Come & Get Lost For A Little ⛰

Harry’s barely picking up the pace as he starts to chase the arousal that was building heavy and unavoidable in his belly.

When YN’s voice, breathless, still recovering from her orgasm, manages out, “Ha-baby.” “Yeah,” He rumbles in reply, his muscles starting to tense up as he huffs out an agreeable, “S’good, yeah.”

YN moves her hand to tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, getting distracted for a moment herself when he hits her spot head on, and he hisses when she squeezes snug around, “It’s good but…the announcement.”

Harry finally focuses on the voice booming over the speaker, encouraging people to get back to their seats in the next five minutes so that Harry can take the stage.

“Giving you a baby s’more important to me,” Harry mumbles stubbornly but he does pick up his pace.

He hated being rushed which he shouldn’t complain about because he knew they had a time crunch but the idea of not satiating that jealously, that possessiveness seemed worse than this.

Despite herself, even though she had tried to focus him, YN gasps out, seeming like she’s surprising herself, “I can…I can again.”

Harry moves his thumb back to her bud from where it was resting at the crease of her hip to give her a break.

The same motions that she likes, the easy way to get her there, and when she squeezes around him as her second orgasm hits.

Harry follows right afterwards, hips stuttering as he presses in, in, in, and buries himself there while they both come down.

-

Harry attempts to help her clean up as he grabs the wet towelettes from the counter and starts dabbing gently between her thighs, careful because she gets so sensitive after she comes.

His focus entirely on her as if there wasn’t an entire event he was hosting on the other side of these walls, he has to hush her once when she whines about being too rough (he wasn’t, she just gets whiny after).

His name is announced over the speakers, and it is loud enough that it echoes through the hallway and into the bathroom.

Harry barely reacts and he doesn’t stop helping her clean up, his attention doesn’t shift because in his mind, this comes first.

It’s much more important to him that his wife was taken care of first.

He leans in slightly, still trying to wipe her off, his hand on her hip to keep her steady.

YN lets out a breathy laugh, still coming down from her nearly consecutive orgasms, she bats his hands away when he keeps trying, shaking her head at him.

“Go, H,” She tells him, there’s an eyeroll in her tone because she knows how stubborn he is, how she doesn’t always understand how he can be comfortable having a room of hundreds of people wait on him but still smiling as she nudges him back slightly, “You’re supposed to be up on stage. Get your ass out there.”

Harry exhales through his nose, clearly not pleased with the timing (even though he knew this was going to happen, it still annoyed the fuck out of him) as his jaw tightens for a moment.

His hands lingering at her waist because he doesn’t want to let go of her or leave this moment quite yet.

“Shouldn’t be rushing out like this,” He mutters lowly, more to himself than to her because he doesn’t feel like its proper treatment of the situation, of what they just shared or the intimacy of it.

“You act like it’s a random hook-up,” YN teases him, her hands coming to fix the messed up collar of his sleeve, smoothing it out, “You can’t hit it and quit it when you’re married. You stuck with me.”

He steps back, dragging a hand through his hair which probably only makes it more messy before yanking his pants up properly and adjusting himself, straightening his shirt and jacket to be presentable again.

Before he turns to leave, he leans in again, this time slower, pressing a softer, more sweet kiss to her lips.

“Good luck,” YN murmurs against his mouth when he pulls back, there’s a smile there because she can tell he's grumpy and sometimes, unlike anyone else in the world, she thinks when he’s grumpy he’s endearing which he doesn’t quite understand.

He finally turns and pushes the door open, stepping back into the hallway and toward the stage, and he doesn’t care how it looks, doesn’t care that he’s a half-minute late walking up to the podium, doesn’t care if people are whispering.

He steps up to the podium and adjusts the microphone but his gaze is already drifting back towards where their table was, and it takes an extra moment but he spots her as she starts walking back to her seat, put together again.

He watches as she makes her way back through the room, her expression relaxed as she returns to the table like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

And then he sees Theo pull her chair out for her.

Whatever Harry had been hoping to work out of his system just minutes ago settles right back into his chest like it had never left.

It doesn’t matter that he just had her, it doesn't matter that his hands were on her, that she had been snug around him, that he got to claim her in every single way that he could as her husband.

It doesn’t fucking matter.

The feeling is still there.

Harry straightens slightly at the podium, rolling and broadening his shoulders as he begins his speech, his voice smooth and professional as every word comes out precise and as he intended.

Public speaking has never been something he struggles with, especially when he’s talking about his own company, his own success, and there’s no better person who could speak on those topics than him.

To everyone watching, it is a great, nearly perfect presentation but behind it, his focus continues to waver, his gaze pulling back to the table often, he can help but find himself tracking the interactions.

The way Theo leans slightly closer when he speaks because the room is quiet elsewise, the way YN responds even if she doesn’t even look at him but simply replies to whatever he’s saying because it’s casual.

When Harry finishes, the room erupts into applause, the crowd of employees and partners all giving him a standing ovation that fills the space with loud whistles, clapping, and it’s super overstimulating.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave, all he does is gives a brief, acknowledging nod, and then he walks off the stage.

-

Numerous people stopped him on the way back to the table because it was going to be their only opportunity to chat with him, they all had been waiting for an opportunity to corner him all night and this was finally it.

So many hands reach out to shake his, voices overlap as they try to grab his attention by calling his name, questions about everything under the sun, and Harry handles it the way he always does.

He gives every person as little time as possible without coming off like a complete asshole, he’ll answer a question before turning to the next person, acknowledge someone else before moving on but there is an impatience in him now.

All he wants to do is get back to the table.

And it has nothing to do with mistrust.

Harry trusts YN completely, without hesitation, without question in his mind, body, and soul, in a way that has never wavered since they became a couple.

This is not about her.

It is about him, about something uncomfortable and unfamiliar that has been itching under his skin all night.

Something he has never had to address in the past because he never had to feel jealous like this before because he never cared about anyone enough to want to have that claim to them.

Now that he does, he finds himself reacting in ways that aren’t his normal behahvior.

By the time he finally makes it back to the table, his patience is nearly fucking gone, his shoulders tense from having to have at least twenty meaningless conversations that were a waste of time that Harry would never get back in his life.

Theo and YN are already having a conversation after the speech is over.

The moment YN spots him, she breaks off mid-sentence without a second thought to Theo, her attention shifting to him immediately as she stands, her expression bright and happy as she moves toward him.

“Harry—” She starts, clearly about to congratulate him by the lift of her tone, the smile that was on her lips but he doesn’t let her.

His hand comes up to her jaw the second she’s close enough, his fingers firm where they cup her cheek as he pulls her into him and kisses her.

The kiss isn’t inappropriate.

Not really.

But it’s just a fraction too long compared to their normal PDA.

His hand doesn’t drop immediately when he pulls back from the kiss, his thumb brushing once along her cheek as his gaze flicks past her shoulder toward Theo.

“So proud of you, always,” She says softly, interrupting tension she isn’t even noticing because she’s literally beaming, her tone warm and so genuine as she puts her hand up on his chest, over his heart.

Harry leans in and kisses her again because there is still something sitting under his skin that hasn’t chilled out, his hand still firm at her jaw as he holds her there just a second longer than necessary, the kiss turning into something more than it needs to be in a room like this.

She laughs softly into it, a little surprised but still completely receptive, her fingers tightening slightly against his shirt as she tilts her head to meet him.

As he ends the kiss, his attention shifts back to Theo, and the look on his face is what sets Harry off.

His eyebrows are raised slightly, his expression reads as amused like he just watched something entertaining or adorable, like he has any place reacting to it at all, and Harry doesn’t care if it’s meant as a joke or not because he doesn’t fucking like it.

The irritation spikes fast and sharp, and this time he doesn’t stop it.

“Am I not allowed to kiss my wife?” Harry says, his tone flat to not give away his anger, it seems like an innocent enough jest but if Theo was smart, he would catch the undertone of it.

YN’s head turns immediately, her brows pulling together as she looks between the two of them, trying to figure out if Harry is serious or if this is him just teasing because when he did, it was still dry.

Theo clearly assumes it’s a joke.

Of course he does because why would he assume that Harry is struggling with childish jealousy over a simple interaction?

He leans back slightly in his chair, lifting his hands in mock surrender with a grin as if they’re friends who have a back and forth.

And that only makes it way fucking worse because he’s comfortable.

He’s a fucking employee.

“Theo, jealous, are we?” She teases, her tone light, playful because Theo handles it well, she assumes it’s also a joke which Harry doesn’t feel anything negative towards her because she would expect better of her husband.

“More than you know,” Theo replies without missing a beat, his smile turning a wistful as he throws the comment back at her.

YN laughs loudly at his response, he’s clearly missing some type of inside joke between the two of them because he feels out of the loop, not on purpose, normally it wouldn’t bother him.

Harry feels his jaw lock hard enough that it almost hurts.

It’s the fact that Theo feels comfortable enough to joke like that in front of him, like he isn’t the one who decides whether Theo has a future in this company or not.

He feels stupid for all of the drama he’s creating.

He knows this is immature, knows that he’s reacting like some insecure asshole over nothing but knowing that doesn’t make it go away.

It just makes him more irritated because now he’s dealing with Theo and himself.

And right now, he doesn’t have the patience for either.

He exhales slowly through his nose with a forced smile, his posture staying rigid as he forces himself to stand there and not say something worse, not escalate it further.

They are not even flirting.

If they were, if there was something inappropriate happening right in front of him then at least his reaction would make sense but there isn’t.

Harry cannot even remember why they broke up, cannot recall YN ever speaking about it in any real detail, and he doesn’t like the unknown of that.

He knows that he wants YN to have friends, that at his core he has never cared about something as insignificant as the gender of the people she calls her friends because he is not insecure in their marriage, not in the way they chose each other, not in what they have built together.

That has never been the issue.

The problem is something else entirely.

It is the way he struggles with sharing what he views as his, a possessive instinct that he is fully aware is not always fair, not always reasonable but there regardless.

And right now, it is louder than it has ever been.

He knows exactly where this is headed if he lets it continue.

His filter is already slipping and his patience is already thin.

So the decision happens quickly, he wants to go home, and remove himself from the situation completely.

-

YN didn't know.

How could he expect her to pick up on his jealousy when there was no logical reason for it? 

YN was usually so perceptive, so in tune to his moods that she could usually sense his stress before he even recognized it in himself.

"You were incredible tonight," She says and there's so much pride in her voice, "Your speech was perfect.”

"It went alright," Harry says, his voice more clipped than he wants it to because he didn’t want to take this out on YN.

"Alright?" YN laughs, the sound soft and teasing, "It was amazing. I can’t believe you’re my husband.”

Harry swallows, guilt starting to seep in because he doesn’t deserve any praise right now, not for his thoughts, "You don't have to—"

YN interrupts gently. "I'm so proud of you. You deserve to feel good about tonight."

But he doesn't feel good. 

He feels like a miserable prick, sitting here while his wife…his kind, supportive, loving wife praises him with such genuine pride, completely unaware that he's been stewing in irrational jealousy all fucking night.

He reaches over, placing his hand on her upper thigh, sneaking up under the hem of her dress where the fabric had bunched up when she sat down, and squeezes as a silent ‘thank you’ for her words. 

YN's hand immediately covers his, she begins toying with his wedding band as she always liked to do.

She moved it on his finger, ran her fingers over the smooth metal of it in a way she has when she's comfortable and feeling calm.

He loves her so fucking much. 

Then she softens even more (if that’s even possible), "I wonder if this time was it."

"What's that, m'heart?" Harry murmurs, refocusing his attention now, pulling himself out of the spiral he's been trapped in all evening. 

He glances over at her and what he sees makes his chest ache a little.

She's biting at the corner of her lip, a small but sad smile there as she thinks whatever through, processing and deciding how to say it.

She doesn't answer right away which Harry knows that means whatever she is going to say is going to hold emotional weight.

YN takes a moment, her fingers tightening around his hand before she guides it from her thigh, lifting it with both of hers, and places it on her lower belly. 

"I wonder if this is the time," YN repeats softly, with a hopefulness that hurts, "If we get our baby this time.”

She guides his palm to spread flat against her, her own hand pressing his down as if she's imagining a round belly there.

Her eyes close briefly and Harry can see the flutter of her eyelashes as she holds back tears, the way her brow furrows as she tries to think through her emotion, and how her bottom lip quivers.

And god, that fucking breaks his heart because he could buy her nearly anything else on this earth.

Jewelry, cars, houses, vacations, whatever material thing she might want but he can't make this happen. 

It breaks his heart because this isn't the first time she's said it. 

It's something that YN has started doing in the past few months, always after they've tried during her peak ovulation days.

She puts it out there, "I wonder if this time was it." 

And then, a week or two later, come the negative pregnancy tests. 

The single line instead of two. 

The disappointment that she tries to hide but that he sees anyway in the way her shoulders drop, in the extra moment she takes in the bathroom before emerging with a too-bright smile.

The jealousy, all of it, every petty, irrational bit of it, evaporates like steam.

The irrational possessiveness that had consumed Harry for hours is so fucking stupid, so embarrassingly small compared to this. 

It's so much more important that he's present for his wife right now.

He moves his thumb back and forth over her belly in a soothing motion,"And if it isn't, we won't stop tryin' until I can give you what you want, dove. What we both want."

-

Harry's still half-asleep when YN pads into the shower, and he automatically reaches for her, pulling her under the spray with him, and positions her in front of him, her back to his chest, and letting her get the most of the spray.

He reaches for her shampoo and works it between his palms until it foams even though she normally washes his first, he wanted to take care of her this morning though she didn’t know what had gone on in his mind.

YN tips her head back automatically, welcoming it easily, and Harry begins working the soap through her hair, his fingers sliding through the wet strands.

"What has you up so early? Though you were going to sleep in, baby," He asks, his voice still rough with sleep because he’d skipped his workout, he had slept in because work had been kicking his ass, and he couldn’t find any interest in working out in his exhaustion.

He digs his nails lightly into her scalp, the way he knows she likes, and the mewl that escapes her is instant as she melts back against him, her body melting under his hands.

"S’good," YN hums, her eyes fluttering closed, head tilting back further to give him more to massage, greedy.

"Are you going to stay up or did you just want a chance to see my cock before you go back to bed?” He murmurs even though his voice was soft, his words were crude, and somehow still endearing.

YN gives him the appropriate reaction, a pretty giggle and she wiggles her bum back on him before she actually answers, " Wanted to see your cock and Theo invited me to morning yoga with Casey. I'm going to do that and then I have two meetings. One for the scholarship charity and another for the one I want to get up and running for single mums."

That bubbling feeling of jealousy that he'd thought he'd put to rest, that he'd told himself he'd let go of in the car, and he wasn’t going to revisit comes roaring back to life without his permission.

Theo invited her to yoga.

His fucking employee invited his wife to yoga.

"Theo invited you," Harry repeats, his voice carefully neutral to not give anything away about it, didn’t want YN to think he had a problem with her going because it wasn’t that, he knows she loves yoga and doesn’t do it enough.

YN doesn't seem to notice, still relaxed against him, still enjoying his attention as he starts to wash it out, "Mmhmm. He said Casey's been wanting to try this new instructor at that studio in Chelsea and he remembered I love yoga.”

“Sounds like fun,” Harry replies with as much realness as he can because it’s not really about jealousy at this point, it’s the fact that he feels like his employee is crossing boundaries.

Or maybe that’s just what he needs to keep telling himself.

-

Harry is sat behind his desk when Dorothy knocks lightly before opening the door to let Theo in then closing it behind him with a gentle click.

Theo's dressed in a nice suit, carrying a leather briefcase that looks new, and there's a smile on his face. 

And that stupid smile, that easy, comfortable, chipper fucking smile makes his teeth itch.

"Hi, it's great to see—" Theo begins, his voice friendly and ready to make a good impression.

