CHAPTER 1: A Desperate Gamble

Alex sat hunched over a rickety table in the dimly lit diner, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee. The rain drummed against the window, drowning out the hum of the few late-night patrons scattered throughout the place. His friends, Mark and Jess, animatedly discussed their latest escapades, their laughter ringing hollow in his ears. For weeks, he had felt like a ghost—there, but not truly present, trapped in a cycle of restlessness and unfulfilled dreams.

“Why don’t you join us at the bar?” Mark suggested, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “It’ll be fun! You need to get out more.”

Alex shook his head. “A gay bar? Come on, it’s not my scene. I’m just fine here.” But deep down, he knew that “fine” was a weak facade. Every day passed in a blur, each moment a reminder that he was stuck in a job that went nowhere and a life that had lost its spark.

“Don’t be such a downer,” Jess chimed in, her bright eyes glimmering with mischief. “Think of the tips! Seriously, you could make good money if you just give it a shot. And the people are… interesting.”

“Interesting, huh?” Alex raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “And what exactly do I do there?”

“Just serve drinks and chat with customers. It’s not like you have to dance on tables or anything,” Mark said, swinging a fist playfully toward his shoulder. “Besides, what have you got to lose?”

With a hesitant sigh, Alex stared down at his cold coffee. He had lost count of the days spent aimlessly scrolling through job listings that led nowhere. Could this be a chance to break out of his mundane routine? Perhaps the thrill of the unknown was worth considering.

After some back-and-forth banter—and a barrage of encouragement from his friends—Alex agreed to at least check out the bar. As they left the diner, an unexpected flutter of excitement mixed with trepidation began to stir within him.

Later that evening, the bar was alive with pulsating music and colorful lights flashing in time to the rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke, the atmosphere charged with an electrifying energy. Alex’s heart raced as he stepped inside, the lively crowd drawing him in like a moth to flame.

“Welcome to Paradise,” a flamboyant bartender greeted him, tossing a towel over his shoulder with a wink. “You must be the new hire! Follow me.”

As Alex took in his surroundings, he couldn’t shake the feeling of stepping into another world. The laughter, the loud conversations, and the flirtatious glances ignited something within him. It was both daunting and exhilarating.

Hours passed, and Alex found himself leaning into the rhythm of the night, serving drinks and engaging in playful banter. He felt a sense of belonging he hadn’t expected, his earlier doubts melting away under the bright lights.

But then, just as he thought he had settled in, a striking figure caught his eye from across the bar. A tall man with an air of confidence and an enigmatic smile that seemed to draw everyone in. Alex’s stomach churned as he recognized that look—the kind of gaze that promised danger, excitement, and perhaps a little too much intimacy.

“Hey there,” the man said, his voice smooth as silk as he approached Alex. “What’s your name?”

“Um, Alex,” he replied, trying to keep his composure as the man’s gaze bore into him.

“I’ll take a whiskey,” the man said, leaning closer, his presence overwhelming. “And how about a little conversation? I’d be happy to pay quite generously for your services.”

A rush of adrenaline coursed through Alex. He felt a tension building, an undeniable attraction mixed with a rush of uncertainty. But remembering his aim to change his life, he knew that he had to tread carefully.

The night unfolded, and as he navigated between flirting with patrons and serving drinks, he felt alive for the first time in a long time. But in the back of his mind lingered the memory of that man’s intense eyes, and the dollar signs that weighed heavy against his newfound freedom.

Chapter 2: New Beginnings, Old Eyes

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Dominic Blake’s office, casting long shadows across his pristine desk. He stood by the window, jaw clenched, his phone pressed tightly to his ear.

“I gave you a name and a description,” he said, voice low but lethal. “ I don’t care how many bars you’ve checked—I want the guy found. “

The man on the other end stammered, “Sir, it was just one night. No full name, no number, no surveillance—”

“I gave him ten thousand pesos in cash and he disappeared,” Dominic cut in sharply. “He knew what he was doing. He played me.”

His fingers tapped impatiently on the edge of the glass window. He remembered it too well—those wide, uncertain eyes, the soft voice, the hesitation when asked for more than just a drink. It wasn’t just about the money. It was the principle. He wasn’t used to being manipulated, especially not in such a low-brow way.

He paused, breathing shallow, voice vibrating with restrained rage.

Then, coldly, he added.  “Find him. Because when I do…”

His words dropped lower, almost to a whisper.

“I’ll make sure he regrets it. He’s not getting away. He doesn’t get to toy with me like that and walk free.”

A silence followed on the other end.

“I don’t care if it takes a week or a month,” Dominic hissed. “I want to know who he is. And when you do—call me first.”

He hung up before the man could respond. For a long moment, Dominic stared out over the skyline, knuckles white against the edge of the window, his reflection in the glass cold and unreadable. Only his eyes burned with something darker than betrayal. Something personal.

Meanwhile, across the city, Alex adjusted his tie in the elevator mirror for the third time. He looked almost professional—black slacks, crisp white shirt, and a thrifted navy blazer that still smelled faintly of lavender detergent.

“I can do this,” he muttered, giving himself a short pep talk as the numbers above the elevator blinked upward. He hadn’t set foot in a corporate office in over a year—not since he quit school and got lost somewhere between odd jobs and self-doubt.

Landing this interview had felt like a miracle. Jess had pulled some strings, said a friend of hers in HR owed her a favor. “It’s a creative firm,” she had explained. “They need someone with a good eye for detail. Show them your mock-ups and don’t look like you’re about to cry.”

The elevator chimed at the 24th floor, and Alex stepped out into a hallway made of marble and mirrored panels. Everything screamed you don’t belong here .

He gave his name to the front desk, then was directed to a sleek conference room where sunlight poured in through tall windows. He paced a little, smoothing down his shirt. The nerves were real, but so was the hope. This was his chance to start over.

Then—footsteps. The door handle turned.

Alex turned around, expecting some polished executive in a blazer and clipboard.

Instead, in walked the man from the bar.

The same piercing eyes. The same tailored build. The same calm, commanding presence that had made Alex feel both exposed and alive all at once.

Time stood still.

Alex’s breath caught in his throat. His heart thudded like it wanted out of his chest. His first instinct was to run, but his feet stayed glued to the floor.

Dominic paused. Recognition flashed instantly in his expression, but it wasn’t warmth or curiosity—it was ice. Pure, sharp-edged ice.

“So,” Dominic said, closing the door behind him with eerie composure. “We meet again.”

Alex opened his mouth, but no words came. He tried to swallow, to smile, to pretend—but it was useless. The moment was too loud with unspoken things.

“I’m Mr. Blake,” Dominic continued, walking to the head of the table. “CEO. And you must be…” He let his eyes sweep over Alex with measured judgment. “Alex, was it?”

Alex gave a weak nod.

