Too tight.

Julian was trapped in

Samuel's

arms, the air squeezed from his lungs. Every shallow breath Julian took caused his chest to press against Samuel's, a suffocating, rhythmic pressure.

Julian felt a flush of heat. He tried to pull back, but then he noticed Samuel was trembling. The man's heart was a frantic staccato against Julian's ribs.

"Sir?" Julian tried to lift his head. Before he could see Samuel's face, a hand pressed firmly against the back of his neck, shoving him back into Samuel's chest.

The suit jacket had fallen open during the struggle; Julian's face was buried in the thin fabric of Samuel's shirt. The scent of the man—expensive soap and adrenaline—filled his senses. Julian's cheeks burned. It had been a long time since he had been this close to anyone.

Julian pushed back again, but Samuel only tightened his grip. The pressure was beginning to ache. "It hurts," Julian whispered into his shirt. "A little lighter, please".

Samuel loosened his hold but didn't let go. The sirens were closer now, wailing through the canyon.

"Why did you run out?" Samuel's voice was lower than Julian had ever heard it, a jagged rasp.

Julian didn't overthink it. "You would have been hurt. The

Synapse AI

project is at a critical stage. We can't afford for anything to happen to you".

Samuel went silent. His hands remained heavy on Julian's body, his breath deep and shaky. "I appreciate the rescue, but never do that again".

"I had my laptop," Julian argued. Nylon and electronics were a decent shield. It had worked; the bag was shredded and the tablet was toast, but Julian was physically untouched.

"I said no." Samuel's tone shifted into a sharp, dominant frequency. "That was luck. If they had used a different weapon or more force, you'd be bleeding. Julian, promise me. Never put yourself in danger again".

Julian wasn't a fool; he knew how to protect himself. He didn't argue. "I promise".

The promise didn't soothe Samuel. He felt a dark, churning irritability. He remembered the feeling of Julian sprinting toward the blade, a sight that had nearly stopped his heart.

Samuel possessed empires, but he controlled so little. A grandfather who saw him as an asset, a mother moving on, a brother lost in his own world. Julian was the only thing that truly belonged to him—or almost did. He had tried to retreat to a safe distance, hoping the feeling would fade. He had failed.

Chains couldn't hold this desire. Beneath the veneer of a gentleman, a terrifying possessiveness took root. Julian couldn't be left alone. The boy didn't know how to protect himself.

Without Samuel, Julian would be broken. He couldn't let go. He couldn't give Julian to anyone else. Julian couldn't survive without him.

Red and blue lights flashed against their skin as the police arrived. Samuel stepped away, his focus shifting back to the professional commander. The thugs were small-time—local dropouts hired for twenty thousand dollars to buy a van full of lives.

Julian actually laughed when he heard the figure. Their watches cost more than the price on their heads. They had almost died for the cost of a mid-tier accessory.

By midnight, they were at a government guesthouse. Julian couldn't sleep. He kept seeing the machete in the dark. He felt a surge of rage—not at the danger, but at the audacity. How dare they touch Samuel?.

Julian sat up in bed, his fists clenched. "I'm so pissed!" he muttered. "My iPad screen is definitely shattered!".

Thinking of the next day's work, Julian woke early. He expected a war, but the group chat told a different story. Samuel had bought the patent at 4:00 AM. The assassins were caught by 5:00 AM, implicating the resigned founder's relatives.

Julian headed down for breakfast and saw Samuel returning from outside. The man had pulled an all-nighter but showed no fatigue. He was a machine.

"Is it finished?" Julian asked.

Samuel nodded. "I'll have a team handle the rest. Eat with me".

The guesthouse breakfast was ordinary. Julian had no appetite, but Samuel ate enough for three. High energy, high consumption. Julian felt a bit guilty for sleeping through the victory.

Why hadn't Samuel called him? Because Julian was a creature of regular sleep, unable to match Samuel's frantic, obsessive pace.

By the time Julian got home that evening, the media coverage was already live. Samuel had choreographed the story perfectly to build momentum for the IPO, including the dashcam footage.

Julian saw the clip of himself diving like a frantic bird, his face a contorted mess of terror and rage. He wanted to die. It was too stupid. He looked like a maniac.

The buzz at Apex Capital the next morning was centered entirely on the canyon.

"That was a suicide mission, Julian," one analyst chirped, leaning over his cubicle. "You literally took flight."

"If I were Samuel, I'd have wept right there on the dirt," another added. "Who else is going to catch a blade for their MD?"

Julian shook his head, heat crawling up his neck. "It wasn't that dramatic. I had my backpack on. The laptop took the hit."

The team gathered around his desk to inspect the "battle-damaged" iPad. Someone suggested mounting it in the lobby as a monument to the Synapse AI project. Julian stared at the spiderweb of cracks, wondering if he could even trade it in. He didn't have to wonder for long. Samuel replaced the tablet before lunch—a brand new Pro model, delivered without a word.

His backpack was still a shredded mess, though. When Jordan stopped by the office that afternoon, Julian recruited him for a shopping trip.

"Machetes, Julian? Really?" Jordan asked as they met at the lobby entrance. "You're an analyst, not a mercenary."

"Statistical outlier," Julian muttered. "It was a one-time thing."

Jordan's eyes narrowed. "Are you actually okay? No hidden wounds?"

Before Julian could answer, Jordan's hands were all over him, checking his ribs and shoulders. Julian flinched—he was notoriously ticklish. He scrambled back to escape Jordan's reach and stepped squarely on someone's foot.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to—" Julian caught Jordan's wrist to steady himself and turned to apologize.

The words died in his throat. Samuel stood directly behind him.

Julian's shoulders went rigid. "Sir."

Samuel's expression was a polished mask of professional indifference. "Calling it a day?"

"Just dinner," Julian said, his voice finding its footing. "I'll be back at my terminal in twenty."

He took Samuel's greeting as a subtle interrogation of his productivity, though it was merely a passing remark. Samuel didn't correct him. He offered a sharp nod. "You've worked hard."

Samuel acknowledged Jordan with a brief glance. Jordan offered a quiet reply, his usual boisterous energy dampened by the man's presence. Julian waved a hand in front of Jordan's face once the MD had passed. "What's with you?"

Jordan watched Samuel's retreating back, his jaw tight. He'd seen something Julian hadn't—Samuel had adjusted his stride, stepping directly into Julian's personal space to interrupt the playfulness.

"Nothing," Jordan said, shaking his head. "Let's just go."