Harry cuts him off with a sharp gesture toward the chair across from his desk, not matching the warmth whatsoever, "Sit."

Theo's smile falters slightly, confusion flickering across his features but he moves to the chair, setting his briefcase down carefully beside it, and he's barely sat down when Harry speaks again.

"Before we get started," Harry says, his voice flat and harsh, "I'm making it crystal fucking clear right now that you're not getting any type of special treatment because of your connection to my wife."

Harry watches Theo's face carefully to see if it gets any reaction, watches the way his eyebrows rise in surprise before furrowing, the confusion deepens, "Sir, I would never expec—"

"Let's get started," Harry doesn't let him finish, doesn't give him the opportunity of completing a single sentence, "I don't have time for bullshitting."

Theo's mouth closes at Harry’s abruptness, there's a flicker of something in his eyes.

It may be hurt or frustration but he nods either way, straightening in his chair, trying to maintain his professional composure despite what’s being thrown at him.

Harry leans back in his chair, casual, relaxed but there's nothing relaxed about the way he's looking at Theo.

"You are a manager of a small branch of your department currently," Harry asks, his tone flat and bored, "How will you pivot when you're managing an multiple departments with nearly twelve times the staff?"

It's an easy enough question, it wouldn't be easy for someone who didn't know the field but Harry doubts Theo will struggle with the answer. 

Theo clears his throat, shifting in his seat as he tries to steady himself, “Well, currently I manage a team of thirty, and my approach has been to—”

“Currently,” Harry cuts in, not raising his voice but it’s not friendly, it is enough that the word alone is enough to stop Theo mid-sentence, “I didn’t ask about your current responsibilities. I asked about how you will adjust, not how you manage now. You can clearly do the job you’re working now so answer the question I actually asked.”

Theo pauses briefly but he recovers quickly and instead gives Harry exactly what he is asking for.

And he does it well, he doesn’t fumble through it or default to something generic.

Harry doesn’t give him any reaction or response at first.

“What are your thoughts on the growth and improvement financial model now compared to the one that was in place when I first built the company?” Harry asks next but the question is purposefully more difficult but not impossible.

He breaks it down in a way that shows he has studied the company beyond surface level, that he understands how it began, and where it’s at now.

It is a strong answer because Theo is doing exactly what he should be doing, and showing the kind of skills that would normally make Harry interested, engaged, the way it challenged him in the first interview.

“Alright,” He says, his tone controlled, almost casual but there is something underneath it that signals a shift before the question even comes, “Walk me through how you'd handle a complete restructure of the European sector if we lost our primary vendor overnight."

The question hangs in the air, unreasonable and way too fucking specific and completely outside the range of anything Theo would need to know off the top of their head.

Harry knows this, it’s a question he wouldn’t normally ask.

Theo blinks, clearly taken aback, and he starts to shuffle through the papers he brought with him and says after a moment, his voice hesitant, "I don't think that was on the prep sheet that HR gave me."

"Those are the only things you decided to study?" Harry asked and there's clear judgement in his voice now.

"I prepared thoroughly for the interview based on the materials provided," Theo says, his tone was still impressively professional but there was a new hint of defensiveness creeping in that Harry didn’t miss, "The question you just asked requires access to information I don't currently have access to in my role."

Harry doesn't acknowledge that he was one hundred percent right.

Instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk, and asks another question, this one even more specific, even more impossible.

“What do you think increased our sales in Q3 in South East Asia? Do you think it was a fluke, their recession or something that specifically crafted by the work out team had been working on in the region for the last five years? Why all of a sudden would this have occured? How would you continue to support this financial influx without fumbling it?"

"Sir," Theo says slowly, carefully because it’s clear he is in over his head with Harry, that he may have been prepared for the questions but not the person asking them, "I mean no disrespect but I feel like your goal is for me to fail this interview."

Harry's expression doesn't change. 

"These are not anywhere close to the prep questions provided," Theo continues and he’s letting slight frustration show, "And I would need to do very specific research to have those answers. Which I can do if I have time to prepare."

Harry leans back in his chair, expression giving away nothing like his choice wasn’t made before Theo even stepped foot in here, his face remaining completely neutral.

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry says, his tone bored and unbothered though there is a decisiveness to it that leaves no space for argument, “I think the role that you are in currently is the best fit for you and I’ll be exploring other options to fill this role.”

He does not expand on it or offer clarification.

“Am I not getting the job because YN told you that I’m—” Theo starts, his tone sharper now, his anger rising.

Harry lifts his hand without breaking eye contact, the gesture dismissive as he cuts him off before he can finish, making it clear that whatever Theo is about to say is not something he is willing to discuss further.

“That’s all, Theo, thanks for coming in,” Harry says in a way that doesn’t seem appreciative at all.

Theo hesitates for a fraction of a second, clearly deciding whether he should push back against the treatment or challenge the outcome he just received but whatever he reads in Harry’s expression makes him decide against either. 

He stands instead, the movement abrupt as his chair clanks behind him, his frustration visible in the way he gathers his things with less care than before, and he doesn’t say anything else to Harry.

The door closes behind him with more force than necessary.

Theo had been his best candidate by a far and under any other circumstances that would have been enough for Harry to hire him today.

The old version of Harry wouldn’t have felt guilt for a minute.

He most likely wouldn’t now either but he knows that this would be acceptable behavior by YN’s standard, and he instantly regrets letting his emotions get the best of him.

YN doesn’t ask about the interview, which is the only reason he is able to not be held accountable because he does not have an answer that would hold up if she asked him about it, and he is aware that is a real possibility of still happening even if it didn’t happen quite yet.

When he leaves for Australia the next day on a four day long work trip, he tells himself that the distance will help, that the space will give him enough time to get the fuck over all these feelings, and the guilt. 

Even though he knows that the problem isn’t going to disappear just because he didn’t hire him.

-

YN has been texting Theo since Monday after yoga.

At first, it was just a thank you.

YN:Had such a great time this morning! We need to do that again soon.

Theo responded immediately.

THEO: Anytime. You know I'm always down for yoga and overpriced smoothies!!!

And then, around two in the afternoon, the messages just... stopped.

YN had sent him a link to an article about a new pottery studio she was thought would be fun for him and Casey. 

No response.

She'd asked if he wanted to grab coffee later in the week. 

Nothing.

By Tuesday, she was rereading their conversation, trying to figure out what she'd said wrong, trying to recount what happened at yoga that she did.

By Wednesday, she was genuinely worried. 

And by Thursday morning, when her phone finally buzzed with Theo's name on the screen, it didn’t make her feel much better.

THEO: Can we meet for dinner tonight? I need to talk to you about something.

The message sits in her stomach all day, a massive knot of anxiety that gets worse with every passing hour.

-

Theo, already seated in the back of the small italian restaurant, his shoulders tense which was unlike him, and when he looks up to see YN, his smile is wrong. 

It doesn't reach his eyes which makes her chest tighten with dread.

"Hey," She says hesitantly, sliding into the chair across from him.

"Hey," Theo replies and even that single word feels off.

"I've been wracking my brain to figure out what I did or said to hurt you, to make you need space," YN blurts out before she's even fully sat, the words tumbling over each other in her rush to get them out, "I am so sorry, Theo. It was never my intention to—"

"No, no," Theo cuts her off, shaking his head quickly, and there's something that soften slightly in his expression, "It's not anything you've done, YN. I'm sorry. I just - I needed time to process and to figure out how to talk to you about this without offending you. I'm worried if I bring up what's bothering me, it will make you upset with me."

"What is it about?" She asks, and her voice is barely above a whisper now.

Theo looks at her for a long moment, his expression conflicted, like he's still debating whether to say it at all. 

YN didn’t know who was going to be at this event because she never really got any information beforehand and she never asked because didn’t care to know, this was just a job.

She assumed there was always a chance she would see Harry again because these events were meant for people like him.

The museum was one of the most expensive venues to rent out in London so it made sense that every person, every company trying to throw an event would pick this place because of what a flex it would be.

YN hadn’t enjoyed the first night she met Harry, even if she didn't want to admit that their interactions had stuck with her.

The next day, after the event, she had to go out and buy a new work dress after she couldn’t scrub the stains out of the old one even though she had tried until her arm ached, and she also had to buy a new pair of heels because the liquor had seeped into the soles and made them sticky no matter what she had done to try to clean them.

It hadn’t been something she could really afford but she didn't have the option because she needed the job and she needed an outfit for said job.

Especially after one of her college professor had just told the class they needed to download some program that was going to cost nearly one hundred pounds to be able to do some type of math calculations.

So after one shift that should have helped her catch up on everything that was going to be coming out of her wallet, YN was even worse off than before, with less money, a ruined dress, ruined shoes, and the embarrassing memories of making a fool of herself in front of a literal billionaire.

It seemed to happen that way every fucking time because just when YN started to think she was getting to a better place in her finaces, in her life, something always came crashing back down for one reason or another.

Even though she hated that she was used to it, she had learned a long time ago that getting too comfortable meant that something was about to kick her in the ass and wish that she wouldn't have let her guard down.

She was just lucky she hadn’t been fired for the whole incident with Harry, which she had no intention of telling a soul about especailly not the people at work because it would definitely get back to her supervisor, not that she really had anyone else to tell besides her sister and her gran.

Her gran had no real concept of famous people, no interest in reading gossip rags or watching talk-show television during her day, and even if YN told her she had dragged Harry into a staff bathroom after spilling strawberry margarita on him, her gran probably would’ve focused more on concern about her job than the person she was talking about.

And YN definitely didn’t talk to either of them about her finances because she didn’t want them worrying about her when there wasn’t much they could realistically do without making their own lives harder.

She knew her gran would give her every last penny she had if YN needed it and she knew her sister, Bethany, would do whatever she could too but that wasn't something that YN was ever going to ask or accept from them.

So here she was again a few weeks later, working another event in a new dress and new heels that she had bought because she had no other choice, trying not to think about how much money she had spent just to be able to try to make more.

It took YN a little while to realize Harry was there at this event, mostly because she was overwhelmed with drink orders from needy attendees who couldn't wait patiently but once she spotted him from across the room, it was annoyingly hard to stop paying attention to him.

She didn’t know how to feel about it when she first saw him, her feelings about him were complicated because she'd heard such awful things but he hadn't been all that awful to her and the thing that got her, no matter how much she fucking hated to admit it, was that he was so undeniably handsome.

YN didn’t know if she had ever been around someone as handsome as him before, it was the kind of handsome you see on cinema screens, and the way he dressed only made it worse.

Tonight, he was wearing this dark green, almost black crushed velvet suit that once again looked custom like his last one, and it hugged every inch of him in a way that made it impossible not to notice how broad his shoulders were, how tny his waist was, and how strong he looked even though he was covered up.

She was fucking annoyed that she felt attracted to him, just like all the other girls did because she didn't want to be one more person in the room getting distracted by Harry simply because he was beautiful, rich, and completely closed off like a code to crack.

But truly, his money wasn’t part of the factor for YN, and neither was his cold attitude because if anything, those were a turn-off.

The problem was that he had been kind to her when she messed up or at least he hadn't been outright mean, and he hadn’t really given her a clear reason to think he was an asshole beyond the way that she heard others talking about him.

It was hard to ignore what those women had said, she couldn't just erase it from her mind, especially after the way they talked about him using people and moving on like they meant nothing, and that was the type of person that YN tried to avoid at all costs.

So she avoided him.

She would have denied it if she was called out on it but she was absolutely avoided him, taking long ways around the room that kept her away from wherever he was standing while still getting her where she needed to go.

Unfortunately, her eyes kept wandering back to him anyway, even when she was trying to keep her gaze anywhere but him, and every time she looked, his face stayed straight and unreadable as always.

She didn’t see him crack a smile even once, not even the smallest uptick of his lips, which made him stand out from the over jovial people around him who were putting on their best show, their best face for the night.

Most of them were smiley and overly talkative, chomping at the bit to shake hands, charm people, maybe make a deal during the event, and make sure everyone in the room left thinking they were going to be great to do business with in the future.

Harry didn’t seem interested in impressing anyone.

Why would he need to?

YN can't think of anyone who could impress him when he was the most impressive person in every single room.

He spoke when everyone turned to look at him but mostly nodded when expected of him, and stood through conversations like he was just trying to endure them rather than enjoying the socialization.

It didn’t seem to bother the other people at the event that he was like that because they still flocked to him all the same.

YN doesn’t have to get anywhere close to him until her coworker, Heather, comes up beside her with two drinks balanced on her tray and an expression that already tells YN she is about to be asked for a favor.

“Babe, can you pretty pretty please drop these off?” Heather asks, bouncing on her toes as she shifts the tray toward YN before she even accepts, “I have to pee so bad and some guy talked my ear off for ten minutes so I couldn’t get away.”

“Yes,” YN laughs, already reaching for the two drinks because Heather looks genuinely seconds away from losing it, “Where to?”

“The mojito goes to the woman in that teal dress,” Heather says, pointing quickly toward a woman standing near one of the taller cocktail tables, “And the whiskey neat goes to Harry, green-suit big shot. Okay? Okay. Thanks, love you.”

Then Heather is rushing off before YN can say no.

So YN stands there with both glasses in her hands, feeling the condensation dripping through her fingers which means she really shouldn't try to find some else to deliver these because they'll start to melt.

She would rather not have to directly interact with him again, especially when the last time she had done that, she had ruined his shirt, dragged him into a bathroom, stripped him half-naked, and then rejected him.

It sounded bad when she laid it out like that.

YN inhales a deep breath before she starts to search him out, and it isn’t hard to find him because there are people gathered around him like always, even though this event isn’t supposed to be all about him.

Apparently, he is giving another speech tonight.

YN delivers the mojito first, using her customer service smile and polite voice as she hands it to the woman in the teal dress, and then she turns toward the small cluster surrounding Harry with the whiskey still in her hand.

She has to work her way through the crowd carefully, murmuring little excuses as she passes important people, trying not to bump anyone's elbow or spill anything because that was the last fucking thing she needed.

By the time she gets to him, Harry is turned slightly away from her, his attention on an older man who was far too close to him, speaking intently, and YN can see the strong line of his jaw, the way the jacket spread over his shoulders was basically obscene, and the way his hand rests loosely at his side like he is forcing himself not to check the time.

She taps him lightly on the shoulder, keeping her touch brief and professional, and when he turns his head toward her, she holds out the glass with the calmest expression she can manage, trying not to give anything away.

“Whiskey neat,” YN says, keeping her voice as normal as possible even though her stomach gives an annoying little twist when his eyes land on her, and it feels like she's suddenly under a spotlight.

Harry doesn’t take it right from her away and for one odd second, YN wonders if she has somehow managed to do something wrong again because he only looks at her with that unreadable expression that seems to give nothing away but makes her feel like she's under pressure.

Then, for the first time all night, she sees his lips tilt upward.

It is not a full smile, not even close but it is enough of a shift that his face changes, and YN hates that she feels butterflies in her stomach before her brain can remind her not to feel that way.

She hates even more that she feels special for being the one to earn that smile, especially after watching him navigate through the event without offering anything close to friendly to anyone else for even a second.

So she keeps her face as professional as possible to not give any of that away, holding the glass out patiently and pretending that the slight uptick of his mouth hadn't made her nervous in a way that was too girlish.

“Thank you,” Harry says, his voice low and rasping as he finally reaches for the drink, “I’m glad you decided to put it in my hand and not on my shirt.”

The comment is dry enough in delivery that YN knows he is teasing her, and she has to steady her control on her expression because she absolutely refuses to let him see that it catches her off guard.

His fingers brush against hers as he takes the glass and the contact is brief, barely anything at all but she still feels the cold metal of his rings against her own bare fingers.

They are most likely worth more than anything YN owns, which admittedly is not sayingall that much, and that irritates her for her own financial insecurities which aren't his fault, and she can acknowledge it's irrational.