“Well, Alex,” Dominic said, folding his hands on the table, his tone laced with a subtle threat, “you’ve made quite the impression.”

Chapter 3: Under Oath

The office smelled like leather, ink, and clean ambition.

Alex stood in front of the glossy reception desk, gripping the strap of his messenger bag like a lifeline. Behind him, elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding , and the hush of the hallway pressed in around him like a whisper too quiet to understand.

“Alex Rivera, reporting for my first day,” he said to the receptionist, offering what he hoped was a confident smile.

She barely looked up, typing something into her monitor. “You’re with the design team. Go straight down that hallway—last room on the right.”

“Thank you,” he said, and started walking, nerves crawling like insects beneath his skin.

He passed polished glass walls, people already typing away, murmuring in clipped tones about meetings and mockups. It felt surreal—like stepping onto a movie set where everyone knew their lines but him.

The design office greeted him with warm tones and sleek workstations. A woman with short curls and a warm smile introduced herself as Amara, his supervisor.

“Glad to have you with us,” she said, handing him a temporary badge and a printed guide.

“Your portfolio was impressive. We’ll have you assist on a few active campaigns until you’re familiar with our process.”

Alex nodded, trying to focus, trying to shake off the sense of being watched. Every word Amara spoke buzzed faintly in his ears like background static.

Because somewhere down the hall, he was there.

The man from the bar.

Dominic.

The memory burned like static electricity in Alex’s chest. That one intense night—Dominic’s smooth voice, the way his eyes stripped Alex bare, the money pressed into his hand. It wasn’t prostitution, not exactly… just a well-paid conversation with loaded tension and blurred lines.

And Alex had left.

Took the cash.

Never looked back.

Until now.

It was almost lunch when the door opened.

Amara looked up. “Mr. Blake.”

Alex didn’t have to turn. He felt him before he saw him. The weight of his presence changed the air in the room.

Dominic stepped in, tailored suit pristine, hair swept back, face composed like an expensive sculpture. His eyes scanned the room briefly—before landing on Alex.

There it was again—that stillness.

Recognition without surprise.

Alex straightened instinctively, forcing his eyes to focus on his screen.

Dominic offered Amara a brief nod. “Just checking in.”

His voice hadn’t changed. Still low. Still controlled. Still… dangerous.

Then, casually, as if it were nothing, Dominic walked behind Alex’s chair and said, “You must be the new guy.”

Alex turned slowly, heart stammering like it didn’t know how to beat properly. “Yes, sir. Alex Rivera.”

A long pause.

Dominic’s smile was unreadable. “Hm. Alex.”

The name tasted different coming from his lips.

“You look familiar,” Dominic said, gaze locked on him. “Have we met before?”

Alex’s heart twisted. “I… I don’t think so. Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

A breathless second passed.

Then Dominic’s smile deepened—sharp and cold at the edges.

“Maybe,” he said. “You remind me of someone… who owes me.”

Alex blinked. “Excuse me?”

But Dominic was already turning away. “Carry on,” he said smoothly to the room.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The rest of the day crawled by, but Alex barely registered the files or layouts he was asked to review. Every time the elevator pinged, every footstep in the hallway, he flinched.

He couldn’t be sure. Had Dominic really recognized him?

Or was this just his anxiety making monsters out of shadows?

He didn’t dare ask. Didn’t dare tell Mark or Jess. Not yet.

But as the sun dipped beyond the skyline, and he packed up to leave, he glanced once more at the hallway behind him.

No sign of Dominic.

But the words still rang in his mind.

You remind me of someone… who owes me.

Chapter 4: The Man Behind the Smile

Dominic stared out the full-length glass window of his penthouse office, the city sprawling beneath him like a breathing organism—so full of life, so good at hiding secrets. Just like people.

Just like him .

He clenched his jaw as the reflection in the glass shifted. There he was again in his mind—Alex. That same soft mouth, those skittish eyes, the tremble in his voice that night at the bar.

“Alex,”

he muttered aloud, letting the name linger on his tongue like a bitter aftertaste.

He hadn’t been able to sleep the night after he saw him again— in his office, of all places. The shock had been brief. The anger? Still simmering.

Dominic had been around liars, grifters, and silver-tongued opportunists before. But this? This one had felt personal . Maybe it was because, for a fleeting second that night, he thought he saw something genuine in Alex. Vulnerability. A kind of innocence. He had let his guard down.

And then Alex took the money. And vanished.

Later that evening, Dominic sat in a quiet rooftop lounge, swirling a glass of scotch with his long-time friends and business associates— Isaac , his sharp-tongued legal advisor, and Drew , his more easygoing but observant marketing partner.

“So let me get this straight,” Isaac said, leaning back, one brow arched. “You offered a guy money for conversation—”

“Ten thousand pesos,” Dominic corrected, eyes narrowing. “Cash.”

“—and then he just ghosted you?” Isaac smirked. “Boss, you’ve got to stop falling for soft boys.”

Drew chuckled awkwardly. “Wait, wait. Back up. You gave him money for… talking?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Dominic snapped, then lowered his voice. “It wasn’t transactional in the way you’re thinking. He wasn’t a worker there. Not officially. He was new, awkward… like he didn’t belong.”

“Sounds like a setup,” Isaac said. “Probably someone planted him to bait you.”

“No,” Dominic said sharply. “It didn’t feel like that. He was scared. Desperate, even. But real.”

He stared down into his drink, jaw tight.

“I don’t even care about the money. What gets me is the audacity—to look me in the eye, act like it meant something, then disappear.”

“And now?” Drew asked cautiously.

Dominic looked up.

“He works for me,” he said flatly. “Started yesterday.”

That shut them up.

Isaac blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Dominic said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He’s in the design department. Says his name’s Alex Rivera. Same face. Same voice. And get this—he acted like he didn’t recognize me.”

“Maybe he didn’t?” Drew offered weakly.

“No,” Dominic said coldly. “He remembered. I saw it. The flicker in his eyes. The way he froze when I walked in. He just didn’t expect me to remember him .”

Isaac whistled. “Well, shit.”

Drew leaned in, lowering his voice. “So what are you going to do?”

Dominic hesitated. For all his fury, a strange conflict brewed beneath the surface. Logic told him to confront Alex. To drag him into his office and demand answers. But some part of him didn’t want to give the boy the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten under his skin.

“Nothing,” Dominic finally said. “Not yet.”

Isaac laughed dryly. “That’s not very you.”

“I want to watch him squirm,” Dominic said, eyes gleaming with something colder than revenge. “Let him think he got away with it. Let him wonder every day whether I’ve figured it out.”

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away, Alex was curled up on his couch with a throw blanket over his legs and his laptop open. Jess and Mark sat beside him, popcorn bowl between them, but no one was watching the movie anymore.

“What do you mean it was him?” Jess hissed.

“I mean,” Alex said, eyes wide and tired, “the guy from the bar—the one who paid me to talk and then disappeared— he’s my boss .”

