_.

The doors closed behind him.

He exhaled. “Okay. Deep breaths. You got this. It’s just a job. A boring, rich-people job where you file things and don’t get fired in week one.”

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened to a floor that looked nothing like HR. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Silence.

One man stood by the window, back to the door. Black suit. Hands in pockets. He didn’t turn around.

“You’re late,” he said.

Luan froze. “The elevator—”

“Excuses are late too.” The man turned.

Damien Vance. CEO. 29 years old. Face on Forbes last month. Eyes the color of a storm before it breaks.

He looked Luan up and down. Coffee stain on the sleeve. Folders clutched like a shield. Hair doing whatever it wanted.

“You’re my 11am,” Damien said. “It’s 11:07. Keep up, rabbit.”

Rabbit.

Luan blinked. “My name is Luan.”

“I know.” Damien picked up a tablet from the desk. “Follow me.”

That was it. No tour. No welcome. No “HR is downstairs, kid.” Just: follow me.

Luan followed.

---

The next two weeks were a blur of impossible tasks and Damien’s voice in his ear.

“Fix this report. Again.”

“Coffee. Black. No sugar. And don’t spill it this time.”

“Sit in. Don’t speak unless I ask you to.”

Luan did speak. He asked questions. He argued when Damien’s plan didn’t make sense. He got shut down every time. But Damien never fired him.

Instead, Damien started calling him rabbit whenever Luan panicked. Which was often.

“Stop running from the printer, rabbit. It won’t bite.”

“You’re breathing like a rabbit caught in headlights. The client’s not that scary.”

“Rabbit, sit down before you fall down.”

Luan started calling him Ice King under his breath when Damien wasn’t listening. Damien always heard it anyway. His mouth would twitch like he was fighting a smile.

It was Wednesday of week two when Luan saw the crack.

He’d stayed late to redo a file Damien had torn apart in the afternoon. The office was dark except for the glow of Damien’s desk lamp.

Damien sat there, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. One hand pressed to his temples like his head hurt.

Luan hovered in the doorway with two coffees. He didn’t know why he bought the second one.

He set it on the edge of Damien’s desk without a word and turned to leave.

“You didn’t have to,” Damien said.

Luan didn’t stop walking. “Didn’t do it for you. There was a sale.”

A pause. Then: “Thank you, rabbit.”

Luan didn’t answer. But the next morning, the deadline Damien had called “non-negotiable” was suddenly pushed to Friday.

Small things started to shift. Damien would toss Luan his jacket when the AC was too cold. Luan would leave antacids on Damien’s desk after the 3-hour meetings. Neither of them mentioned it.

It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t anything Luan had a name for.

It was just... proximity. And the way Damien always looked at him like he was calculating something.

---

Friday. 8pm. The office was empty.

Luan was packing up when Damien appeared in his doorway.

“Conference room. Now.”

Luan groaned. “If this is about the font on slide 12 again—”

“It’s not.” Damien was already walking. Luan scrambled after him.

The conference room lights were off. Only the city lights came through the glass wall. Lagos at night looked like spilled diamonds.

Damien stopped by the table. He didn’t turn around when Luan came in.

“What are you running from, rabbit?” he asked. Quiet. Not teasing this time.

Luan’s hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t run.”

“You run from everything,” Damien said. He finally turned. His eyes found Luan’s in the dark. “Questions. Deadlines. Me.”

Luan took a step back. Then another. His back hit the wall before he realized he’d moved.

Damien didn’t follow. Not yet. He just watched him.

“You don’t have to run,” Damien said.

Luan swallowed. His heart was loud in his ears. “Didn’t say I was.”

Damien tilted his head. For a second, Luan thought he might walk away. Leave it there.

Then Damien took one step forward.

Luan’s breath caught.

The air between them felt too thin.

Damien lifted his hand. Slow. Like he was giving Luan time to move. To run.

Luan didn’t.

Damien’s fingers closed around Luan’s wrist. Not hard. Just enough that Luan couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel it.

Damien didn’t let go of Luan’s wrist. He dragged him closer until their chests brushed and Luan could feel every breath Damien took.

“Running again, little rabbit?” His thumb traced slow circles over Luan’s pulse, and Luan hated how his knees went weak.

Luan yanked his hand back, only for Damien to catch it and pin it above his head against the wall. His grin was all teeth. “I like it when you fight me.”

Luan glared up, lips parted, chest rising fast. “Let go.”

Damien leaned in until their noses touched. “Make me.”

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