YN pulls her hand back once the drink is safe in his, smoothing her fingers against the side of her dress as a nervous reaction.

Harry takes a step closer to her and YN catches another whiff of that expensive cologne as he leans in just enough for his voice to lower into something quieter, meant only for her, her stomach clenches, “But if you wanted me shirtless, all you had to do was say the word.”

YN can’t help but roll her eyes at the lame joke and even though she tries to hold onto the professional expression she had been wearing, a small giggle slips out before she can stop it because he is more charming than she wants to admit.

“It was only—” YN begins in her own defense, smiling a slight bit but she stops when she sees someone approaching quickly from her right.

The woman brushes YN’s shoulder roughly as she squeezes into the small space between them, not hard enough to be a real shove but close enough that it seems like it was trying to prove a point, and before YN can even step back properly to give this person space, the woman is standing directly in front of her and completely blocking her view of Harry.

YN blinks at the back of her in confusion.

Whoever this woman is, she has on high heels that make her tower over YN, and she has the kind of long legs, itty bitty waistline, and this straight posture that makes it obvious she is either a model or something close to it.

Her dress is revealing in a way that lets everyone know that her legs are her best feature as well as the expanse of her back, her hair falls perfectly over her shoulders in these long, thick cascading waves.

Even from behind, YN can see the glimmer of diamond jewelry at her neck and the designer clutch tucked neatly beneath her arm.

This is much more the type of girl YN imagines Harry with.

It is such an instant thought that YN almost annoys herself with it because she has no reason to be comparing herself to some woman who is on a different level than her but she still feels suddenly aware of the cheap fabric of her work dress, the insistent ache in her feet from heels she hadn't spent enough on to be comfortable.

YN can’t really see Harry anymore but she can hear the woman clearly enough when she speaks, her voice high-pitched and sweet in a way that is obviously attempting to be sexy, “Harry, it’s been so long. I’ve been absolutely dying to catch up with you. You look incredible tonight. I couldn’t help but think about the time we hooked up in that hotel roo—”

Oh.

Yep.

That is all the information YN needs to hear.

This woman is exactly the type of person Harry ends up in bed with, she had hit the nail on the head.

Beautiful, polished, confident, clearly doing well in life if the designer purse and diamond necklace are anything to go by, and rude enough to shove herself in front of YN like she knew she was above her.

That seems to fit more of the aesthetic YN has already started building in her head for him, whether fair or not.

Pretty people who make room for themselves,w ho hook up in hotel rooms without a second though.

YN does not even know why she is explaining any of this to herself because it is not like Harry really wants anything from her, he's just being somewhat nice.

Maybe he wanted a one-night stand if she would have allowed it because men like him probably don't give much thought to status or bank accounts when it comes to sex, especially if the person in front of them is convenient and willing enough.

But he wouldn't want a relationship with her.

That is such a wild thought for her mind to even have that YN feels embarrassed by it even if no one else can hear it because she doesn't want a relationship with him either, and she doesn't know why the possibility even is in her head.

They are completely different.

They come from different versions of the world and YN can't imagine any conversation where she would be able to relate to Harry beyond the fact that she ruined his shirt and apparently made him curious enough to ask what she was doing after her shift.

He lives in a world where people wear suits custom made for their bodies, drink whiskey neat at events thrown in museums, and have beautiful women cutting through crowds to get to him, to reminiscence about an illicit experiences.

The difference between them is so obvious that it makes her feel ridiculous for even letting her imagination go that far even if it was just for a second.

YN takes a step back, partly because the woman has basically shoved her out of the space and partly because standing there blocked from Harry’s view makes her feel stupid and small in a way that she doesn't want to feel.

She is disappointed in herself for letting her imagination get the best of her like all of her coworkers do at these event because YN has always prided herself on being reasonable unlike all the others.

Harry is not meant for her.

He is barely even in the same reality as her.

So YN straightens her shoulders, smooths her expression back into professionalism that doesn't show that this woman has affected her, and steps around her without waiting to hear how Harry responds to the words because whatever happened in some hotel room before this event has absolutely nothing to do with her.

And she would like to keep it that way.

Even though she tries to push all of it to the back of her mind, it doesn't work nearly as well as she wants it to because for the rest of the night, YN keeps catching Harry’s eye from across the room.

It happens so often that she starts wondering if she is imagining it or worse, if she is the one looking for him first and only convincing herself that he had already been looking because that sounds less desperate.

But every time she sneaks a glance in his direction, Harry’s gaze is already meeting hers, unreadable as it's been since she's met him except now there is something a little different around his mouth, something almost amused that makes her stomach dip before she can stop it.

She wants to smack herself when he tilts his lips at her, not enough to deem it anywhere close to a smile, and she finds herself smiling back before she can remember that she is supposed to be uninterested in becoming one of the women who gets flattered by any bit of attention that he's willing to give her.

YN looks away every time, usually too quickly which probably ends up making her more obvious, pretending to check glasses on her tray or trying to remember a guest's order but she can feel how hot her cheeks are getting.

She tells herself that he's bore and she has become a entertaining distraction because she spilled a tray of drinks on him once and then had the nerve to turn him down at the bar so now he can make this a game for the night then forget about her.

That is probably all it is.

It has to be all it is.

Still, when she passes near him again, trying to keep balance of empty glasses on her tray as she clears one of the cocktail tables, Harry’s attention follows her enough that she feels it against the side of her face.

YN keeps walking and tries not to look at him but because she has apparently lost every ounce of self-control she prided herself on having, she looks over.

Harry is still fucking watching her, the whiskey glass in one hand but it's drained almost to the bottom, the woman who had interrupted them was still standing close enough to his side that she is clearly trying to keep his attention but his eyes aren't on her.

They are on YN.

His face remains steady, his posture still straight and stiff as ever, and from a distance he looks as uninterested as he has all night but YN sees the slight lift of his brow as if he knows she's caught him too.

Her lips twitch before she can stop them.

It is small and she tries to tamper it down it immediately but Harry catches it because his mouth tilts up in response, and the whole thing feels so stupidly private that YN has to force herself to turn away before she does something humiliating like actually laugh.

She hates that it makes her feel noticed.

She hates that she likes feeling noticed by him.

YN grips the tray tighter and tells herself to get a fucking grip.

He is not special because he is handsome or cold or rich.

He is just a man.

Just….a very rich, very closed-off, very irritatingly attractive man but still just a dumb man.

And YN has work to do.

YN has almost convinced herself that she is being ridiculous and delusional by the time she needs to pass him again, and she is in the middle of giving herself a strict talking to when her manager waves her toward a cluster of guests near the far side of the room.

Of course, the easiest path cuts directly past Harry.

YN pauses for half a second with the tray balanced against her palm but her manager is looking at her expectantly and she'd look liek a nutcase for taking the long way to get to where she's being directed.

She straightens her shoulders and starts walking, trying not to act weird.

Harry is standing with a small group of men now, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other holds a new whiskey from Heather, and the woman won't leave his side even though she hasn't seen Harry pay her much attention, if any.

YN keeps her eyes ahead as she approaches, focusing on the area just beyond him rather than him because she is not going to look at him this time.

Then one of the men shifts backward without looking where he was going and YN has to slow her steps to avoid knocking the edge of her tray into his elbow, which puts her closer to Harry than she had planned.

Harry’s gaze cuts to her immediately and even though he is still technically listening to the man speaking in front of him, his attention changes so obviously that YN feels it before she allows herself to glance up.

She only means to look for half a second, just enough to make sure she has enough space to pass him.

Instead, her eyes meet his.

Harry doesn't smile, he just looks at her over the rim of his glass, his expression stoney, and then he winks.

He fucking winks.

It is quick, so subtle, and clearly meant only for her but it still lands with enough intent that YN nearly forgets how to walk.

Her fingers tighten around the tra and she keeps moving though the heat that rushes into her face happens quickly and it's humiliating because she knows he can probably see exactly what it does to her, and that's where he most likely gets off, on flustering girls that aren't in his league.

Her body betrays her before her ego can catch up because her stomach flips and her lips press together to keep from smiling, and that only makes her more irritated because she is apparently much easier to affect than she had wanted to tell herself that she was.

She makes it past him without spilling anything which she couldn't imagine having to go through the ordeal of cleaning him up again, even though she couldn't say that she would mind having him shirtless again in a cramped space.

By the time she reaches the other side of the room, she exhales slowly like she'd jsut walked through fire.

When she finally looks over her shoulder, Harry is already watching her again, his face still mostly blank.

YN narrows her eyes at him from across the room, keeping the expression small enough that no guest around her will notice that she's somewhat glaring at him, and Harry’s smile deepens by the tiniest amount before he lifts his glass to his mouth, she thinks she may see a fucking dimple.

It's gone as quick as it came.

She turns away quickly, annoyed with herself, annoyed with him, and annoyed with the fact that the tiniest bit of attention was making her swoon.

YN keeps herself busy after that, moving faster than necessary between the bar and the tables and being more productive than she normally would be, and she tries to focus on the parts of the job that keep her occupied and distracted, and prevent her from just constantly trying to watch Harry.

The room is starting to thin out a little, which should make everything less stressful but it almost makes the remaining guests worse because the drunk ones have become more noisy, the important ones have become more impatient as the night wears on, and the staff is running low on energy and everything that they're demanding.

When one of the cocktail tables runs out of napkins, YN takes the excuse before any of her coworkers can, slipping away from the main room with an empty tray tucked against her hip and needing a second to ground herself.

The storage room is just beyond the staff hallway, narrow and overly lit enough that she has to squint from the more ambiance lighting of the event room.

YN steps inside and lets the door fall shut behind her, exhaling as she finally has a moment to herself.

For the first time in what feels like hours, she lets her shoulders drop, and the fake expression slides right off her face.

She grabs a stack of cocktail napkins from the shelf, makes sure to check the inventory box near the side because her boss is that strict about napkins, and then turns back toward the door with them under her arm.

She is already thinking about where she needs to go next when she pulls the door open and steps out but he barely makes it one step into the hallway before someone moves into her path.

YN stops so abruptly that the napkins nearly fall out of her hold and her stomach drops when she looks up and recognizes the man in front of her.

He had been lingering too close earlier in the night, standing near one of the high-top tables with a drink in his hand and a smile that had made her uncomfortable without him even saying anything creepy.

Every time she had passed near him, he had found some excuse to touch her elbow, brush his hand against the small of her back, or lean way too fucking far into her space while asking for something he didn't really need.

He had also tipped her well, actually too generously that it felt like there was expectations attached to it, and at first YN had felt that automatic flicker of relief because the money was what she was working for (obviously) and she needed every bit of it but now the memory of his folded bills pressing into her palm feels gross.

YN had laughed off the touches before because that is what she is used to doing at work.

She had smiled politely, stepped away, and told herself not to make a problem out of something that hadn't happened because her manager would dismiss as harmless, especially if the guest had spent enough money or had a big name, that was more important.

Now, this man is standing directly in front of her in the very narrow staff hallway, blocking the path back to the event with one hand braced casually against the wall beside him, and judging by the diamond-encrusted Rolex flashing on his wrist, he is someone important enough that her manager would take his side.

“Excuse me,” YN says, keeping her voice light as she adjusts the napkins against her hip, “I need to get through.”

The man smiles like she has said something funny instead of giving him a clear direction, his eyes moving over her in a way that makes her skin prickle, and she automatically wants to take a shower, “You’re a hard girl to catch alone.”

YN’s fingers tighten around what she's hold because she can already catch the tone but she keeps her expression neutral because she has worked too many events to get fiesty right off the bat, and she knows men like this often enjoy making women uncomfortable simply because they can.

Most of the time they're harmless but not all the time.

“I’m working, I'm busy,” YN replies, still trying to sound pleasant, taking a small step to the side.

He mirrors it as soon as she does it, cutting her off with a step to the side as well to make it clear he wasn't done talking to her.

The hallway suddenly feels cramped and like the walls are closing in.

YN can still hear the music and voices from the event but they sound far enough away that her pulse begins beating harder in her throat because she knows how quickly this kind of situation can become dangerous and that most people don't come back this way.

He had been following her.

“I know,” He says, glancing down at the napkins before his gaze returns to her face, “That doesn’t mean you can’t be friendly, sweetie.”

“I’ve been friendly all night,” YN says, forcing a small smile that feels tight on her mouth, “And now I need to bring these back out now.”

His hand lifts before she can move away, fingers brushing against her upper arm like he is stopping her gently, though there is nothing gentle about the way it makes her whole body tense.

“Don’t rush off,” He says, his voice lowering, drawing the words out like he's pouting, “I’ve been trying to talk to you, pretty. Don't be rude.”

YN looks at his hand on her arm then back at his face, and every instinct in her body tells her to pull away but the Rolex catches the hallway light again and reminds her that he is exactly the kind of man who will get her fired.

She shifts back enough that his fingers fall away though, “I really do have to keep moving. My manager's pretty strict.”

His smile thins, not disappearing but changing just enough that her stomach tightens, he's getting pissed, “I know you manager, Veronica. She'll understand that I had to steal you for a little.”

She tries to step around him again, this time toward the other side but he moves with her, his body blocking the hallway more fully now, and the closeness makes her realize that this isn't going to be easy.

“Please move,” YN says and her voice is still calm but there is less customer service softness in it now.

His eyebrows lift slightly, almost impressed by the change in tone, “Please?”

“Yes,” YN says, holding his gaze even though she can feel the anxiety starting to climb higher in her chest, “Please move.”

He just stands there, looking at her with that same lazy smile, like he is deciding whether he wants to let her pass or make her work harder for it, and YN’s mind begins running through options.

The man’s hand lifts again and this time his fingers reach toward the edge of her napkins near her hip,“You’re very tense.”

YN pulls them back to her body, angling herself away, “Because you’re blocking me.”

His smile widens and it makes him look dangerous, his voice teasing but it doesn't come off as friendly, “Maybe I like having your attention.”

YN’s mouth goes dry.

She is trying to think of something sharp enough to make him stop but polite enough that it will not cost her the job she needs, and the frustration of that makes her chest burn because she hates that she has to make this just right.

“I’m going back to work,” YN says and she tries one more time to move around him.

He reaches for her again, his fingers closing around her wrist this time, and the touch is firm enough that panic snaps through her before she can hide it.

“Don’t be like that,” He murmurs softly, stepping forward until their chests are almost bumping.

YN’s whole body goes still.

The hallway feels too bright suddenly, too narrow, too quiet around them, and for one horrible second, all she can think about is how quickly her night has shifted from being annoyed about Harry’s wink to being trapped outside a storage room by a man who can ruin her life with one complaint.

“Let go of me,” YN says, her voice shaking now, and she hates that she can't keep it together for any longer.

The man’s eyes flick down to where he is holding her, then back up to her face, and his smile barely moves, sharper, “You don’t have to be dramatic.”

YN inhales deeper, her grip tightening as she prepares to yank her wrist away whether it causes a scene or not because whatever risk comes from being rude suddenly feels less terrifying than letting him think he can keep his hand on her.

Before YN can move, the man’s gaze shifts over her shoulder, and something in his expression changes just enough for her to notice.

It isn’t fear exactly, not at first but it is the first time since he stepped into her path that he looks even slightly less sure of himself.

YN doesn’t turn around because she doesn’t want to take her eyes off the man holding her wrist but she hears footsteps behind her, slow and measured against the marble hallway floor, and then Harry’s voice cuts through the otherwise silent space, low but so cutting that it makes the air around them feel colder.

She had thought that eventually it would wear off, that they'd all get used to being around these people so that they could stop making such a fucking big deal about it, it was exhausting to listen to.

It made her job harder because she was the one who ended up running trays across the room, apologizing about delays or forgotten items, and trying to do so many jobs at once because she'd get flustered.

Tonight was no different, except the way her coworkers were literally fangirling over a fucking business owner felt even weirder than usual because normally they saved that level of obnxious lusting for influencers, movie stars, or people who at least made some kind of sense to be excited over.