Mark’s jaw dropped. “Are you sure ?”

Alex nodded slowly. “Same voice. Same eyes. I would never forget the way he looked at me. Like he could read me, strip me apart with just a glance.”

Jess clutched a pillow to her chest. “Alex, this is bad. What if he recognized you?”

“I don’t think he did,” Alex said, though his voice wavered. “He acted normal. Like nothing happened.”

Mark wasn’t convinced. “Guys like that? CEOs? They don’t forget. He’s just playing the long game.”

“You need to be careful,” Jess said firmly. “He has power. He could ruin your name in the industry. He could make it impossible for you to get work again.”

Alex nodded, chewing his lip. “I know. I know.”

“But why would you even do that? I never thought you were capable of something like that. If you were that desperate, you could’ve just endured the job a little longer until you had saved enough, then you could’ve left.” Jess frankly said. 

“But now? You’re scared because of the mess you created.” Jess added. 

“I really don’t know. It’s so messed up.” 

But deep down, he wasn’t so sure. There had been a moment—just a second—when Dominic had looked at him that first day. A flicker of something behind the polite mask. Recognition, maybe. Disappointment. Maybe worse.

Or maybe I’m just paranoid, Alex thought. Maybe he really didn’t care that much.

He closed his laptop and leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

But the image of Dominic’s eyes—dark, focused, cold—stayed with him.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

---

The next morning at the office, Dominic sat behind his desk, tapping a Montblanc pen against a closed file.

The city buzzed beyond the windows, but his mind was elsewhere.

His friends’ words still lingered from the night before.

“So what are you going to do?”

“He has no idea who you are at this point.”

“He could destroy your name if he finds out.”

Dominic had spent the rest of the evening replaying every detail from that night at the bar.

The way Alex had avoided eye contact at first, the nervous fidgeting, the flicker of guilt before he left with the cash.

Was it a scam?

Or was it desperation?

Dominic had built his company from the ground up—refined taste, ruthless control, calculated partnerships. He had no room for sentimentality. And yet, this boy— this child practically —had embedded himself like a thorn beneath Dominic’s skin.

And now… he was right here. Every day. Within reach.

He didn’t need confrontation.

He needed clarity.

And leverage.

“Have him bring these up personally,” Dominic said quietly to his assistant, sliding a slim manila folder across the desk.

“Alex Rivera, right?”

“Yes.”

His assistant blinked. “Should I—?”

“Just the folder,” Dominic said, standing. “No warning.”

He didn’t want Alex to have time to prepare. To run. To compose another lie.

Ten minutes later, a soft knock on the glass door broke the stillness of Dominic’s office.

Alex stepped inside, holding the file with both hands.

“Sir, Amara said you requested this.”

Dominic didn’t look up right away. Let the silence stretch. He liked the way it made people squirm.

When he finally glanced at him, he noticed everything.

The way Alex stood straight but shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

The nervous flutter of his fingers on the folder’s edge.

That faint scent again—clean soap and something warm, almost sweet.

“Thank you,” Dominic said smoothly. “Stay a moment.”

Alex blinked. “S-Sir?”

“I’d like your input.”

He gestured toward the chair across his desk.

Alex hesitated. “On… what exactly?”

Dominic leaned forward, folding his hands. “I looked through your portfolio. You’ve got a good eye. I want to know what you think of the Adams campaign proposal. No sugar-coating.”

Alex slowly lowered himself into the chair, posture tight, like he was ready to bolt at the slightest wrong word.

Dominic handed him a page from the file.

Alex scanned it quickly, brow furrowing. “The color schemes’ off. It’s too heavy for the message they’re selling. Also, the font’s dated.”

Dominic nodded. “Go on.”

Alex looked up, startled. “You want the truth, right?”

“That’s what I said.”

Alex continued. “It feels forced. Like it was built around aesthetics rather than impact. There’s no voice.”

Dominic watched him carefully. Watched the way his face shifted when he talked about design—how genuine it was. How different from the person who had slipped out of a neon-lit bar with a smirk and a fistful of cash.

“Interesting,” Dominic murmured. “You speak better than your resume implies.”

Alex looked down quickly. “I wasn’t sure anyone would actually read my resume.”

“I always read what matters.”

Another silence.

Then, Dominic leaned back in his chair.

“You said this is your first time in a corporate setting?”

Alex nodded, fidgeting. “Yes, sir.”

Dominic tilted his head. “But not your first time interacting with professionals, I assume.”

Alex blinked. “I—I’m not sure what you mean.”

Dominic didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

“You’re surprisingly comfortable with people who hold authority.”

Alex’s throat bobbed. “I… I just try to stay professional.”

Dominic stood, turning toward the window again.

“I like people who are honest,” he said casually, hands behind his back. “I value that more than talent, even. Because you can teach talent. But integrity?”

He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Alex’s reflection behind him.

“That’s something you either have… or you don’t.”

Alex swallowed audibly.

Dominic let the words hang in the air like a noose.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Rivera. You’re dismissed.”

Alex rose slowly, placed the file on the desk, and walked out with barely a sound.

Dominic didn’t move until the door clicked shut.

Then, he exhaled—slow and precise.

He knows.

Dominic was sure of it now.

Alex remembered everything.

But he was pretending.

Playing innocent.

And Dominic? He wasn’t done playing.

Not yet.

Chapter 5: Between Glass Walls

Alex closed the office door behind him and nearly forgot how to breathe.

His knees almost buckled right there in the hallway. It took every fiber of self-control not to look back.

Dominic had just stared at him like he already knew.

Like he’d been watching him from the very beginning.

“You’re surprisingly comfortable with people who hold authority.”

“You can teach talent. But integrity…”

“That’s something you either have… or you don’t.”

Alex pressed his lips together and walked straight to the elevator.

He couldn’t panic here. Not where anyone could see.

By the time he made it to the small staff lounge, his hands were shaking.

He gripped the edge of the counter, stared blankly at the stale coffee in the pot, and tried to breathe through the storm building in his chest.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

But what if he did?

What if the reason he was being called in more often than other interns was because Dominic did recognize him?

What if all this talk about “truth” and “honesty” wasn’t about the job—but about the night ?

He could still feel the heavy weight of the bills Dominic had slipped into his palm at the bar.

Dirty money.

Fast money.

He’d told himself it was just conversation.

But they both knew it wasn’t just that.

“Hey, you good?”

It was Quinn, one of the other interns. Easy smile, eyes sharp.

Alex nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Quinn tilted her head. “You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He gave a short laugh. “Something like that.”

He poured himself a cup of bitter coffee just to do something with his hands.

Quinn leaned in slightly. “I heard you got called into the boss’s office.”

Alex froze for a beat. “Yeah, he just… wanted my opinion on a campaign.”

“Woah,” she said. “That’s rare. I mean, the guy barely looks at interns. You must’ve done something right.”

