Julian pushed open the heavy double doors of the executive suite, bracing for impact. The scent hit him first—a thick, suffocating cloud of the perfume he'd gifted Samuel.

Julian stopped. A dark, jagged stain soaked into the expensive rug near the mahogany desk. Beside it, a pile of glinting glass shards had been swept into a neat heap.

Had Samuel really been that angry? Had he smashed it in a rage?

A sharp, childish hurt pricked Julian's chest. That bottle had cost him nearly five hundred dollars—a fortune for an intern.

Samuel looked up from a stack of folders. "Oliver broke my perfume. I had to have a few words with him."

The tension in Julian's shoulders evaporated. "Oh."

He wasn't in trouble. Samuel wasn't rejecting the gift. But before Julian could fully relax, Samuel's voice dropped into a lower, more dangerous register.

"Did you send photos to Sonny?"

Julian's pulse stuttered. He scrambled for a defense, a way to avoid the lecture he was sure was coming.

"You've had those photos for weeks," Samuel said, his eyes tracking Julian's face. "No time to show them to me, but plenty of time to send them to my brother?"

Julian shrank back. "I... I thought you wouldn't want them, sir."

"I do," Samuel said. "Send them."

Julian pulled out his phone and sent the cropped versions—the ones where he had edited himself out, leaving only Samuel and the cats.

Samuel glanced at his screen. "The originals, Julian."

Julian didn't move.

"Please," Samuel added.

"I didn't want it to be... awkward," Julian whispered.

Samuel watched him for a long beat. "Why would I be awkward?"

Julian bit his lip and hit Send on the full files.

The day they'd met at the cat cafe had been perfect—the lighting, the mood, the cats. And because both Julian and Samuel were, objectively, striking men, every shot looked like a high-fashion editorial.

Samuel scrolled through them slowly. He stopped on the final image: Julian holding a kitten, looking up at Samuel with an expression of pure, unshielded warmth.

Samuel was looking back at him, a genuine smile softening the granite lines of his face. Sunlight bled across the frame, catching the curve of their cheeks.

Samuel went silent. He stared at the screen for a long time, his expression unreadable.

He hadn't seen Julian smile like that since the night in the foyer.

The silence in the room became a physical weight. The cloying scent of the broken perfume seemed to thicken, making it hard for Julian to breathe.

"Samuel?" Julian asked softly. "Are you okay?"

No answer.

"If there's nothing else... I'll head back to my desk."

Still nothing. Julian turned toward the door.

"Julian."

Julian froze halfway across the rug. "Sir?"

Samuel was just looking at him. His dark eyes were bottomless, searching for something Julian wasn't sure he was ready to give. Samuel's hand rose, then dropped. He waved a dismissive hand.

"It's nothing. You can go."

That night, a message appeared from Orca.

[@Orca]: Plans for Valentine's Day?

[@WorkIsKillingMe]: Not sure. Probably overtime.

[@Orca]: If you're free, contact me.

[@WorkIsKillingMe]: Why?

[@Orca]: It's a holiday.

Julian stared at the screen. Since the "One-Day Couple" shoot, @Orca had shifted. The professional distance was gone, replaced by a deep, terrifyingly sincere affection. It felt as though the man was looking through him, searching for a ghost.

[@WorkIsKillingMe]: Just a friendly reminder: frequent shallow intimacy won't help you.

Julian wasn't being snarky; it was @Orca's own advice, offered as a genuine warning between friends.

[@Orca]: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have judged you back then.

Julian didn't know how to respond to that.

[@Orca]: So. Can we meet?

[@WorkIsKillingMe]: Fine. If I don't have to work late, I'll message you.

Valentine's Day fell on a Tuesday. Usually, Julian was chained to his desk at Apex Capital until midnight, but today the office was a miracle of efficiency. Every analyst was running on high-octane focus. Julian was actually shutting down his terminal at 6:00 PM.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" "Don't stay out too late. We have a 9:00 AM call tomorrow." "Screw the holiday. I'm going to sleep."

Julian grabbed his bag and glanced at the executive suite. The lights were out.

"Samuel had an engagement," Luke Carroll noted, leaning against a cubicle wall. "He left early." He shook his head in wonder. "I think that's a first."

Julian's chest tightened. "Oh."

"Tell me about it," Asher added, joining them. "I've known him for years, and I've never seen him acknowledge the 14th." He let out a dry laugh. "I wonder what she's like. I bet he's still thinking about the Q3 projections. Imagine being on a date with a man who checks his Bloomberg terminal at 3:00 AM."

"You should call him then," Luke joked. "Tell him the spreadsheets are broken."

"I'd rather live," Asher countered.

Julian entered the elevator, the sound of their laughter fading behind the sliding metal doors. He pulled out his phone.

[Julian]: I'm off work.

[@Orca]: Good. I'm coming to get you.

Julian had arranged to meet Orca at a high-end shopping center near the office. As he headed down, the elevator doors slid open to reveal Oliver Frost and Eleanor Frost.

Julian had never actually met the senior executive in person. If she hadn't been Samuel's aunt, he probably wouldn't have committed her face to memory. He considered waiting for the next car, but Oliver had already spotted him.

"Julian! Calling it a day?" Oliver chirped, offering a bright, boyish grin.

Julian stepped inside, nodding politely to both of them. "Something like that."

Oliver's eyes swept over Julian's outfit—crisp, tailored, and clearly intended for more than just a commute home. "Out for the holiday?"

Julian hesitated. "You could say that."