But no, tonight it was Harry Styles, and because he was not only a billionaire but apparently the second richest man in the world, everyone was acting like jesus had just walked into the buildling for an event.

To YN, that held very little meaning.

Money didn’t impress her but neither did status either, especially when she had actual things to worry about like making sure she had enough money for gas, paying her next round of tuition, and keeping this job long enough that she could maybe at some point move out of the god awful apartment that she was in.

She didn’t know why someone like that needed to be celebrated constantly like an ido.

Maybe she was being too critical about it all but for him to be named England’s Philanthropist of the Year for donating three million pounds to various charities, she couldn’t help but think that was the least he could do with all the unnecessary money he had.

YN knew that probably made her sound bitter but it was hard not to be when everyone around her was acting like he had descended from the heavens for writing checks that wouldn’t even make a minor difference in his life.

The room knew the second he arrived because conversations suddenly went quiet, heads turned, and her coworkers became even more useless within seconds, their eyes tracking him with the same fascination that made YN want to roll hers hard enough to give herself a headache.

YN did glance over despite herself, mostly because it was impossible not to when the entire room was giving him attention, and she could admit, privately and with resistance, that she understood the hype to an extent.

Harry was stupidly handsome, more than he had any right to be when he was already that rich, with broad shoulders, a lean body that made it obvious he worked out, perfectly messy curls, and a cut jaw that looked like it had never unclenched once in his life.

Still, that only made YN even more unenthused because he looked exactly like the type of person who knew exactly how much they were admired.

He was calm but it didn't come off as relaxed or serene, his expression was so closed off as he walked through the room, with barely a nod towards people, and a quick few words here and there.

The people surrounding him seemed to melt toward him anyway, waiting for an little scrap of attention that Harry was willing to give them.

YN watched women and men gravitate into his space, beautiful people with dazzling smiles and amazing outfits on, they held grace on their own but seemed to just want to chase after Harry's tail.

Harry didn’t encourage that behavior, it didn't seem in this moment at least but he didn’t seem surprised by them either, and that somehow annoyed YN more because he just accepted all the attention without giving anything back to anyone in return.

Most of the people drooling after him didn’t stick around long and more than one walked away with a frown or pout twisted across their face which made her realize just how invested in this man people were.

Maybe when someone had that much money, people invented charm for them so they didn’t have to admit they were just fascinated by the power.

She wasn’t interested in fawning over people didn't need any extra fuel to their ego, especially when most of them expected it.

YN passes close to him a few times as she delivers drinks from the bar to people standing in little clusters around the space.

A few of the more pleasant guests have even slipped bills into her hand when she hands them a drink, and each time, YN tucks the cash away quickly, feeling more relief each time because it's closer to making her not have to worry about a bill for a few more weeks.

She is tired, anxious, and trying very hard to stay focused because events like this always make her feel like she is one wrong move was going to get her fired, and she needs this job, so it's not an option.

The managers here were quick to fire people, one time a girl brought some CEO the wrong drink, and she got fired for it.

So when this event turns sideways, YN has to face the fear of losing her job.

YN is balancing a tray of drinks when whistles for her from behind the bar and because she is already anxious about moving quickly enough to keep up with the way these drinks were going out, she looks back for only a second, and sees the bartender holding up another drink that he had forgotten to put on the tray.

She should have stopped walking.

She knows that immediately, even before the collision happens because there is that tiny flash of awareness where her brain reminds her that her feet are still moving even though she's no longer looking forward.

By then it's way too late and she runs straight into something very sturdy that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The tray tips first then topples out of her hand completely, cashing between her and this person and YN sucks in a sharp breath as glasses right off the metal tray, ice scatters, and drinks go down and out, everywhere.

She feels it get onto her own skin, her dress didn't cover all that much per the dress code requirements, and it is cold and sticky as it seeps down her wrists to her forearms, settling in the fabric of her dress and it soaks into the tops of her heels but the second she realizes that wasn't the worst fucking part about this, her stomach drops so hard that she almost feels lightheaded and prone to passing out.

Because the majority of the drinks are not on the floor, they are drenching the person she ran into.

And the person she ran into happens to be the Philanthropist of the Year recipient.

Fuck.

For a second, YN can’t move because her brain can't figure out what she needs to address first and she's trying to avoid how all eyes have turned to them, the shocked silence is spreading like wildfire around them, and the sight of strawberry margarita soaking into what is very clearly an expensive suit.

Her automatic thought is that she is going to be fired right then and there, in the middle of the event, without even being allowed to finish her shift, and the panic arrives so quickly that she's already figuring out how she's going to get gas in her car after this shift.

It isn’t just that it is Harry Styles, although that is bad enough.

It is the fact that his outfit had been pristine seconds ago, clearly tailored and custom in a way that even YN can recognize despite not knowing anything about suits or fashion in general, and she catches sight of the Gucci emblems on the buttons as she stared wide-eyed which means the shirt alone probably costs more than she could afford in a month, maybe more.

At first, they are not making eye contact because Harry is looking down at his ruined clothes in what seems like complete disbelief and somehow his silence makes everything worse than if he had immediately snapped at her, cursed her out, and told her she fucked up.

YN’s heart starts pounding harder as she looks between his shirt, the broken mess of the tray because not only had she dropped them, this spilled alcohol was surely going to get her a write-up as there was probably two-hundred dollars worth of liquor on that tray alone.

The people around them who have already been staring through all of this seem to be expecting his reaction, anticipation.

The fear hits harder when she remembers his reputation because she has heard enough about this CEO to know that he is an absolute nightmare of a person, cold, heartless as they can come, brutally impatient, and he holds enough power that she knows that he has to say one word, and her manager is letting her go.

This isn't going to be good.

Harry’s eyes finally meet hers after what feels like forever and they are this smooth and clear, almost sea-glass green that YN would have thought looked pretty in the dim light of the room if she were not actively trying not to have a panic attack in front of the second richest man in the world and a ton of other important people.

His face is so closed off in a way that gives her no cue what to expect out of a reaction, she couldn't tell whether he was going to scream in her face, walk away to get her manager, or draw the whole room's attention to it.

His jaw tight enough that his molars must be grinding together, his expression unreadable, and the lack of reaction makes everything worse because she has no control of her emotions right now.

YN can feel her heartbeat in her throat and her hands start moving uselessly at her sides as if she wants to clean the mess but has no idea where to start.

She acts on instinct because she's so nervous.

Her voice is shaky as she makes herself to maintain eye contact with him, even though every part of her wants to look away from his intense stare, like he can see right through her, “I am so sorry, sir. I…I didn’t see you standing there, someone called my name and…and now you have strawberry margarita all over you. I can't apologize enough, I'm so sorry.”

The people around them seem to be preparing for Harry to absolutely lose his shit on her, their conversations stay slow and their eyes locking onto the mess in front of them as if they're waiting on him to start yelling.

But he is still not talking.

For some reason, she takes that silence as her opportunity to fix it, and the only thing that comes to mind is a trick her gran taught her years ago, though she cannot remember it fully and isn't even completely sure she is thinking of the right thing.

“I know a trick,” YN says quickly, her voice still shaky and breathless as she gestures toward his shirt like pointing at the stain like he hand't seen it yet, “I can get the stain out before you accept your aware. Just come with me, I can fix this, I'll fix it.”

She is so flustered that she doesn't really consider how she is speaking to him, doesn't fully process that she is giving instructions to a billionaire in front of a room full of people who are already staring at her like she has lost her mind, and she doesn't care that it is this CEO in any form or way beyond the fact that he is the guest of honor and she really doesn't want to get fired.

It could have been any guest, honestly because her fear isn't about wanting his approval (fuck that) or being embarrassed in front of someone important (who cares).

It is about the job.

It is about rent, tuition, gas, groceries, and the stomach churning knowledge that one ruined shirt could put all of that at risk.

That panic makes her act impulsively and before she can think better of it, YN wraps her hand around his wrist without permission, even though he had still not responded, hadn't agreed to let her fix it.

She gives a light tug and hopes he follows because if he refuses or calls for someone in charge, she has no idea what she will do except burst into tears.

Surprisingly enough, Harry allows it.

His body is stiff beside her and tense and there isn'thing relaxed or understanding about the way he lets her guide him but he doesn't pull away, doesn't humiliate her in front of everyone, in fact, it's obviously he clearly doesn't care about the reaction of people around them because during that interaction, he had never once looked away from YN, and he doesn't stop her when she steers him out of the main area with her hand still wrapped around his wrist.

YN snags a few packets of sugar from a caddy on the way because that is what her brain has decided she needs to fix this, even though she is already second-guessing whether sugar is actually the right thing (was it salt or maybe corn starch?), and then she leads him out of the event where everyone is watching and back into the staff hallway.

She should have asked if he wanted her help, not assumed, in normal circumstances she would never act this rash.

But he isn't resisting or arguing at this point with her and YN is trying to use that as permission to do what she's doing because if she slows down long enough to think about how insane this is, she will actually start crying.

Her hand is still shaking around his wrist when she gets him to the staff bathroom, a single-person room tucked at the end of the hall, and she pulls him in after her before closing the door behind them with chaotic urgency.

The second the door shuts, the silence feels much different than it did in a room full of people.

YN is suddenly very aware of just how small this bathroom is, how broad Harry looks standing in it, taking up so much of the space, and how fucking bizarre it is that she has just dragged the this man, the guest of honor, out of a formal event and into an employee bathroom that smells like cheap hand soap and too much bleach.

She doesn't realize she is babbling until she is already doing it,“My gran taught me this trick, you know? So, like…I can fix this. I’m so sorry, I’m really clumsy sometimes. I…you’ll need to take off your shirt so I can get the stain out, I’m sorry.”

Harry still hasn't said one word and that makes her nerves buzz even harder because she can't tell if he is letting her continue out of the attempt to control his anger, if he's in shock (unlikely), or he's going to just use this to humilate her further.

His expression stays just unreadable as she apologizes almost like a chant, his jaw still clenched, his eyes watchful and calm but that doesn't bring her any hope, it's not an easy calm, it's exerting intense control of his emotions, and she's not used to that.

Her hands move before her brain properly catches up, and she is already reaching for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders once he gives the smallest shift in his body language that allows it before draping it over the back of the chair in the corner.

Then she steps back toward him and starts unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers working too quickly over the expensive buttons, shaking enough it takes her a few times to figure out how to make her fingers actually do what they need to do because she's too scared.

It is only when she catches a strong whiff of his cologne, it's super strong but smell so good, she's never smelled the scent before, and she knows that it's because she's not around people who can afford such expensive things.

Her hands are on him.

Her fingers are touching his chest through the open fabric of his shirt.

She hadn't gotten any real verbal confirmation by this point that any of this was okay with him and she is standing so fucking close to him right now that she can feel the heat radiating off of him.

YN freezes with her fingers on the third button down, her eyes widening as the reality of what she is doing finally catches up with her, everything seems to be moving extremely fast and then suddenly into slow motion.

“Oh shit,” YN curses, the words slipping out before she can stop them because if spilling the drink on him didn’t get her fired, dragging him into the staff bathroom and putting her hands all over him without properly asking definitely would, “Is this okay? I just…I can fix your shirt. I'm sorry.”

Harry only nods at her and it is such a small movement that it somehow makes him even more intimidating.

How is he this regulated?

YN keeps her eyes on the buttons because looking at his face feels too overwhelming when she can feel him watching her, and once the shirt is loose enough around his shoulders, Harry helps her by shrugging out of it.

Suddenly, he is bare-chested in front of her, he allows her to take the ruined shirt in her hands, and YN’s brain seems to black out completely because he isn't just attractive in the way he holds himself like he's powerful.

He is stupidly in shape.

Like, stupidly.

His muscles look carved into his skin, his shoulders are broad and making him look so overpowering, and he had abs, noticeable and covered in tattoos, not to mention that sharp vee that was disappearing into his trousers.

There are tattoos everywhere and a cross chain sits between his pecs, highlighting just how beefy he actually was.

YN swallows hard before she finally looks away, she had definitely been staring for way to long, and she realizes that she is clutching the shirt tighter than she needs to, causing more wrinkles because she doesn't want to be caught staring at him, she's already embarrassed herself enough.

She isn't sure if she is more overwhelmed by how handsome he is or by how calm he is because his silence starts to just become even heavier as she turns toward the sink.

YN doesn't think her brain is working all that well because she presses her fingers inside the shirt to push the stained fabric upward then dunks the ruined section under the dingy faucet, it wasn't ideal, the staff bathroom wasn't maintained in the way the others were.

Of course, the guest bathrooms are as beautiful as the museum they sit in but the staff bathroom is cramped, barely functional, and he looks so out of place in her that it would be comical if it was a different situation.

She rips the corner off a few sugar packets with her teeth because her hands are too shaky to try to do it gingerly then pours the sugar onto the shirt before grabbing a paper towel and scrubbing it into the fabric with more desperation than actual knowledge of what she's doing

YN is pretty sure it is sugar.

At least, she thought it was sugar when she grabbed it but the longer she scrubs, the more her panic starts making her question everything because maybe her gran had said vinegar or lemon, or maybe the trick had only worked on a completely different kind of stain?

Maybe she's currently scrubbing gritty sugar, now clumping grains into a custom Gucci shirt while the half-naked billionaire watches in completel and utter silence.

Her stomach twists and she glances over her shoulder for half a second before immediately regretting it because Harry is still standing with his chest bare, his arms crossed, and his eyes fixed on her in a way that makes her feel like she's under a microscope.

“I…I can pay you back if this doesn’t work,” YN continues to just babble, turning back to the sink because it is easier to talk to the shirt than to him, "I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The second the words leave her mouth, she almost wants to laugh at herself because she is talking to a fucking billionaire and offering to reimburse him like she has anything close to the amount of money it would take to replace something like this.

She doesn't know how to speak to him differently though.

She doesn't have some special rich person vocabulary, doesn't know the proper way to say things or to apologize for mistakes, and underneath all the status and money, he is still a person whose shirt she ruined, so she offers to pay him back because she would offer that to anyone else.

Her fingers keep scrubbing even as her face burns with how stupid she feels, and the anxiety makes her voice come out thinner as she adds, “I mean, I can’t pay all of it tonight or anything but I could do it in pieces if I had to.”

The man doesn’t smile at her, doesn't soothe or yell at her, and his expression doesn’t really change at all but he simply says in an even tone, “It wasn’t expensive, don’t worry about it.”

YN knows it is most likely a lie and honestly, she knows it is definitely a lie because she can see the Gucci label.

She also sees his name stitch onto the label, which only confirms that she was right about this, it is clearly custom, clearly made for him.

Still, relief seeps through her before she can stop it because if he is saying not to worry about it then maybe she will not have to drain her account or spend the next several months trying to pay back a billionaire in pathetic little installments.

“Good,” YN says before she can filter herself, her nervous mouth moving faster than her brain, an awkward laugh coming out, “Because I have absolutely no money to pay you back with.”

She notices Harry’s lips turn down slightly at her joke and the lack of reaction makes her cheeks feel like an idiot they're now absolutely on fucking fire.

He probably doesn't find much of any pity for her, not that she was asking for pity in the first place, it's a joke that her friend's would have laughed at but she imagines he doesn't want to hear about her problems, and he most likely thinks she is insane, clumsy, and completely unprofessional.

YN turns back to the sink because looking at him isn't helping, he's not giving her anything to work with then pulls the sopping wet fabric back and elbows the hand dryer hard enough to turn it on, it's weak and groans with age but still, she started stretching the shirt beneath the breeze of warm air in a desperate attempt to keep the fabric from wrinkling any worse than it already has.

The bathroom fills with the loud, groaning hum, and for a few seconds, she lets that noise cover her nearly panting breaths.

Harry is just watching her.

She can feel the intensity of his stare even when she isn't looking at him and it makes her fingers clumsier, if that's possible.