Alex gave a tight smile. Or terribly wrong.

Alex sat at his desk, eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his computer, but his mind couldn’t focus. Every time he tried to finish the report due that afternoon, his thoughts looped back to the same terrifying possibility.

What if Dominic knows?

He couldn’t stop sweating. He shifted in his seat, glancing quickly toward the office behind the frosted glass door where the boss was likely seated, silently working—or worse, scheming. Dominic had been unusually quiet all day. No snide remarks. No cryptic smiles. Just a series of neutral instructions delivered with robotic precision.

It was the silence that scared him.

The previous night played like a broken film reel in his head. The hallway. The elevator. That line Dominic said— “Hm. Strange. You remind me of someone… who owes me.”

Alex gulped, his fingers trembling slightly as he typed another line of the report. He couldn’t take it anymore. The walls were closing in. He needed to talk to someone.

By the time he got home, his head was pounding.

The walls of his apartment were still bare. He hadn’t been able to afford much since moving here—just the basics. A second hand couch. A mattress on the floor. And the silence.

God, the silence was the worst.

He dropped his bag and collapsed onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling like it could give him answers.

His phone buzzed beside him.

A message.

Miguel [Group Chat]:

Dude, boss called you in again?? Be careful. My cousin worked there before. Said he’s ruthless. Like, heartless-level cold.

Jordan:

I’d quit. ASAP. You never know what these rich types can do to you.

Alex stared at the screen.

His chest felt like it was caught in a vice.

They didn’t know. They couldn’t. Not about the bar. Not about the envelope of money. Not about the man who had leaned in too close and asked questions that Alex had answered with a fake smile and a desperate heart.

He can’t know it was me.

He’d fire me.

Worse, he’d expose me.

What would I even say? “I needed money. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know you’d be my boss.”

It sounded pathetic even in his own head.

But what choice did he have?

He needed this job. It was his last thread of hope—his only shot at turning things around.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

Every creak of the building, every buzz of his phone made his stomach clench.

Did I look too nervous in his office?

Did I say something that gave it away?

He’s testing me. I know he is.

Still, somewhere beneath the anxiety, a different thought whispered.

He could’ve confronted me already if he wanted to.

But he didn’t.

Why?

Alex sat up in bed, heart pounding, eyes wide in the dark.

That’s what scared him most.

Dominic wasn’t just some angry boss.

He was watching. Calculating.

Waiting.

He met up with his two closest friends, Mark and Jess, at a 24-hour diner near his tiny apartment as he can’t sleep overthinking. The fluorescent lights buzzed above them while the three of them hunched in a booth, a half-eaten plate of fries between them.

Mark, a bold and ever-stylish barista-slash-digital-artist, leaned in. “So let me get this straight… you think your boss might be the guy from the bar? The one you took money from?”

Alex nodded miserably, poking at a soggy fry.

Jess, who worked freelance in IT and had a habit of biting his straw when anxious, blinked hard. “Shit. That escalated.”

Mark slapped his arm. “Not helping!”

“I mean, I’m not saying he knows,” Alex muttered. “But the way he looks at me… it’s like he sees through me. Every time he passes by my desk, I feel like my sins are printed on my forehead.”

Jess rested her chin on her hand. “And you’re sure it was him? The same guy from the bar?”

“Yeah. Positive. I didn’t recognize him at first. But the way he stared at me in the elevator, the way he said that line… it clicked.”

Mark leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Okay. Let’s say he knows. Why hasn’t he fired you? Or reported you? Or worse?”

“That’s what I don’t get. He hasn’t said anything directly. He’s just watching. Waiting. It’s like he wants to… I don’t know… torture me with anticipation.”

Mark’s lips thinned. “Maybe he’s still unsure. Maybe he doesn’t have confirmation. Or maybe he’s the type who enjoys making people sweat.”

“That checks out,” Jess added. “Rich guys with power issues love control.”

Alex ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think I should quit?”

“No!” Mark and Jess said in unison.

Mark gripped his wrist. “Alex, quitting will only make you look guilty. Ride this out. Act normal. Be excellent at your job. Don’t give him more reasons to look deeper.”

“Yeah,” Jess added. “And if he ever corners you, deny everything. Hell, pretend you’re confused. Gaslight him if you have to.”

Alex cracked a small smile despite the anxiety pressing on his chest. “Gaslighting my boss. Got it.”

Back in his cramped apartment, Alex tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. The ceiling fan creaked above him, casting rotating shadows on the walls. He stared at them, mind racing.

He hated what he’d done.

Yes, he needed the money. That night at the bar, he didn’t plan to scam anyone. He just… went along with it. He thought it was a one-time transaction. He thought the man was just lonely.

But that man turned out to be his boss.

Dominic Blake. CEO. Late-Twenties. Impossibly composed. Sharp cheekbones and sharper tongue. A man who could destroy Alex’s entire career with a whisper.

What if this was just the calm before the storm? What if Dominic was gathering evidence, slowly pushing Alex toward a trap?

Alex turned on his side and pulled the blanket over his head.

I can’t let him know I’m scared.

He had to be strong. Even if the guilt was clawing at him. Even if every meeting, every memo, every brush past Dominic felt like walking through landmines.

Because if Dominic was playing a game…

Then Alex had no choice.

He had to play too.

The following day. The office was cold. Too cold. The kind of cold that crept beneath your skin and reminded you that even air could be weaponized.

Alex walked in early, earlier than anyone else, just to settle his nerves before Dominic arrived.

He organized his desk. Checked his emails. Pretended everything was fine.

Then he heard the elevator ding.

Dominic stepped out in a crisp black suit, the light from the ceiling catching the shine in his slicked-back hair. His expression was unreadable as always.

He looked directly at Alex.

Alex stiffened.

Dominic gave him a curt nod and walked to his office, closing the door behind him.

No words. No accusations.

But the silence…

It screamed.

Chapter 6: Coffee, Commands, and Calculations

Alex wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Since the day he learned that the mysterious man from the bar—the man he tricked for a quick sum—was now his boss, the walls of the office had felt thinner. More judgmental. As if at any moment, someone might discover his secret. Or worse… Dominic might already know.

But Dominic hadn’t said anything. Not even a whisper of recognition. What he had started doing, however, was something entirely new.

It began with a casual command.

“Alex,” Dominic said one morning as the rest of the floor was settling into their cubicles. His voice was smooth but sharp, like velvet wrapped around a blade. “Get me a coffee. I need something strong—Americano. No sugar. Go to that small shop outside the building.”

Alex blinked, momentarily stunned. “Y-Yes, sir. Right away.”

He reached for his company card but hesitated when Dominic added without looking up from his screen, “Out of your pocket. I’ll pay you back. Eventually.”

Eventually. The word stuck in Alex’s head like a rock in a shoe.