“Do you typically corner men you don’t know into bathrooms and strip them half naked?” Harry finally asks, giving her more than a few words at once, and YN is surprised by how deep his voice is, it's slow and carefully, and then he's stepping towards her to take his shirt when she's ready to hand it over.

The words should probably make her more embarrassed, they do but she can't really process it right now and they also catch her so off guard enough that her mouth answers before she can feel like she has her head on straight.

“You’re my only one,” YN replies anxiously, holding the shirt out to him and then immediately stepping closer again when she realizes she needs to help with the buttons because the fabric is still damp and not cooperating.

Harry’s chest is right fucking there again, his skin is so warm and smells so good, and YN tries very hard to focus on the shirt instead of the way she's touching bare skin, and she tries not to make it obvious how much it is effecting her.

He doesn't move away from her though and he doesn't make any type of shitty comment about her hands shaking but his silence isn't comforting either because his face hasn't changed whatsoever, his eyes keep tracking every anxious movement she makes.

When the shirt is finally buttoned, YN steps back to see if this stupid trick even worked, and the groan that leaves her mouth is louder than she intended.

It is hardly better.

The stain is maybe a little less intense in color than before but she has managed to smear the artificial coloring halfway across the shirt, and now it somehow looks worse.

She shouldn't have done any of this.

She should have apologized, went and found her manager, and accepted whatever happened instead of literally kidnapping him into a staff bathroom and conducting the worst stain-removal to exist while making him take off his clothes.

YN bites at her bottom lip, staring at the damage as dread settles heavily in her stomach, “I’ve completely ruined your shirt.”

Harry doesn't explode the way she is scared he will, even though his face is still emotionless and blank.

Harry just looks down, turns slightly to get a glance of himself in the mirror, and then meets her eye again, "You have completely ruined my shirt. However, it's doesn't change that it's just a shirt."

YN shakes her head immediately because it isn't just a shirt and the fact that he can call it just a shirt only proves how different their lives are.

“No, I can’t…I really should pay you back,” YN says, already reaching into her bra for her phone because she doesn't have pockets and that's super unprofessional on it's own but she doesn't care, "Can I Venmo you?”

Harry laughs lowly and it is the first time he even remotely resembles a human and not a robot, his brow quirks upwards slightly, “I’m not sure what that is, so no. Please, don’t worry about it.”

YN pauses with her phone as she's pulling up the app, staring at him because she cannot tell if he is serious or joking though his expression has shifted back so she has no way of telling.

Before she can argue again about payment, the speakers from the main event suddenly boom loud enough to reach them through the door, and YN jumps because it's so unexpected.

Harry reacts immediately, his eyes snapping toward the door as he reaches for his suit jacket much faster than he has moved since she dragged him in here.

He tugs the jacket on over the ruined shirt, buttoning it quickly in a way that hides the stain for the most part, and YN doesn't expect him to keep talking to her while he does it.

“I have to go,” Harry says, running one hand through his curls as if making sure they are still in place before he turns back toward her, “What’s your name?”

“YN, I really—” YN begins, already trying to apologize again because there is still a stained shirt underneath his buttoned suit jacket, sugar crystallized on her hands, panic sitting in her chest because she doesn't know what's going to happen.

“I’m sorry, I really need to leave,” Harry interjects and he is somehow the one apologizing even though she is the one who drenched him, dragged him away from his own event, and made his shirt significantly worse.

He is already moving toward the door as he says it, his back to completely unreadable while his hand closes around the handle, and then he throws it open and rushes out like the entire thing never happened in the first place.

YN moves carefully back into the main room, trying to make herself useful without drawing attention because she feels like all eyes will be on her because of the mistake but the second she steps through the doorway, her eyes find Harry before she can stop them or before she can worry about anyone staring at her.

He is standing near the podium on the stage now and from this distance, no one would know that ten minutes ago he had been half-naked in a staff bathroom while she scrubbed sugar into custom Gucci like an absolute idiot.

If she had not been the one in the bathroom with him, she would have never been able to tell that he just went through the chaos.

There is something weird and almost scary about how easily he puts the mask back on because YN still feels shaken and sticky and out of breath while Harry maintains the composure he'd had through their whole interaction.

The person at the podium finishes introducing him and the room breaks into applause that startles her almost like the booming speaker earlier, she was so keyed up.

Harry steps forward, accepting the award with a brief nod and an even expression that doesn't become a smile even when cameras flash from the front of the room and people start cheering and whistling.

YN stops near the back wall with an empty tray tucked against her hip, she should be getting drinks but she's telling herself that she wants to make sure that the stain isn't super visible.

It's a lie though, she's watching because she can't help it.

Harry rests one hand on the podium, gripping the edge, and his rings glimmer in the light.

When he begins speaking, his voice carries through the room in the same deep, slow, precise way it had in the bathroom.

“Thank you,” Harry says, his tone smooth as he looks out across the crowd, “It’s an honor to be recognized tonight though the recognition belongs more to the organizations doing the work every day than it does to me for supporting them.”

YN’s brows pull together slightly because she had expected him to sound much more arrogant.

Instead, he sounds formal and detached but not smug.

He speaks about the charities directly, naming programs, initiatives, accomplishments, new goals, and people who made it possible rather than spending the whole speech talking about himself.

YN finds herself listening despite the fact that she had already decided earlier that three million pounds was the least he could do.

It still is, probably.

YN shifts the tray against her hip, watching as Harry pauses while the audience applauds again, his eyes move over the crowd without really settling on anyone.

For a second, she wonders if he is looking for her.

The thought makes her feel so stupid because there is no reason this man to search a room for the waitress who ruined his shirt and then had a nervous breakdown because of it while trying to act like she didn't.

Then his gaze passes near the back of the room and even though she is too far away to know for sure, YN feels a strange little jolt in her chest before quickly looking down at the tray like that will somehow make her not visible.

She finally moves back to her job, she's waiting on a new tray of drinks, when two women sit at the bar stools closest to her, and they snap their fingers for the bartender to come over for an order.

“He looks so fucking good tonight,” One of them says but it almost seems like she's angry about it.

The other woman gives a quiet, bitter laugh,“He always looks good. That's why he can get away with his bullshit."

YN keeps her eyes lowered because she didn't want them to think she was listening, even though she totally was, her attention is on them because there is something about their tone that doesn't sound like the usual fangirling she's used to hearing, it sounds like these girls know him.

She glances up just enough to see them properly.

They are both so fucking pretty that makes YN feel very aware of the damp spots on her cheap dress again, they have perfect hair, expensive, glimmering jewelry, heels that probably cost more than YN’s textbooks, and confidence.

One of them, a blonde woman in a sleek red dress, watches Harry at the podium with a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

“He’s such an fucking prick,” The blonde murmurs, lifting her new drink to her mouth. “Like such a prick that I don't even know if he many makes up for it.”

The brunette beside her hums in agreement, shaking her head with a laugh, “That's why he can act that way, is he knows that he doesn't need anyone, he just uses and then disposes.”

YN shifts slightly, pretending to organize napkins and straws because she knows she shouldn't be listening but now she's entranced.

The blonde laughs quietly but not with humor, “He'll always have girls at his disposal. He'll never run dry, that's why he doesn't have to bother to be halfway decent to them."

YN’s hand pauses over the napkins.

The brunette glances around, then lowers her voice further, which only makes YN listen harder, “You mean the models?”

“I mean everyone,” The blonde replies with a stern look, “Models, actresses, influencers, whoever he feels like fucking. He lets people think that he's interested in getting to know them, sleep with them, and then won't ever acknowledge them again."

YN’s stomach twists with a discomfort she doesn't expect because she doesn't know Harry and has absolutely no reason to defend him but the accusation still feels strange when she thinks about who had just stood half-naked in a bathroom and told her not to worry about a shirt she could never afford.

But also he wasn't trying to fuck her.

The brunette takes another sip of her drink, her mouth twisting sourly as Harry thanks the room and begins to step away from the podium, “Everyone claps because he writes checks but I promise you, he doesn't do anything unless it benefits him.”

“I feel sorry for the next girl who falls for it. Who thinks that Harry will want to marry her, knock her up,” The brunette says, almost bored now, "She’ll think she’s special but it won't take long.”

The blonde laughs softly, "There's no stopping a selfish, power-hungry asshole like him."

She knows she shouldn’t care.

She knows, realistically, that she doesn’t know Harry beyond the worst ten minutes of her entire shift, and even that is generous because most of those ten minutes had involved her panicking, babbling, touching him without permission, and making his shirt worse while he stood there like some statue with abs.

Before hearing those women talk, YN had been willing to consider the small possibility that his silence in the bathroom had been shock or mindfulness, maybe even some weird version of kindness because he didn’t yell at her and didn’t drag her manager into the disaster.

Now, she can’t stop replaying the whole thing differently.

The way he had stared at her while she scrubbed sugar into his shirt feels worse now because at the time she had been so frantic that she couldn’t make sense of it but after hearing those women call him a user and an asshole, it becomes very easy to believe that he had stood there quietly because he enjoyed having that much control over a situation.

YN presses her lips together and forces herself to straighten the napkins she has already straightened too many times.

She thinks about the moment she offered to pay him back, how ridiculous she must have sounded telling a billionaire she could cover the cost in installments, and suddenly the way his lips had turned down doesn’t feel like confusion anymore.

It feels like judgment.

It feels like he had been looking at her and thinking exactly what she already feared he was thinking, that she was poor, frantic, unprofessional.

Of course he hadn’t cared about the shirt.

Why would he?

The cost probably meant nothing to him and maybe that was exactly why he could stand there so fucking calm while she hyperventilated over it.

YN glances toward the stage again before she can stop herself, and Harry is no longer at the podium, but he is still surrounded by people near the front of the room, accepting handshakes and brief conversations with the same closed-off expression that gives nothing away.

It annoys her more than it should because she can still feel the sticky remnants of the drink drying on her skin, her feet are aching from the cheap heels, and her hear still isn't beating quite right.

The women keep talking beside her but YN stops listening before she catches anything else that only makes everything worse.

She doesn't need to know more.

She does not need to stand there finding more and more reasons to feel embarrassed, angry, and stupid for having even thought that maybe he was kinder than she originally thought.

YN reaches for a tray when the bartender slides it toward her and she lifts it with both hands, maybe sure she has a good grip and she's paying attention to where she's going.

She just needs to get throught this shift.

She doesn’t expect Harry to seek her out.

The event is coming to an end and Harry has spent the last hour making his rounds through the party with the same posture and closed-off expression he had since he walked in, moving from one group of important people to the next without ever looking like he is actually enjoying any of it.

He doesn't even try.

Each time YN looks at him, which is more often than she wants to admit, he is not smiling, not laughing, not looking engaged in conversations the way everyone else is.

He looks exactly like what those women had said he was… cold, untouchable, used to people coming to him, and not having to give much effort back at all.

YN tries not to pay attention to him after that, mostly because she is annoyed for wanting to keep looking at him.

She is standing near the bar waiting for another tray when Harry makes his way over and even before he sits, she can feel him there in the way her body reacts with sudden awareness, her shoulders go tight and her grip clutches around the edge of the tray she is already holding.

He settles onto one of the stools that was only a few feet away from her, followed by a few men in suits who clearly want his attention, and YN can see him out of the corner of her eye as he reaches for whatever drink the bartender slides in front of him.

She refuses to look at him.

She has no idea if he has come over to finally give her shit about the shirt now that his speech is over or if he is going to make some rude joke with the men around him about the waitress who dragged him into a bathroom and ruined custom Gucci with sugar packets.

YN makes the mistake of sneaking a glance at him.

He is already looking at her.

Fuck.

Harry’s eyes hold hers for a second and there is nothing obviously mocking in his expression, nothing smug or mean in the way he is watching her but that almost makes it worse because he is still so difficult to read that YN immediately becomes more tense than she just was.

“So, YN,” Harry says, casual as ever, his voice low and smooth as he lifts his glass and takes a small sip, she's surprised that he remembered her name, “What are you doing after your shift is over?”

YN stares at him for half a second because she genuinely thinks she must have heard him wrong then the offer settles in or at least the offer she assumes he's trying to give her, and she's in fucking disbelief.

Really?

That is his ploy?

He is going to sit there after the night she has had, after the ruined shirt and the bathroom and the women at the bar talking about how he uses people, and he is going to see if she will be starstruck enough by his attention to go home with him?

YN hadn’t thought for a second that she would ever be faced with this type of interaction from someone like him because she is not wearing a beautiful dress, expensive heels, dazzling jewelry, or any of the things there other women in here have.

The idea that Harry could look at her in this exact state and decide she might be convenient enough to entertain him for the night makes her feel more insulted than complimented.

Maybe she is assuming the worst because of what she overheard but the women’s voices are still too fresh in her head.

YN feels her jaw tighten but she keeps her expression mostly calm because she refuses to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered again.

“I’m going home and sleeping,” YN tells him bluntly, her voice even as she shifts the empty tray against her hip.

For the first time all night, Harry actually looks caught off guard.

It is subtle because of course it is but YN sees the way his brows lift slightly and the way his hand pauses around his glass, and it makes her feel a bit better than she almost got him to break.

Almost.

YN does laugh lightly, it is entertaining, “Let me guess, you don’t get turned down often?”

Harry’s eyes narrow slightly, not in anger really but in confusion as if he had no idea, why on earth she would turn him down.

YN keeps going before he can answer because now that she has started, her mouth is moving in the same reckless way that got him dragged into the bathroom earlier, “I’m not agreeing to a date because you have money.”

Harry’s face shifts again and YN cannot tell whether he is offended, amused, or just confused by the fact that she is speaking to him like this while wearing a cheap, stained dress and falling apart heels.

Honestly, she doesn't care what he thinks.

She has spent the entire night caring too much about what he might do, what he might say and she's tired of it.

The bartender slides her full tray toward her and YN takes it, adjusting it before giving Harry one last polite, completely fake smile.

YN is aware, on some level, that he wouldn’t have liked it, that he wouldn’t have appreciated her stepping in, taking control of the situation, and refusing to be spoken down to but in her mind, it should have ended there.

It didn’t need to become anything bigger because the reality is, she doesn’t have the time or energy to get pulled into some ongoing back-and-forth with the business next door.

Not when she’s already juggling everything that comes with running a gym.

-

She doesn’t recognize it as retaliation, not at first.

It starts on a Saturday night with obnoxiously loud music.

It’s her Saturday night yoga class, the one she had branded Baddie’s Wind Down Yoga, scheduled at eight-thirty in the evening when  people are looking for somewhere to relax rather than strain themselves with a high intensity workout.

It is the last class of the night.

The studio is dim fairy lights strung along the mirrors, neon signs hum in the background, their pink light reflecting faintly across the polished floors giving such a fucking badass vibe but peaceful.

Everything about the space is with the purpose to make her clients feel calm and safe.

Soft, twinkling music flows through the speakers and YN’s voice has shifted to match it, quieter, more intentional, guiding rather than pushing them to the limit.

“Go ahead and focus that grounding sensation through your palms,” She murmurs as she moves slowly at the front of the room, demonstrating the move with ease, “Now breathe through the tension, imagine it exiting you, and nothing but peace fills you.”

Around her, the room follows.

Mats lined up in neat rows so all of them can fit, women moving in sync at their own pace, some perfectly hitting the angles, others modifying in ways that suit their bodies, and that’s exactly how she wants it.

It’s one of her favorite classes to teach because this is what she built the gym for, not just the strength but the quiet moments too.

She’s in the middle of guiding them into downward dog, her hands pressing into her mat as she lifts her hips and continues speaking softly, when the change happens so abruptly it feels disorienting.

At first, it’s subtle.

A faint vibration under her palms.

Then it builds.

The walls don’t just hum, they fucking shake, a deep, rattling that runs through the literal structure of the building, at least it feels that way in the moment, almost like an earthquake within.