It wasn’t his job. He was hired as an entry-level assistant analyst, not a coffee runner. And certainly not someone who was supposed to pay for his intimidating boss’s caffeine fix.

But he didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

As he stood in line at the tiny coffee shop, fingers gripping the last few bills he could afford to spare, Alex’s mind spun.

Is this a coincidence? Or is he testing me?

He kept replaying that night at the bar—his nerves, the lies, the hush of music and flickering neon as he conned a stranger for a few drinks and some easy cash. Dominic can’t know. He didn’t even look at me that night… right?

Back at the office, he placed the drink on Dominic’s desk.

“Here, sir.”

Dominic picked up the coffee, took a long sip, and without looking at him, said, “Hmm. You were quicker than I expected. Good.”

He didn’t say thank you.

Alex turned back toward his desk, unsure if he was being praised or punished.

That afternoon, it happened again.

“Alex,” Dominic called. “I need someone to pick up a custom flash drive from the IT department across town. I trust you.”

“But sir, the errand runners—”

“I want you. I’ll mark it down later.”

The words were gentle, but the tone was final. No room for debate. Alex grabbed his coat, his heart racing.

Why me? Why is he choosing me for these odd jobs?

By the end of the week, Dominic had sent Alex out for three more coffee runs, a dry-cleaning pick-up, and a surprise lunch order—all on Alex’s personal dime. Each time, Dominic said, “I’ll pay you back,” but never once reached for his wallet.

One morning, when Alex placed another steaming cup on the desk, Dominic finally met his eyes. Just briefly. Something flickered in that gaze—sharp, observant, hungry.

Alex felt like prey. And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if he deserved it.

Back at his own desk, Alex sunk into his chair and stared blankly at his computer screen.

I can’t mess this up. I need this job. Even if it means playing along. Even if I’m being punished in secret.

Yet, deep inside, another voice whispered: He knows. He’s just waiting to make his move.

And Dominic? He had only just begun.

Later that evening, just as Alex thought the day was finally over, his phone buzzed with a message from Dominic.

DOMINIC:

“Before you head home, drop by my office.”

Alex hesitated, clutching his phone. The entire day had already worn him down. His bank balance was suffering, his pride barely holding on. But there was no option to say no—not to his boss.

With a quiet knock, he entered the office. Dominic looked up from a document, waved for him to come in, then gestured to the guest chair.

“You’ve been unusually compliant lately,” Dominic said, voice unreadable. “No complaints. No resistance. Not even a raised eyebrow.”

Alex forced a nervous laugh. “Well… I’m just doing my job, sir.”

“Are you? Even when it’s not part of your job?”

There was a beat of silence. Dominic leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. His presence filled the room like a stormcloud.

“Tell me something, Alex… Do you always obey this easily, or is it just me?”

Alex’s breath hitched. “I—I just want to do well here.”

Dominic smiled faintly, but it wasn’t kind. It was knowing.

“I see. Loyal or desperate… hard to tell which one suits you better.”

He dismissed Alex with a nod, leaving the younger man rattled and confused as he exited the office.

The walk home felt heavier than usual. Alex’s thoughts swirled with questions and anxieties. But one thing was clear: the game had begun.

And Dominic was holding all the pieces.

Chapter 7: The Unspoken Grudge

Monday morning sunlight poured through the slats of the office windows like it had no idea how heavy the weekend had been for Alex. His mind had been replaying every word Dominic had said, dissecting each tone and gaze like a scientist examining a dangerous new organism. There were no clear answers. Only one gut-churning realization:

He knows.

And worse— he’s enjoying this.

As he stepped into the office, dressed in his usual neatly pressed shirt and tie, Alex felt like a puppet walking into the theater of his own humiliation. A few coworkers greeted him with nods, and his team leader handed over a stack of budget analysis reports that needed reviewing by the afternoon. It was routine. Mundane. But Alex’s pulse only settled once he looked toward Dominic’s office and found the door shut.

Maybe today would be normal.

But normal wasn’t on the schedule.

At 10:17 AM, his phone buzzed.

DOMINIC:   “Alex. My Office. Now”

The email notification pinged across his screen. No greeting. No signature. No explanation. No smiley face. Not that Dominic was the kind to use emojis. Just that. Just a command. But the abruptness made Alex’s stomach flip. 

He stood slowly, straightening his navy blue coat and running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. With every step to Dominic’s glass-walled corner office, his heart pounded louder, like his chest was a hollow drum. By now, he’d memorized the sound of Dominic’s voice when he was annoyed, and the silence between them when he wasn’t.

He arrived at the room moments later to find Dominic standing at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, posture impossibly composed.

Dominic sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. The collar of his crisp white shirt was slightly open, revealing just the line of his throat. 

“Sit,” Dominic said without looking at him.

Alex obeyed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dominic began, walking slowly around the table, almost circling him. “You’re quite… adaptable. Flexible. Not every employee takes to nonstandard tasks so obediently.”

Alex swallowed. “I just try to do what’s asked of me, sir.”

“That’s admirable,” Dominic said smoothly, though the compliment felt like it had teeth. “But tell me—how far are you willing to go to keep your job?”

Alex’s hands tensed against his lap. “As far as I need to.”

Dominic stopped walking. His sharp eyes fixed on him. “That’s a dangerous thing to say, Alex.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t ask dangerous questions,” Alex shot back before he could stop himself.

A beat of silence. Then a slow, almost impressed smile spread on Dominic’s lips.

“There it is,” he murmured. “The bite I’ve been waiting to see.”

Alex looked away, furious at himself for reacting.

Dominic didn’t press further. Instead, he handed over a flash drive.

“There’s a client presentation scheduled this Thursday. I want you to update the financials on this and reformat the layout. Use your judgment.”

“Sir, I usually don’t handle—”

“Now you do.”

Dominic’s voice didn’t rise. It never needed to. It was the finality in his tone that made resistance pointless.

Alex took the flash drive.

“Yes, sir.”

“Before I let you go,” Dominic added.

“Get me a coffee,” Dominic said flatly. “From that new cafe across the avenue. The lavender espresso. You remember the one I mentioned last week?”

Alex blinked. “Yes, sir.”

“Get me the large size. Full cream. And one of those tarts, the citrus one.”

There was no mention of payment. Again.

Alex hesitated, opening his mouth to say something. Anything.

But Dominic finally looked at him, and that was enough to silence him. His boss didn’t need to raise his voice to be terrifying. His eyes did all the talking.

“Is there a problem?” Dominic asked, voice soft but razor-edged.

“No, sir,” Alex murmured, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll go now.”

Dominic nodded once. “You’re efficient. I like that about you.”

It was meant as a compliment. But to Alex, it felt like a leash.

Outside, the sun beat down mercilessly as Alex crossed the avenue. He paid for the drink and tart with his own dwindling allowance, telling himself—as he always did—that Dominic would pay him back eventually.

He wouldn’t. They both knew that.

As he waited by the crosswalk on his way back, Alex let out a deep breath. Something had to change. This wasn’t sustainable—not mentally, not emotionally, not financially. But every time he tried to put up a boundary, Dominic blurred it. Pushed it. Played with it.

And somehow, Alex let him.

“That was fast,” Dominic said as Alex returned and placed the coffee and tart on the table.

“Didn’t want to keep you waiting,” Alex replied, tone flat.

Dominic glanced up, raising a brow. “Are we getting snippy today?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He took a slow sip of his drink and smiled faintly. “Perfect. You remember my preferences so well.”

Alex bit back the instinct to say because you make me memorize them. Instead, he bowed his head slightly. “Glad you like it.”

Dominic leaned back in his chair. “You ever wonder why I test you, Alex?”

Alex stiffened. So it wasn’t his imagination.

“Sir?”

“Why I give you tasks outside your job description. Why I push.”

“Because you can?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Dominic chuckled, dark and deep. “Partially. But mostly because I want to see if you’ll break. Or if you’ll impress me. So far, you’re balancing well. But a good chess player knows—eventually, something has to give.”

Alex’s breath caught. “I’m not a game piece.”

“Aren’t you?”

Silence stretched between them.

“You may go now,” Dominic said, turning back to his monitor. “For now.”

Alex clenched his fists inside his pockets as he walked out. His teeth grit, his heart thudding.

Dominic knew.

He always knew.

The rest of the day blurred into a cycle of numbers, charts, and a headache blooming behind Alex’s eyes. The presentation was complex, laced with data from multiple departments, and clearly crafted by someone more senior than him. But Dominic wanted him to touch it. To mold it. Like a test.

By 7:30 PM, the office was nearly empty, except for a couple of late stragglers. Alex’s screen glowed with graphs and a slide deck that finally looked cohesive. He leaned back, rubbing his temples.

“Still here?”

Dominic’s voice. Soft. Closer than expected.

Alex turned. Dominic stood by the edge of his cubicle, coffee cup in hand, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

“Finished?”

Alex nodded. “Just about.”

“Let me see.”

They walked back to Dominic’s office. Alex stood awkwardly beside him while he clicked through the slides. Silence stretched.

Then— “Clean. Structured. You’ve got a good eye, Alex.”

It was the closest thing to praise Dominic had ever offered.

Alex blinked. “Thank you, sir.”

Dominic’s gaze lifted from the screen. It lingered.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Sir?”

“Yes. It’s outdated. Formal. Doesn’t suit the environment we’re cultivating here.”

Alex hesitated. “Then what should I call you?”

Dominic leaned back, folding his arms.

“Try my name.”

The idea felt… strange. Wrong, even. But he tried. “Dominic.”

“Good,” he said with a faint nod. “Again.”

“ Dominic. “

The name left Alex’s lips more smoothly this time, though his heart pounded faster. There was a shift in the air, like they had just stepped into a room where rules no longer applied.

“You’re learning,” Dominic said, and dismissed him with a simple, “Go home.”

That evening, Alex sat curled on his bed, hands running through his hair, phone buzzing with unread messages.

He hadn’t told anyone—not fully. Not what it felt like to be watched so closely. Commanded so casually. Controlled so expertly. But the pressure had grown too heavy.

So he typed a message in their work group chat:

Alex:

“Do you ever feel like your boss knows something about you they shouldn’t? Like… too much?”

Mina:

“Lol, like what? That you’re bad at Excel?”

Renzo:

“What did he say this time? Did he finally ask you to babysit his dog too?”

Alex:

“No. It’s different. It’s like… I feel like he’s pushing me. Testing me. On purpose. And I don’t know what he’s trying to prove.”

Mina:

“You’re overthinking. Maybe he’s just a control freak.”

Renzo:

“Dude, all bosses are like that. Welcome to capitalism.”

Alex stared at the screen, unsatisfied. He hadn’t expected full understanding, but the responses only made him feel more alone. Like the reality of what he was experiencing couldn’t be put into words.

That night, just as he was about to sleep, his phone buzzed.

Dominic:

“I forgot to bring with me the quarterly sheets today. Go get them at the office. I need them signed by morning.”

It was almost midnight.

Alex stared at the message, then at the time.

He wanted to scream. Cry. Break his phone in two.

Instead, he got up, dressed, and took the late-night train back to the office.

Because Alex wasn’t a game piece.

But for Dominic, he played the part anyway.

Chapter 8: Friends and Firetraps

The rooftop bar glowed amber under hanging lanterns, clinking glasses echoing softly over the murmur of quiet jazz. Dominic leaned against the cushioned lounge seat, two fingers cradling, nursing a glass of bourbon, half-finished whiskey that he hadn’t taken a sip of in the past ten minutes. Across from him, his friends—Isaac and Drew—were in mid-conversation—his longtime business colleagues, now unofficial therapists for his brooding moods but Dominic’s silence dragged them back to focus.

“Earth to Dom,” Isaac said, snapping his fingers. “You’ve been staring into that glass like it insulted you.”

Dominic didn’t answer right away. He stared into his glass like it held the answer.

“Still playing cat and mouse with your new employee?” Drew asked, his tie already loosened, one brow lifted.

Dominic blinked and looked up. “Sorry. Just… frustrated.”

Drew raised a brow. “So, still about that new employee? Huh?”

Dominic didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back in his seat, jaw tight. “He’s acting like nothing’s wrong. Like he didn’t recognize me. Still pretending. And it’s driving me insane.”

Isaac smirked. “You’re the one playing games. Maybe he’s just a better actor.”

“That’s the problem,” Dominic muttered. “He’s good. Too good. But I know he knows. I can see it in the way he reacts. Flinches. Avoids eye contact. Always nervous. And yet… nothing.”

Isaac chuckled, sharp and amused. “I’m telling you, Dom, this whole ‘watch-and-wait’ thing is dragging. Why not just call him out?”

“I don’t want him to run,” Dominic said flatly.

Drew leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “So you do think he’s the same guy from the bar?”

Dominic’s jaw tensed. “I know he is.”

Julian gave a low whistle. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Dominic set his glass down with a thud. “Because he’s acting like he’s not. Every time I try to corner him—he skirts it. Plays dumb. Does what I say without question. He’s either the world’s best liar or he’s desperate to stay in control.”

Drew shrugged. “Maybe he really is clueless.”

“No,” Dominic snapped. “He flinches at all the right moments. The little pauses, the second glances, how he avoids my gaze when I say his name a certain way—he knows.”

Isaac frowned. “Then maybe he’s scared. And maybe you’re making it worse.”

Dominic leaned back, exhaling deeply. “He should be scared. He lied. Walked into my company like he had nothing to hide. Little commands. Pushes. He complies, but the act doesn’t crack.I gave him a chance.”