And then the music hits.

Loud.

Heavy metal explodes through the walls, AC/DC blasting at a volume that’s atrocious, the noise of guitars and pounding drums tearing straight through the soft atmosphere she had created.

It drowns out everything else.

Several of the women physically startle, shoulders jumping, balance breaking as they come out of their poses, eyes darting around the room in confusion as the noise continues to stay unrelenting.

YN straightens slowly, her jaw tightening as she tries to speak over it, but it’s pointless.

She raises her voice slightly, tries to regain the sense of the room but even she can’t even fucking hear herself.

It’s impossible to ignore.

And the worst part is the way it shifts the entire energy of the room in seconds.

The calm is gone, replaced with distraction, tension, and frustration.

YN exhales sharply through her nose, pushing back up to standing as her eyes flick toward the back of the room where Daisy is sitting, her laptop balanced on her thighs while she works through scheduling and admin tasks during the class.

Their eyes meet immediately.

YN mouths, “Take over?”

There’s no hesitation.

Daisy nods, already closing her laptop and setting it aside as she pushes herself up from her seat.

She steps forward, her voice moving into instructor mode as she picks up right where YN left off, grounding the class again with a calm that she does well.

“Alright,” Daisy says loudly but trying to be soft about it, offering a small reassuring smile as she walks between the mats to the front of the room, “Let’s come back into it together, don’t worry about the noise, just focus on your breathing.”

YN watches her for half a second longer, just long enough to make sure the class is good.

Which is exactly why she allows herself to turn on her heel, irritation already simmering in her chest as she heads for the door, shoving her feet into her slides.

YN was already slick with sweat by the time the music had started because she had spent the entire day moving from one session to the next, teaching, correcting, and encouraging while she finished onboarding instructors who wouldn’t officially take over their schedules until the following week.

There’s a dull exhaustion sitting in her bones, the kind that builds over the course of a long day, and while she would normally have the patience to brush something like this off, handle it with much more professionalism, she can’t promise it.

Even then, she doesn’t immediately jump to assuming the worst, doesn’t know there’s a target on her back because in her mind this is still just an inconvenience, something annoying but fixable.

Something she can walk next door, address, and then return to her class without it turning into anything bigger because they just weren’t self-aware that she had a class going on this late.

Right up until the moment she steps through their front doors.

There are three men gathered around the reception desk when she steps inside and the first thing that strikes is the fact that there is no one else there at all, no clients waiting, no one being worked on, nothing that suggests that this music was necessary at the moment, there was no party, no gathering, nothing.

The second the door shuts behind her, all three of their heads turn toward her in unison, and it’s too immediate to be coincidence, which is when something shifts in her understanding of the situation because it stops feeling accidental and starts feeling intentional.

Quiff is exactly where she expects him to be, leaning back against the counter with an ease that is pure arrogance, his posture casual and aloof, and even without the cigarette in his hand now, there’s still that same smug expression sitting on his face like he hasn’t stopped thinking about their last interaction.

To his left, a blonde stands with his arms crossed over his chest, tracking her with his sharp blue eyes, with interest like he’s waiting to see how this plays out.

The third one, the brunette with long hair brushing his shoulders, is perched casually on the edge of the counter, and it feels like a set-up.

The music inside is overwhelming in a way that makes it immediately clear just how intentional this is because if it had been loud next door, in here it’s almost unbearable.

The bass hitting hard enough to rattle through her while AC/DC blasts through every speaker they own, filling every inch of the space with noise that isn’t anywhere close to being enjoyable or functional.

There’s nothing to justify it.

No work.

No reason for it to be this loud other than to make a point.

YN has to step further inside just to be heard, the sound forcing her closer, and as she does, she becomes more aware of the way they’re looking at her, not with surprise, not with irritation but with something far more sinister.

They’re smiling but it’s not friendly nor welcoming.

The kind of smirks that make it obvious they expected her to walk in, that they were counting on it, that whatever this is was meant to prove something to her even if she didn’t know what it was.

Quiff is the one who speaks first, raising his voice just enough to cut through the noise, his eyes dragging slowly over her like before, crude and objectified but not like he’s really checking her out, it’s more to piss her off.

“Sweetheart,” He calls out, the word dripping with fake politeness that does not even tries to hide the condescension, “The mall or boba shop or whatever the fuck you’re lookin’ for isn’t in here, run along.”

The other two don’t hesitate, their laughter breaking out immediately, obnoxious and feeding off each other in a way that makes it feel like it was something they agreed upon, to say something just disrespectful enough to get under her skin, and then to sit back and enjoy the reaction.

“Turn it down,” YN says, her voice curt, her arms crossing tightly over her chest as she plants her feet and holds her ground to show that she means business.

The blonde tilts his head like he’s confused, his mouth pulling into a larger smirk as he leans forward slightly, cupping a hand to his ear in a mocking gesture.

“What was that?” He calls back over the music, his tone exaggerated,“Turn it up? S’as loud as it can go, doll.”

The other two snort at that and YN can feel her patience thinning further, the irritation changing into something more serious as she keeps her focus locked on the douches in front of her.

“Turn it down,” YN repeats, slower this time, each word deliberate as she grits her teeth, her gaze settling almost entirely on quiff because she already knows this started with him and she has no interest in playing games with the others.

Quiff doesn’t move.

“Nah,” He says finally, his voice nonchalant like it was a polite request and not a demand, “Don’t think I will.”

YN’s eyes flick briefly to the breast pocket of his jacket, catching sight of the cigarette pack tucked there like a reminder of their first interaction.

Then he pushes it further.

Of course he does.

“How’s your baddie’s yoga?” He adds, his tone shifting into conversation, he’s making fun of it, she can tell, “They like meditating to Highway to Hell?”

The blonde laughs again at that, louder this time and YN can feel the final piece of patience completely disappear.

YN’s gaze flicks briefly over her shoulder, following the direction of their gaze toward the front windows where the sign outside advertises the class, the words Wind Down Baddies Yoga are written in chalk, and for a second it almost feels fucking absurd that something meant to be helpful to women was being weaponized.

“I have a group of women who’ve done nothing to you,” YN says, each word steady and even despite the tension in her chest, “Who are trying to relax and exercise in the space that they pay for.”

Her eyes move between them, holding each of their gazes in turn without backing down.

“You’re being fucking assholes.”

The shift is immediate.

The smirks disappear,  the humor draining out of the room as the insult lands because it’s no longer playful or just for a reaction, it’s direct, and it’s accurate.

Quiff straightens slightly from where he’s leaning, his expression tightening as whatever amusement he had is replaced with something colder.

“Fuck off,” He says, no smile left in his voice now, the words flat and sharp in a way that makes it clear he’s done pretending this is anything but tension and hostility that wasn’t necessary in the first place.

“Gladly,” YN replies just as easily, one brow lifting in a small.

She turns without hesitation, already moving for the door before any of them can decide to push it further, and she can feel their eyes on her back as she leaves, clearly surprised that she didn’t put up more of a fight.

The moment she steps back into her own space, she goes for  something far more calculated than a stupid reaction as she heads straight for the front desk.

She picks up her phone and calls the police, reporting a noise disturbance with utter calmness because technically they’re in violation, it’s past eight in a residential-heavy block, and they’re disrupting neighboring businesses.

It’s handled in minutes.

And when she looks up through the front windows of her gym not long after, she sees the flashing lights of a cop car pulling up outside, watches as two officers step out and make their way into the shop next door.

The music cuts almost instantly.

Gone.

The silence that follows feels almost alarming after how loud it had been, it makes her take a deep breathe out.

Who the fuck won?

YN doesn’t need to think about it.

She did.

And she knows that because a few minutes later, when she’s closing up for the night and the last of her clients have filtered out, leaving the space quiet and settled again, she catches movement through the front windows as the three of them walk past on the sidewalk outside.

All three of them glance in at the same time, their eyes finding her.

There’s no hesitation.

No attempt to pretend otherwise.

Each of them lifts a hand in unison and flips her off through the glass.

YN just stands there behind the counter, completely still for a beat as she watches them, and instead of getting angry.

She smiles.

The kind of smile that doesn’t waver even as she lifts her hand, blowing them a kiss through the window in a exaggerated motion.

And it lands exactly the way she wants it to.

Because she knows, without a doubt, that pisses them off further.

-

YN doesn’t think much of it when she brings all of the petty bullshit up to her friend because it comes out more like gossip than anything serious.

Her friend had mentioned having an appointment coming up at the tattoo shop next door, and that’s when the connection had clicked for YN, when she realized exactly who she was talking about, and she had said his name without much thought, Zayn, the same guy who had been standing outside her door with a cigarette like he owned the sidewalk.

There’s a subtle shift in her friend’s tone when she pieces it together, a pause that lingers just a second longer than it should before she starts asking questions, and YN answers them honestly without embellishing or pushing any sort of agenda, because despite everything, she isn’t the kind of person who would try to interfere with someone else’s decision like that.

Zayn does good work, and she knows that well enough to admit it even if she can’t stand him as a person, so she doesn’t tell her friend to cancel, doesn’t suggest she go somewhere else, and doesn’t try to influence her at all beyond simply explaining what had happened.

Because of that, it doesn’t even cross her mind that it could circle back to her.

So when her friend texts her a day or two later saying she canceled the appointment, YN doesn’t connect it to anything beyond her friend making her own decision, and she leaves it at that without giving it a second thought.

Which is exactly why she’s caught off guard when it comes back to her anyway.

She’s sitting behind the front desk of her gym later that week, her laptop open as she works through scheduling, answering membership inquiries, and trying to stay ahead of the constant stream of small responsibilities that come with running a business that is growing faster than she expected.

Zayn doesn’t hesitate when he comes through the doors, walking straight up to the desk where she’s sitting.

His tattooed hands come down flat against the counter as he leans forward just enough to crowd her space without touching her.

His jaw is tight, his expression rid of the amusement he wore before, and his eyes are fixed on her in a way that makes it clear this isn’t a joke.

“You just cost me thirty-five hundred fuckin’ dollars,” Zayn accuses her with a harshness that she hadn’t heard before, “Your friend cancelled her appointment from you runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth.”

“I didn’t do anything,” YN replies dismissive, unbothered as she sits back and crosses her arms, “I didn’t tell her not to go, I didn’t tell her to cancel, and I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Her gaze holds his without wavering, direct in a way that makes it clear she’s not backing down from it.

“However,” She continues, tilting her head just slightly, “She heard about your atrocious behavior and decided she didn’t want to get tattooed by a prick, which I totally support as a decision.”

There’s a brief pause, just long enough for the words to settle before she adds.

“Also, I’ve seen your work,” YN says, her mouth curving faintly in something that isn’t quite a smile, its revenge, “You’re way overpriced for your level of skill.”

It’s a lie.

But she doesn’t care, because the reaction is immediate, his face tightening, irritation flashing into something worse as the insult hits his ego instead of surface level like the rest had been.

It was personal.

“You better fuckin’ chill,” Zayn tells her, his voice dropping lower as the frustration starts to bleed through heavier,  it clear that he clearly doesn’t get pushback like this often which is well due apparently.

YN lifts a brow at that, the expression unimpressed as her posture is still relaxed even as the tension between them continues to build.

“That’s wild,” She replies, her voice dry and with disbelief, “Coming from the instigator of all of this.”

Her gaze narrows as she leans closer to him, showing him that she’s not intimidated by the way he invaded her space.

“All because I asked you not to blow smoke in my clients’ faces,” YN adds with a laugh,, “Which is a pretty reasonable request, if you ask me.”

But before Zayn can respond, movement catches YN’s attention from the side.

Daisy steps out of one of the classrooms, making her way toward the front, and YN immediately notices the way her sister is favoring her leg more than usual.

The normally slight limp is more pronounced after a full day of teaching, her posture tighter as she holds herself to avoid more pain, more careful with each step as the strain of the day shows.

Zayn’s attention shifts the second Daisy steps into view, and it isn’t subtle because even in the middle of an argument, even with the tension still thick between him and YN, his focus drags away from the confrontation and lands on her twin sister.

Daisy freezes slightly when their eyes meet and there’s that flicker of uncertainty in her expression that YN has seen a hundred times before, the quiet hesitation that comes from years of being looked at for the wrong reasons.

Daisy looks away first.

Her gaze dropping to the floor because even though she struggles with confidence in social situations on a normal day, the added pressure of being looked at by someone, however unwillingly YN will admit it, attractive like Zayn, her instinct is to retreat.

YN’s protectiveness flares instantly because she also sees the way Zayn’s expression changes, the irritation from their argument changing to something more curious, more interesting.

“Get out,” YN says, her voice cutting through the moment before he can open his mouth, the words firm as she shifts slightly, positioning herself just enough to pull his attention back to her instead.

Zayn’s brows pull together, the interruption catching him off guard as he glances between YN and Daisy, clearly not expecting to be shut down mid-thought, and definitely making the connection that they look alike.

“Can I not introduce—” He starts, his tone laced with annoyance, his gaze moving back to Daisy like he can’t help it.

YN doesn’t give him the space to finish.

“Get out, bye,” She cuts in immediately, sharper this time, leaving no room for questioning, her gaze locking onto his with a warning that makes it clear she isn’t asking.

He straightens slightly, pushing off the counter as he takes a step back but not before his eyes flick toward Daisy one more time, a small nod in her direction, acknowledging her presence despite the interruption.

Daisy offers a quick, almost shy smile in return, her eyes darting away again just as fast, the interaction brief but enough to make YN’s jaw tighten.

Then he’s gone.

“Was that the quiff guy?” Daisy asks after a moment, her voice soft with curiosity as she watches through the window while he disappears down the sidewalk.

“Yep,” YN replies, her tone still tense as she leans back, “One of the pricks.”

She exhales quietly, shaking her head once.

“I think he’s the ring leader of it all,” She adds, her gaze following Daisy briefly before returning to her, more serious now, “Just let me handle him, okay?”

There’s a protective firmness in her voice, something that doesn’t leave much room for argument.

-

YN handles it on her own, choosing not to cause a scene because in her mind, running next door to complain to the owner every time something happens would make her look petty and unprofessional in a way she refuses to be.

So she just deals with it.

The small, irritating disruptions that never quite turn into something she can act on again after the first incident but happen often enough that she’s getting used to it like a part of an unfortunate routine.

It doesn’t damage her business in any way besides causing her stress.

Stress on top of what it’s already like to run a business that was growing faster than she could keep a hold of.

So what bothers her is not the impact, it’s the intent because after a few weeks of this, she starts to recognize that it isn’t random at all, and once she notices it, she can’t unsee it.

The bullshit only happens when the old vintage Mustang isn’t parked out front.

At first, it feels like coincidence, something she notices in passing without attaching too much to it but it does become clear that the timing is purposeful, that the behavior happens depending on whether or not their boss is there.

Which tells her two things.

First, that they know exactly what they’re doing.

And second, that they don’t want him seeing it.

She doesn’t think he’s involved, not directly, because if he were, there wouldn’t be any reason for them to wait until he’s gone.

But she’s yet to even lay eyes on the owner.

Still, she hears about him.

Constantly.

From clients, from conversations that carry through her space while girls warm up, from whispers about how they’d love to get a glance of him through the window but they’ve had no luck.

Harry.

The way people talk about him like he’s a celebrity, maybe he is but it’s surface level, based on his skill and not personality, it seems because no one describes him as friendly or approachable.

Instead the details are always the same, repeated in different ways by different people.

You can’t schedule with him.

His books are permanently closed.

If you somehow get in, the price is astronomical.

If you don’t let him do an original piece, he won’t ink you.

He keeps to himself, works, and leaves, it’s business and that’s it.

YN builds an image of him without ever seeing him.

It forms gradually by the way people describe him.

In her mind, he has to be older, not just older, but set in his ways in the kind of way that comes with time and success, the kind of man who has built something and now feels like he has nothing left to prove.

And while part of her wants to go next door and have a direct conversation about his employees, to lay it out clearly and put an end to it in one clean discussion, there is another part of her that hesitates.

Because everything about what she has heard suggests that his shop runs with a protectiveness that YN understands but it seems unreasonable, no room for feedback.

It feels like a boy’s club.

And she has a strong suspicion that walking into that shop would not end with her being taken seriously but rather with her being dismissed before she even finishes speaking.

Especially if the man at the center of it all is exactly who she imagines him to be, someone from a generation far away from her own who built his success in a time where women owning businesses like hers were not only uncommon but not respected.

So she doesn’t go because she doesn’t want to have a conversation with some old man in their sixties, seventies, hell maybe even eighties.

-

Even though she refuses to engage with Zayn and the others, the situation doesn’t actually stop.

What makes it worse is how one-sided it is, how she has made a purposeful effort not to retaliate or play into whatever game they’re playing even after calling the police that night and even after her friend canceled that appointment, choosing instead to focus on her business and keep things professional.

There are mornings where she finds cigarette butts scattered right outside her front door like someone made a point to flick them there instead of a trash can.

Afternoons where the music suddenly is blasting during her quieter classes just long enough to throw off the vibes before it's silent.

Days where her board sign gets randomly kicked over or turned backwards.

Even deliveries that end up delayed or misplaced because someone “accidentally” directed them to the wrong door.

None of it is big enough on its own to make a formal complaint again.

But it’s exhausting.

-

The breaking point comes though it lands on a day where she already has nothing left to give, where every ounce of patience was gone by the end of this day because of how chaotic things have been.

One of her instructors had called out sick, which meant YN had stepped in to cover more classes than she was supposed to, moving nonstop from one session to the next without a real break, and many other owner responsibilities to do after the last class was over.

Her merch delivery, which she had been waiting on for days, hadn’t shown up when it was supposed to, throwing off her plans for restocking and throwing her normal routine off when it comes in.

It’s ten at night when she gets the notification that the delivery has finally arrived.

She’s already exhausted as she makes her way toward the back of the building, expecting to get the boxes inside so she doesn’t have to worry about them overnight but the moment she tries to open the back door, it doesn’t budge.

At first, she assumes it’s stuck, that the lock is catching but when she tries again, harder this time, the door doesn’t move at all, the resistance is unmovable in a way that immediately tells her something is wrong.

Her jaw tightens because now she has to go outside, walk around the building, and deal with it instead of just being done for the night.

The second she rounds the corner into the alleywall, she sees it.

An old junky but massive air compressor placed directly in front of her back door, completely blocked her back door.

For a second, she just stands there, staring at it, the exhaustion in her body mixing with something that makes her want to cry, not because she’s upset but because she’s so fucking over these pricks.

This was intentional.

And this time, she’s not letting it go.

There is no way to open the door even an inch, which leaves her with the option of hauling everything around to the front of the building, something that feels almost impossible with how exhausted she is after the kind of day she’s had.

So she turns back, already done with the situation, and makes her way around the building again.

When she reaches the front, her eyes catch on something that makes her stop just slightly.

The vintage Mustang is still parked out front.

Which means he’s there.

Harry.

The one person she has avoided involving in all of this.

And suddenly, it doesn’t fucking  matter anymore.

Fuck professionalism because whatever she had been trying to maintain, it’s gone now, replaced by a burning anger that has been building for so long now.

She doesn’t care how she looks, doesn’t care that she’s still in tiny biker shorts and a sports bra, her hair pulled up messily from the long day, her skin still sweaty from hours of teaching.

All she cares about is ending this.

So when she reaches the door of Inked By Sin, she doesn’t pause.

She pushes it open harder than necessary, the force of it sending it swinging inward roughly as she steps inside.

This time, the place isn’t loud, it’s calm, almost empty, and there’s only one person inside.

He’s sitting behind the reception desk, his posture relaxed as he looks at something on the computer in front of him.

At first glance, YN immediately dismisses the idea that this could be him because he doesn’t match the image she had built in her head.

He isn’t old, at least in the way she expected.

There’s age there, yet but it doesn’t place him anywhere near what she had imagined because he looks like he’s in his forties at most, maybe even late thirties, which is younger than the version of him she had been preparing herself to confront.

One of the only things that gives away his age is the silver threaded through his hair, more concentrated at his temples with his cropped brunette hair, the dark contrast making it more obvious.

Every inch of visible skin is covered in ink, dark and intense, the tattoos not scattered randomly but placed in perfect alignment, wrapping around his arms and disappearing beneath the sleeves of his plain black shirt.

He doesn’t acknowledge her right away, doesn’t glance up when the door shuts harder than it should, and doesn’t react to her presence. 

He just keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him, one hand resting on the desk, the other moving the mouse with slow, unhurried clicks like whatever he’s doing matters more than whoever just walked in.

And somehow, that’s more irritating than if he had snapped at her immediately because it feels dismissive like she doesn’t even register as worth his attention.

When he finally speaks, it’s without looking at her, his voice cutting through the quiet of the shop, low and harsh with authority but not necessarily loud.

“Read the sign,” He says, each word slow  like he’s speaking to someone who should already know better, “It says we’re fuckin’ closed.”

There’s no attempt to understand why she’s there.

YN stands there for a second, her irritation hot under her skin but now layered with something else, this has to be Harry.

And she can see why his employees act the way they do.

Because if this is the standard they’re working under, if this is the man they’re trained by, then of course they think they can get away with whatever they want because the energy coming off him is the same kind of dismissive arrogance.

It’s just calmer, more controlled, and somehow more intimidating because of it.

“I don’t give a fuck what it says,” YN shoots back, the words coming fast and unfiltered, her stance firm where she stands just inside the door.

That’s what finally gets his attention.

His hand stills on the mouse, the smallest pause before his eyes flick up to her for the first time.

He doesn’t jerk his head up but gaze just lifts lazily, landing on her face first before it drags lower in a sweep that takes in the rest of her without shame, not in the same crude way his employees had looked at her but still, it made her antsy.

There’s the faintest tilt to his mouth, barely there, the corner lifting just enough to suggest amusement, and the lines at the corners of his eyes deepen slightly with it, the crow’s feet showing in the low light in a way that makes it obvious he isn’t as young as she first clocked but not nearly as old as she expected either.

Fuck.

YN hates that he’s hot.

He pushes his chair back with a quiet scrape against the floor before standing.

He’s taller than she expected, broader, too, and then he crosses his arms over his chest, and it’s not defensive.

It’s relaxed.

It’s fucking relaxed.

“Ah,” He drawls, his voice was raspy, his head tilting slightly as his eyes settle back on her face, “You must be the entitled little thing from next door.”

YN’s stance straightens further, he seems curious or interested in her now like she was something that he’d been waiting to observe.

“I was wonderin’ when you would come over here,” He continues, still fucking smiling with one side of his lips,“Poutin’ about something.”

And the way he says it, the way his gaze stays locked on her without wavering, makes it clear he’s not bothered by her attitude at all.

If anything, he looks… entertained.

“Are you fucking joking?” YN fires back as she plants herself more firmly just inside the doorway, her stance widening slightly, her body angled toward him in a way that makes it clear she has no intention of backing down.

He doesn’t meet her energy and that’s what makes it worse.

Instead of reacting, instead of snapping back or rising to match her tone, he lets out a low, absent hum as his attention drops away from her entirely, his gaze shifting down to the paper on the desk like she’s already lost his interest before the argument has even properly started.

His fingers adjust the edge of the paper, straightening it as if that matters more than what she just said, and for a second it feels like she’s been dismissed without even being acknowledged.

Then his eyes lift again.

“I have better things to do,” He says, his voice still low, but now it’s something colder, something more cutting, “Then argue with a brat.”

“Move your fucking air compressor,” YN says, the words coming out clipped but surprisingly steady.

For the first time, there’s a shift in his expression.

“What are you talking about?” Harry replies, and there’s no sarcasm in it, just a straightforward question that sounds genuine.

“Your employee, who clearly shares one brain cell with the rest of them, dragged your junk machine in front of my back exit instead of your own dumpster,” YN grits out, trying to reel herself back in but his demeanor makes it nearly impossible.

Harry doesn’t react the way she expects him to.

“Why all the attitude?” He asks, his tone still level, it sounds like he’s talking to a fucking child, “My guys wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

YN lets out a sharp exhale, her hands dropping away from her arms and lifting briefly in the air in a gesture of disbelief, her head tipping back for half a second like she needs a moment to stop herself from saying something worse.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

It’s exactly what she expected the second he opened his mouth.

She shouldn’t be surprised.

“Whatever,” YN mutters, the word carrying more frustration than anything, already deciding that this is a waste of her time, that arguing with him is only going to drag this out longer when she could just figure something else out and be done with it.

She takes a step toward the door.

“Wait.”

It’s sharper this time.

“I didn’t fucking say I wouldn’t fix the issue,” Harry continues, pushing off from where he’s standing behind the desk, “All the drama is unnecessary.”

YN just continues to glare at him, biting her tongue.

“Are you a year out of high school or somethin’. Could have fooled me with this lil’ drama queen behavior?” He adds, of course he was going to go after her age, and not take her seriously because of it, just like she had expected him to do.

YN could play that game just as easily.

“You better call your employees to move it,” YN replies back with her own level of amusement, “Because clearly your ancient ass wouldn’t be able to move it on your own.”

She watches the exact moment his eyes narrow, the subtle tightening of his jaw, and she has to physically hold back the laughter because—

Got him.

The irony of it doesn’t escape her either because the insult isn’t even accurate, not really, not when she had already noticed the way his arms had flexed when he crossed them earlier.

He could move it.

Easily.

Which only makes the reaction she gets out of him that much more satisfying.

Her pulse ticks up, quick and sharp, and she tells herself it’s just the adrenaline, just the lingering frustration from the day and the confrontation.

Even as there’s a subtle pull low in her stomach that she immediately ignores, shoving it aside with the reminder that this man is nothing more than the same type of asshole she’s been dealing with for weeks, and that’s not fucking arousal.

“You’re insufferable,” He replies, his voice losing some of that earlier distance, the words coming out rougher now as he pushes himself fully upright, no longer relaxed, “Truly fuckin’ mean that. Can you just go out of business now so we can avoid this back and forth, princess?”

Fuck him, literally fuck him.

Her sister had never allowed it to define her or stop her from trying anything she wanted to do but YN had spent her entire life watching the way the world treated her anyway.

She spent her childhood seeing firsthand the way her experience was different from her twin sisters because her gait was different and the way she moved looked unfamiliar to others.

People constantly made assumptions before ever giving her the chance to prove herself and those assumptions followed her into nearly every aspect of her life.

When they were younger and signing up for sports through school or the community, there had always been a moment where the adults’ smiles turned polite and sympathetic the second they noticed the difference in her sister’s leg.

Their tone shifted into something overly careful (like talking to a little child) while they explained that the team “might not be the best fit” or that something like an art club would be better.

YN had learned early that those conversations usually meant her sister didn’t fight with the people who didn’t believe in her, sometimes she adapted and sometimes she just moved onto the next thing that would accept her as she is.

YN had never been willing to leave her behind which meant she lost out on a lot of things despite her sister telling her to go do them.

If her sister wasn’t invited, then neither was she, which meant the two of them spent a lot of those years building their own strong bond instead of trying to fit into other peoples ideas of what they should be doing.

Her sister eventually found weightlifting and strength training, discovering that exercise could be something empowering instead of humiliating but even that came with a different kind of struggle that YN witnessed over and over again.

There were too many nights where her sister came home frustrated or quietly angry after going to the gym, telling YN how other adults had hovered over her while she was using equipment, insisting she needed help even when she clearly didn’t.

Some people meant well but treated her like she was weak.

Others were openly dismissive, stepping in to claim machines because they assumed she wouldn’t be able to use them properly or questioning whether she was “allowed” to be doing certain lifts.

Once, she had signed up for a CrossFit class because she wanted the challenge, only to have someone casually suggest that she might be more comfortable in the senior citizens fitness class instead.

YN remembered the way her sister had shrugged it off at the time, pretending it didn’t bother her while she grabbed her bag and left early.

The moment they were alone in the car, the frustration had spilled out of her in a rush that happened when it built up - angry tears stream down her cheeks as she wishes people would just fuck off.

Her sister wasn’t the only one who dealt with that kind of treatment.

YN had started noticing it everywhere once she began paying attention, seeing how many people hesitated at the doors of gyms because they already expected to be judged, the comments, or the stares.

People who simply didn’t look like the kind of person fitness culture had decided was acceptable.

So when YN started planning her own gym, she knew from the beginning that it couldn’t just be another place with a trendy slogan about inclusivity printed on the wall but then do nothing to enforce that.

It wasn’t going to be a marketing gimmick.

The mission statement was going to be the law of the gym.

She intended to enforce it in the way the gym was run, the way classes were taught, the way members treated each other, and the way every single person who walked through the door was going to feel welcomed.

In her mind, a gym should be a place where people discovered what their bodies were able to, not spend justifying or defending why they were there in the first place.

If she could build even one space where women felt accepted, respected, and strong exactly as they were.

Well…all the risk would be worth it in the end because it wasn’t about money, it was able fulfilling a dream, and making her sister proud.

-

YN’s appearance was deceiving to anyone who only judged her by her looks.

With long, flowy waves that nearly brushed the small of her back, hair that more often than not twisted into a messy knot with a skewed scrunchy, and outfits that rarely changed because they were either biker shorts or leggings paired with a sports bra, chunky socks, and sneakers that matched some part of the outfit.

There was something bright and welcoming about her, something that made strangers expect a bubbly, overly sweet personality to match the aesthetic.

The kind of girl people imagined spent her mornings with a strict routine of coffee and reading a book, hugging everyone she met, and letting people take and take and take from her with a wide smile on her face.

And to the people who belonged to her, the ones she loved and trusted, that version of YN was absolutely real.

She was affectionate in the biggest ways, the type of person who showed up for the people she cared about without question and without keeping things even, whether that meant helping a friend move apartments, dropping everything to drive across the city at midnight when someone needed a ride from a bar, or canceling plans to support someone going through a break-up.

When someone was part of her circle, part of her people, she had a loyalty that was ferocious, and there was little she wouldn’t do to protect them or support them if they needed it, and at all costs to herself.

To anyone outside that circle, especially anyone who decided to test her patience or disrespect the her or something she cared, YN could shift in a way that caught people off guard.

There was a hardness there that people didn’t expect from someone who looked like her, a coldness in the way she spoke and held herself when someone did something she didn’t like, and once that switch flipped it became very clear that she was not someone who could be pushed around.

She had grown up watching her sister deal with people who underestimated her or treated her like she was less capable than everyone else and that experience had inked something permanent into YN’s instincts to not let bullshit slide, even the littlest things. 

She had very little tolerance for arrogance, condescension, or people who thought they were better than anyone else for any reason.

If someone approached her with kindness and basic respect, she was welcoming and easy to talk to, quick to smile and even quicker to make people feel comfortable in a new environment because she understands that it can be difficult.

But if someone decided to be rude, thoughtless, or intentionally difficult, that warmth disappeared instantly and was replaced with something a lot colder and a lot less forgiving.

-

Maybe the name of her studio was stupid.

YN had considered that more than once while she was filling out all paperwork where she had to write it again and again, ordering the signs, editing for the advertisements because she was fully aware that it wasn’t the kind of name most business consultants would recommend for a fitness studio.

The bank asked her multiple times if that’s really what she wanted to name the company.

The truth was that she didn’t really care if someone thought it sounded ridiculous or unprofessional because the point of it had never been to impress anyone in a suit or with a business degree.

She wanted every woman who walked through those doors to feel like the space belonged to them the moment they stepped inside, and she wanted the name to represent that.

Whether they were completely able-bodied or someone who moved through the world with adaptations that other people didn’t always understand, YN wanted them to walk into that gym and feel like they were allowed to take up space without apologizing for it.