“Did you?”  Isaac asked, sipping his drink. “Or did you push him into a corner just to watch how he’d squirm?”

Drew chuckled. “You’re losing your touch, Dom.”

“I’m losing my patience,” Dominic corrected, voice low and sharp. 

Isaac leaned forward. “ What are you really after, though? A confession? An apology? Or are you just enjoying this?“

Dominic didn’t respond.

Drew smirked, folding his arms. “You’re obsessed. Just admit it.”

Dominic’s voice dropped to a cold hush. “I’m not obsessed. I’m… focused.”

“Focused?” Isaac laughed dryly. “You’ve made him pay for coffee out of his own pocket. Sent him on errands you know are beneath his role. Even left documents on your desk just so you can order him back late at night.”

“That’s not focus,” Tomas said. “That’s a game. A dangerous one.”

Dominic stared out at the skyline. The city lights blinked back at him like silent witnesses.

Dominic’s stare hardened. “I don’t even know anymore. I just want him to stop lying.”

He paused.

“I just want to know how long he’s willing to pretend.”

Meanwhile, across the city in a cozy cafe, Alex stirred his lukewarm coffee, his brows furrowed. Across from him were Mark, and Jess, his childhood friends. They leaned in, waiting, while Alex chewed at his lip, anxious fingers tapping the ceramic.

“So, what’s wrong this time?” Jess asked, voice low but edged with worry.

Alex hesitated, then sighed. “It’s my boss again.”

Mark raised a brow. “Still being a jerk?”

“It’s more than that. I think he knows.”

“I think I should tell him the truth,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Across the table, his friends—looked at him in collective alarm.

“You mean your boss?” Jess asked.

Alex nodded, let out a half-laugh, not meeting his eyes. “He’s been… sending me to do things.  He keeps giving me strange tasks. Way outside my job. Asking me to buy things like buying his coffee, paying for courier deliveries from my own expense. Making me stay overtime without needing anything and now… he keeps asking me to go back to the office late at night.”

“Wait, you’re paying for his stuff?” Mark blinked. “Didn’t he say he’d reimburse you?”

“He said he would. But he never said when. It’s all just… vague.”

Mark frowned. “That’s not okay, man. Have you talked to HR?”

Alex shook his head quickly. “No. I mean, it’s not that serious. Not yet.”

Jess stared at him. “Alex. You’re spiraling.”

He rubbed his face. “I just—I can’t shake the feeling that he knows something.”

“Like what?” Mark asked carefully.

Alex swallowed. “Like… maybe he knows I used to work at Elusion.”

Jess tensed. “Did he say that?”

“No. Never. But he looks at me sometimes like… like he’s waiting for me to admit it. And then there are the things he says. The tone. The looks. He’s always watching me.”

Mark raised a brow. “That sounds… borderline abusive, bro. But what makes you think it’s because of that night?”

“I don’t know,” Alex admitted. “It’s just a feeling. A pattern. And his tone. Sometimes I catch him looking at me like—like he’s waiting for me to say something.”

Jess shook his head. “Maybe you’re overthinking it. I mean, he’s your boss. Maybe he’s just a strict one.”

“Or a manipulative one,” Mark said, folding his arms. “But that doesn’t mean he knows.”

“I don’t even know if he’s that boss,” Alex muttered. “What if I’m just reading into it too much?”

Mark crossed his arms. “Exactly. You don’t even know. Maybe this is just your guilt messing with your head.”

Alex looked down at the tabletop, heart racing.

Alex sighed, shoulders slumped. “But what if he knows anyway? What if he’s been silently punishing me all this time?”

“But what if it’s not?” he whispered. “What if I’ve been lying to my boss every day, and he knows?”

Silence.

Mark leaned back. “Then maybe you should just tell him the truth.”

Jess slapped Mark’s arm. “No! Are you crazy? That could ruin him.”

Mark shrugged. “Or free him.”

Jess reached over and tapped his hand. “If you confess and he didn’t know in the first place, then you’re digging your own grave. Right now, you still have a job. You’re safe. Don’t mess with that unless you’re absolutely sure.”

Mark softened. “Then maybe… be careful. Don’t confess anything unless he brings it up first.”

Jess nodded. “Don’t jump off the ledge unless you’re sure there’s a net.”

Mark nodded in agreement. “Just wait it out. See where it goes. If it gets worse, then maybe consider HR—or leaving.”

Alex nodded reluctantly, but his heart didn’t feel any lighter.

That night, after the dinner and hesitant goodbyes, Alex trudged back to his apartment. He collapsed onto the couch, tossing his bag aside. Just as he was about to grab a shower, his phone buzzed.

The buzzing of Alex’s phone shattered the stillness of his apartment. He was already in bed, covers pulled to his chest when the notification lit the screen.

[DOMINIC – 10:49PM]

Forgot the signature folder in my office. I need it for an early meeting tomorrow. Get it and drop it off in my condo mailbox tonight. Urgent.

No greeting. No apology. Just the usual command.

Alex stared at the message, pulse quickening.

Of course, Dominic had conveniently left the files. Of course, it had to be now—when the whole building was practically empty and the city already asleep.

He sighed, dragging himself out of bed, pulled on his jacket again, and grabbed his keys. There was no point arguing. Not tonight.

By the time he arrived at the darkened office building, his body was already sagging with exhaustion. The security guard raised a brow but let him through. Inside the office, everything was quiet. Sterile. Cold.

Dominic’s office, as always, was pristine. The signature folder sat on the desk, clearly left out intentionally.

Alex picked it up, clutched it to his chest, and whispered into the silence.

“You win. Again.”

The taxi ride to Dominic’s condo was quiet. Empty. As he dropped the folder into the designated mailbox slot outside the building, he took one last glance at the towering residence, exhaled sharply, and walked away.

But the feeling wouldn’t leave him.

He was being watched.

And tested.

And he had no idea how much longer he could keep up this performance.

Chapter 9: The Breaking Point

The office felt unusually hollow that morning. Dominic’s absence was palpable. His glass-walled office stood dark and quiet, blinds half-drawn as if shielding secrets. But even without him physically there, his presence buzzed like static through Alex’s phone.

Ping.

Alex flinched. He didn’t even need to look. He already knew the name flashing on the screen.

DOMINIC:   “Deliver the package in my cabinet to this address. Urgent. Handle it personally. 

And don’t forget to take a picture once it’s delivered and send it to me. 

Thanks, Alex. I owe you one.“

Attached was a pin location. A condo across the city—more than an hour away, tucked in a district Alex rarely visited. No mention of transportation allowance. No offer of support staff. Just a command, curt and cold.

He stared at the message. Then back at the paper-wrapped box in Dominic’s office cabinet, marked Confidential.

Alex clutched the folder tighter to his chest, his knuckles whitening. It was the third errand this week—none of which were reimbursed. Coffee runs, dry cleaning pickups, now a delivery well beyond office hours. All expenses were covered out of his own thinning wallet.

This wasn’t new. The demands had been escalating. Personal errands disguised as office responsibilities. Tasks that made no sense. Items Dominic conveniently “forgot” that Alex had to retrieve. Files misplaced and blamed on him.

He hadn’t eaten a full meal since yesterday. He hadn’t dared to tell anyone—not even his friends—that he had to skip out on rent this month. Not when every peso he had left was needed just to keep up appearances; a shirt dry-cleaned so he didn’t look sloppy, a cab here and there to arrive on time, a quiet lunch away from curious eyes.

His pride bled silently.

But this—this was too far.

By noon, Alex was in a cab. He chose to pay instead of commuting by bus—it was too hot, and the package looked fragile. Sweat clung to his back despite the air conditioning. His chest felt tight.

He opened his calculator app and tapped in the numbers.

His weekly allowance: 1,200 pesos. Cab fare to the condo: 380. Estimated fare back: another 380. Lunch? Not even budgeted.

Then there were the other expenses: printing, deliveries, things Dominic casually dumped on him during the week. All from his own pocket.

Unpaid.

His hands clenched.

By the time Alex arrived at the high-rise condo, the sky was dark due to heavy traffic unexpectedly and the lights from the surrounding buildings shimmered like stars he couldn’t reach. He stepped into the lobby, handed the package to the concierge with trembling fingers, and waited as they called the recipient.

When he steps in front of the building, the guards looked surprised. “Delivery?” one asked.

Alex nodded. “From Mr. Blake.”

“You’re not with the usual courier?”

“No. Just… doing this on behalf of my boss.”

They let him in

“Unit 1905,” the front desk said. “They’ll meet you at the elevator.”

He rode the elevator in silence, staring at his warped reflection in the metal doors. Every ding of the passing floors felt like a countdown to something he couldn’t name.

When the door dinged opened, he handed over the package to a woman in heels with tired eyes and polite smiles. No acknowledgment, no confirmation receipt. Just a nod. Then he was dismissed vanishing behind a pristine door.

He turned and went back down.

He stood outside the condo lobby, dark sky glaring up, and looked at his phone.

No thank you. No follow-up message. Just silence.

And that silence was louder than anything Dominic had ever said.

It wasn’t until he reached the ground floor and stepped back into the humid night that he stopped walking.

He was shaking and felt dizzy.

The streetlights cast a sickly glow as he leaned against a lamppost, clutching his stomach. Hunger twisted inside him like a knot. His limbs ached from the constant strain of pretending. His throat burned.

And suddenly, he cried.

Right there. On the street. Quietly. Desperately.

The tears came like a flood with no warning.

He didn’t sob loudly, didn’t make a scene. His face crumpled as if it couldn’t hold itself together anymore. His shoulders sagged. Hot tears streamed down as he bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood.

“What am I doing?”

“How did I end up here?”

“How much more do I have to endure before I finally listen to myself?”

He sat on a bench near the bus stop and pulled out his phone, reading the text again. 

“Thanks, Alex. I owe you one.”

“What did that even mean? Was that his idea of kindness?”

Alex wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve. He couldn’t go home like this. Not yet.

His chest tightened with the weight of everything he had swallowed:

The constant favors, the blurred lines between work and personal, the games Dominic played and the nights he couldn’t sleep, wondering what would happen if his Boss, Dominic really knew.

“Would he fire me?”

“Would he confront me?”

“Would he finally drop this act of manipulation and just talk to me like a human being?”

He stared up at the stars barely visible in the city sky.

He wanted to scream, to fight but most of all, he wanted it to stop.

By the time he returned to the office, it was past 7.

His stomach rumbled, but he didn’t care. He dumped his bag on his desk, shoulders sagging, fingers trembling.

No one else seemed to notice.

He opened his notebook and stared at the page. To-do lists blurred together.

He closed it.

Opened it again.

Then his phone buzzed.

DOMINIC:   “Did you deliver it?”

Alex didn’t respond right away. He counted slowly in his head. One. Two. Three.

ALEX: Done.

DOMINIC:   “Good. I’ll have more for you tomorrow. Might need a pickup from my tailor too.”

That was it.

No “well done.” No appreciation. Just another chore looming on the horizon.

Alex stared at the thread. A hundred messages over the past weeks. All commands. None kind.

Was this really what he signed up for? To be his errand boy?

The hallway bathroom was quiet. He splashed water on his face, gripping the sink.

He looked up.

His reflection stared back—eyes hollow, shirt wrinkled from hours of sitting, hair limp, face pale.

He thought of all the weekends he’d skipped outings. The sleep he sacrificed. The smiles he faked.

All for a paycheck that barely covered the damage.

Was it guilt keeping him here? Or fear?

He exhaled shakily.

Back at his desk, he began typing in his Notes app. Not a resignation letter—not yet.

Just… thoughts.

Words flowed.

I’m tired. It’s not about the workload anymore. It’s about being treated like I don’t matter.

He makes me feel like I’m always on trial.

When did this stop being a job and start being a test of how far I’ll bend?

He deleted the last line.

Then typed it again and saved it.

But a flicker of rebellion had taken root.

The kind that starts small, in a note app, in a tired stare, in silence but it grows.

And something in Alex told him that tomorrow might not be like today. Not anymore.

When he got home, it was past 9. The apartment was dim. He dropped his bag on the floor, peeled off his shoes, and slumped to the kitchen table like a lifeless rag.

His phone buzzed.

DOMINIC:   “Got it. You’re efficient as always.”

Another message. Another chain tightening around his neck.

He stared at the screen. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He typed.

ALEX:

“Sir… can I ask something?”

He stared at it for a moment then deleted the message.

Instead, he locked the phone and threw it across the bed.

He curled up on the mattress, knees to chest, staring at the ceiling.

His thoughts were no longer whispers—they were screams. Loud, messy, and chaotic.

“Why am I still hiding it?”

“Why am I letting this happen?”

“What am I even afraid of? Losing my job?”

“That he’ll figure it out?”

“What if he already knows and this is his revenge?”

“What if the night at the bar wasn’t just a coincidence?”

“Is this just how things are now?”

His mind spun in dizzying circles, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his chest.

He cried again but this time in silence. His pillow muffled the sound as he let go, not caring anymore about pride.

He was drowning.

When the tears stopped, a numbness settled in. His eyes felt raw, his chest hollow. He lay there staring into the dark, mouth dry, heart thudding like a slow drum.

Something had to give.

“This couldn’t continue.”

“Do I tell him the truth?”

“Do I come clean about what happened that night at the bar?”

But even that thought terrified him. Confessing would mean giving up the last shred of control he had.

And yet—keeping it hidden was eating him alive.

He closed his eyes. A quiet vow stirred in his chest.

Something had to change. He couldn’t go on like this.

But not tonight. Tonight, all he could do was survive.