The building itself wasn’t glamorous.

The gym sat on the ground floor of an old brick building with apartments stacked above it.

There was one business on either side of her storefront, and the street itself was more residential than commercial, which meant it didn’t get the kind of constant foot traffic that most city streets got.

That low-key atmosphere was exactly why the rent had been something she could actually afford in the first place.

The downside was that a location like that could easily be forgotten because it wasn’t constantly something to be interacted with or seen on normal commutes.

YN had worried about that while she was preparing to open.

Six weeks before the launch date she had started advertising online, posting on social media, putting flyers in local shops, and reaching out to different community groups that focused on women’s fitness and adaptive exercise programs.

She had hoped that maybe a handful of people would be interested.

Instead, the response had been overwhelming.

Before the doors had even officially opened, the membership list had filled completely and she had been forced to start a waitlist for anyone else who wanted to join.

The classes themselves had taken off immediately.

Her “All Bodies Welcome” programming had become the thing people talked about the most, a combination of pilates, yoga, and strength training classes that were created in a way that allowed every single movement to be adapted depending on what someone’s body needed.

Instead, the focus was on making sure everyone could challenge themselves safely and confidently rather than forcing people to pretend their bodies worked exactly the same way as everyone else’s.

And maybe the name of the gym sounded ridiculous to someone passing by on the street.

Maybe it sounded unserious.

But to the women who had already started showing up every day, laughing together during warmups and pushing themselves through workouts they never thought they would be able to do, the name had started to feel like something closer to a badge of honor.

Which was exactly why the glowing pink neon letters mounted above the door proudly read:

Bad Bitches Fitness Club.

The merch she had set up in the front of the shop had also turned out to be something of a surprise success, even though she had originally stocked it more as a fun addition rather than something she expected to make real money from.

More often than not, the shelves looked half-empty by the end of the day.

All the girls bought merch, usually walking around with at least one item of clothing on their body that read something like.

“Bad Bitch”

“Strong as Fuck”

“Sexier Than Your Wife” (That one always got a good laugh)

“Only Bad Bitches Lift Heavy”

And more.

The phrases had started as jokes when she was designing them late at night with her sister but seeing the way people reacted to them now made her realize just how important having those were to them, a symbol, a badge of pride.

Outside the gym, though, the block itself was much calmer than the energy.

On one side of her storefront was a financial advisory office that kept appointments only business hours and looked exactly like the kind of place you expected accountants and consultants to work.

On the other side was a tattoo parlor with a bold black sign above the door that read “Inked By Sin.”

She had been so consumed with opening the gym, though, that she had barely given either of the neighboring places much thought beyond noticing they existed.

Between organizing equipment deliveries, training the instructors she had hired, managing memberships, and making sure every detail of the space lived up to the vision she had spent years imagining, the past few weeks had passed in a blur.

Introducing herself to the people running the businesses next door hadn’t gotten onto her priority list.

To be fair, though, neither of them had come over to introduce themselves either.

Which meant that despite being open for nearly three weeks now, YN still had absolutely no idea who her neighbors actually were.

-

YN just happened to be wearing what had essentially become her daily uniform as a boss at the gym (which definitely wasn’t typical boss attire).

The sports bra she had thrown on that morning was black with hot pink bubble graffiti splashed across the front that read “Bad Bitch,” the lettering loud and obnoxious in the exact way she liked it.

YN had parked down the block like she usually did, leaving the closer street spots open for clients who were coming and going throughout the day who needed more accessibility than her.

The small stretch of curb directly in front of the businesses was almost always taken anyway.

There was usually a vintage Mustang parked outside the tattoo shop while a sleek Mercedes sedan almost always occupied the spot in front of the financial advisory office.

As she approached the front of her gym, already running through a mental schedule of things to do, something unusual caught her eye before she could even reach the door.

A man was leaning casually against the front glass of her studio.

He had his phone held close to his face in one hand as he scrolled while the other hand held a cigarette between two fingers that he lifted lazily to his mouth every few seconds, it looks freshly lit.

Each time he exhaled, he blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth without any thought, thick white clouds drifting and hanging in the still air right in front of the entrance of her business.

YN felt irritation spark almost immediately.

The guy definitely looked like he worked next door at the tattoo shop.

Between the nose piercings, the dark quiff of hair that had a neon green stripe running through it, and the scattered tattoos that ran up his arms, he had the exact look she associated with the artists she occasionally saw stepping in and out of the place.

A client pushed open the door of the gym to leave, the woman walked straight into the lingering cloud of cigarette smoke that had just been blown around the entrance.

The client scrunched her nose in obvious discomfort as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, waving her hand slightly through the air as if that might push the smell away.

Her eyes flicked over to YN with a small, apologetic expression that suggested she didn’t want to make a big deal about it.

YN returned the look with one of her own that clearly communicated she was sorry that it happened even though the situation had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Still, the irritation that had sparked inside her a moment ago sharpened quickly into something far less patient.

YN had learned over the years that there were different ways to deal with men who already believed they had the upper hand in a situation.

Sometimes it was easier to meet aggression with aggression.

But more often than not, she preferred a different tactic.

She started sweet.

Friendly.

Just enough sugar and charm to make them relax and assume they had control of the conversation, and if they happened to be the kind of man who liked to underestimate women based on how they looked, that only worked in her favor.

It made the moment where she dropped the sweetness and went straight for the throat that much more satisfying.

So instead of immediately snapping about the cigarette smoke drifting into the entrance of her gym and the face of her client, YN approached him with an easy smile stretched across her face.

“Hiya!” YN chirps brightly, flashing a pretty, welcoming smile as she stops directly in front of him, her posture relaxed like this is nothing more than a casual introduction, “I don't think we've met. Do you own the tattoo shop?”

The guy doesn’t rush to respond.

Instead, he slowly lowers his phone and takes his time looking up at her, his eyes dragging over her in a slow, obvious once-over that starts at her shoes, stays too long on her tits, and then he finally meets her eye.

Bingo.

YN already can’t stand him.

His brow furrows slightly, like the question itself is confusing to him.

“No?” He replies after a moment, his tone almost dismissive, looking at her like she’s a fucking idiot, “Harry Styles does?”

YN’s eyes widen in an innocent, almost dramatic way that’s completely faked.

But the truth is that she genuinely has no idea who the hell he’s talking about.

The name means absolutely nothing to her.

She doesn’t know anything about the tattoo world or the people in it, she doesn’t have any either.

So if this Harry person is supposed to be some legendary figure in the industry, it’s news to her.

“Oh, I’ve never heard of him,” YN replies easily, still keeping her voice bright and pleasant as if she’s mildly curious rather than completely uninterested.

The guy stares at her like she’s just admitted she’s never heard of electricity.

“He brought Living Realism to the East Coast twenty years ago?” He says, his tone shifting into something that sounds like he’s explaining something obvious to a child, Started tattooing when he was fourteen. Nothing ring a bell? Award winning?”

YN blinks at him, unfazed by the condescending edge seeping into his tone.

Her head tilts slightly as she considers the information like a confused puppy though the truth is she’s far more focused on the cigarette still burning between his fingers than she is about some douche she doesn’t care about.

“Why is his shop here then?” She asks casually.

The man scoffs at that, shaking his head like the question itself is stupid while he lifts the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

“This is the original shop,” He explains, exhaling another waft of smoke that drifts through the air between them.,“He’s got them all over the world now. Tokyo, Rome, Monaco, Paris.”

“All his artists are trained by him and him alone,” He continues, his tone shifting into something disgustingly close to worshipping, “Doesn’t matter if they’ve tattooed before or not, they all start under him. He doesn’t let just anyone represent his shops.”

YN just nods like she cares.

“He prefers this one as his main shop though,” The man adds, clearly proud of the fact that he gets to be there with the owner.

The exclusivity that he was making seem so amazing to him was something that she hated and was the opposite of everything that she stood for.

It does sound impressive on paper.

Plenty of people would probably be intimidated by that information of their next door neighbor.

But YN finds it difficult to feel impressed while the guy standing in front of her continues blowing thick clouds of cigarette smoke directly toward the entrance of her gym without any care of how it’s probably drifting into her studio.

And if the owner of this apparently world-famous tattoo empire surrounds himself with employees who behave like this then she’s already fairly confident she’s not going to like the man himself very much either.

“Cool,” YN says lightly, her voice polite but losing enthusiasm.

“Yeah, cool,” The guy mirrors back, it’s almost taunting like she was back in high school, and god, she really didn’t need that this morning.

His eyes slide over her chest again, staying for a beat too long before continuing lower over her stomach and the curve of her waist, making it painfully obvious he isn’t even attempting to be subtle about it.

Fucking prick.

By the time his attention finally lifts back up to her face, the damage is already done.

Still, she keeps the smile on her face because she hasn’t reached the point where she’s ready to drop the act yet.

“Well, I own the gym,” YN says, keeping her tone light and friendly as she gestures back toward the storefront behind him, “I’m YN.”

She keeps her posture relaxed though, her tone still even when she finally decides to address the thing that had irritated her in the first place.

“Can you smoke somewhere else?” YN asks, her voice neutral and calm as she gestures lightly toward the cigarette still burning between his fingers, “Maybe on the other side of your shop or in the alleyway?”

It’s a simple request.

Reasonable.

The man doesn’t react that way.

Instead, he lets out a short scoff through his nose, his mouth twisting slightly as if the suggestion annoys him, the cigarette lifting back toward his lips while he looks down at her with a faintly condescending expression and purposefully takes a drag.

“Sweetheart,” He says slowly, the word dripping with a patronizing tone that instantly makes it clear he didn’t appreciate being told what to do, “Why don’t you just focus on your little gym, mind your own business, and let me be, yeah?”

His voice carries a confidence that says he’s convinced the conversation ends there.

Bingo.

YN feels something inside her snap into place.

The friendliness evaporates so quickly it almost feels like it had never been there in the first place.

She takes one step closer to him, closing the small gap between them before he can even process what she’s doing, her hand moving quickly as she reaches forward and plucks the cigarette from between his fingers.

The guy barely has time to react.

YN drops it directly onto the sidewalk between them and grinds it out under the sole of her sneaker with a twist of her foot.

For a brief second, the guy just stares at her like he’s not quite sure he saw what he thinks he saw.

YN lifts her gaze to meet his again and there’s nothing friendly left in her expression now.

Her voice, when she speaks, is sharp and mean enough to slice  through whatever smug demeanor he had on moments earlier.

“I think you are confused,” YN says slowly like he's the idiot, her tone low but dangerous, the sweetness she had started the conversation with completely gone, “That wasn’t a request.”

She tilts her head slightly, the movement almost thoughtful even though her eyes stay locked on his.

“It was a fucking demand.”

There's silence.

Then she adds, the last word coming out with heavy emphasis.

“Sweetheart.”

The nickname lands exactly the way she intends it to.

Mocking.

Without giving him the chance to respond, YN turns smoothly on her heel, already reaching for the door handle.

She pulls it open and steps inside, letting the heavy glass door swing shut behind her with a firm thud.

And she doesn’t bother looking back.

-

“Finally figured out which one of those girls is the owner,” Zayn grunts as he pushes the door open and walks straight into Harry’s office without bothering to knock.

Harry doesn’t look up.

He stays focused on the screen of the computer in front of him, scrolling through an order.

“Riveting,” Harry replies dryly, his tone flat with disinterest.

He had a shop manager whose entire job was handling inventory and making sure the artists had what they needed,m but that didn’t mean Harry trusted anyone else to actually place his orders.

It had been that way since the beginning and even after expanding to shops across the world, Harry had never let go of the habit.

Control over the details wasn't optional.

And nobody fucked with the process he had built.

Zayn drops into the chair opposite his desk like he was invited in, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him as he shakes his head with a quiet laugh.

“Bitchy little thing,” He says, still sounding mildly entertained by the interaction, “Looks like some kinda trust fund baby or somethin’.”

Harry still doesn’t look up, his eyes scanning the order list as he adjusts something for the next shipment.

Zayn continues anyway.

“She came marching right up like she owns the block,” He adds, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth as he leans forward slightly in the chair, “Tiny cute little thing but she’s got an awful mouth on her.”

Harry exhales quietly through his nose, still unimpressed.

“Thrilling,” He mutters, clicking to the next page on the screen.

Zayn obviously wants more from so Harry sighs, squeezing the ridge of his nose.

“She’ll be like every business that’s been there before her,” Harry says, his voice edged with irritation as he keeps his attention on the screen in front of him, “A wanna-be influencer with a cute idea and no plan to actually sustain it. The vegan candle shop lasted what, four months? The kombucha place before that collapsed before the lease was even up. All those trendy bullshit businesses that look good on Instagram never last, so why do you give a fuck?”

Zayn leans back further in the chair across from his desk, “The girls who owned those shops before were nice. We didn’t have to worry about them. This one though… she’s dangerous, man. She’s gorgeous, fucking rocking body, mid to late twenties, and a horrendous fucking attitude.”

That’s the point where Harry finally stops typing.

He leans back in his chair slowly and lifts his gaze toward Zayn with a look that’s equal parts annoyance and disbelief that this conversation is still happening.

Harry tries to reason with himself, trying to get himself to be logical in this situation and understand it’s his emotions acting up because Theo is a candidate for an executive position and it is not only appropriate but a good move that he would introduce himself to YN.

She isn’t just Harry’s wife in this ballroom, she is the co-owner of the company, and even though she does not involve herself in the day-to-day of it, she still holds the same level of power and decision as he does which a lot of employees don’t consider at events like this. 

From his perspective as the owner, the CEO, there is nothing wrong about what is going on across the room, absolutely nothing that has him needing to react like this, and Harry is fully aware of that but is struggling to find the ability to logic his way out of the situation.

Nothing, not a single thought in his head is enough to calm the irritation building under his skin because no matter how he frames it, no matter how many times he reminds himself that Theo is simply doing what any smart candidate would do, Harry can’t ignore it.

When he finally always himself to really look over, Theo seems more comfortable than Harry would like to see.

He is pulling out the barstool like he was invited to take it, right next to her, and flagging the bartender over, gesturing casually toward YN’s drink even though it is still nearly full, Harry watches as YN waves him off at the offer of a refill, and it seems more than a basic introduction of names at this point.

Harry’s hand tightens slightly around the glass he is holding, he shifts his weight from one foot to another, antsy in a way he never is.

Though he keeps his demeanor put together as always to the men who were talking without realizing how disengaged he was with them, his shoulders have gone more rigid, his jaw setting to the point where his molars start to grind.

Theo leans in as he speaks, his body moving toward her with a relax body language that tells him that he feels entirely too fucking comfortable in the space of the co-owner. 

YN responds in a way that makes something in Harry’s chest pull tighter because she turns toward him, her shoulders loosening as her hand lifts to gesture while she talks, her expression open and friendly, he can see her tilt her head back and laugh.

It doesn’t allow him to come over and break it up because she doesn’t look uncomfortable, doesn’t look like she needs Harry to come over, and protect her from this man.

Harry notices all of it, the way she is interacting with Theo, the way the conversation is continuous, and what starts to bother him more than anything is that it seems like a normal conversation, not networking.

And that doesn’t fucking sit right with him, not when this is how she normally acts either because usually when any man approaches her, though she is kind, she struggles not to show how uncomfortable it will make her, especially if Harry isn’t by her side.

Harry has never struggled with jealousy before YN because there had never been a reason for him to.

As the women he had been with in the past had always been the ones pursuing him, wanting him, and he had never cared enough about any of them in return to be arsed about it, what they did outside of his presence, and there had never been any emotional attachment strong enough to make jealousy a necessary emotion for him.

He wouldn’t have cared if a woman he had slept with one night had shown up the next day with someone else because it had never been something that was important when there were no real feelings involved.

But now, as he stands there watching another man sit beside his wife and lean into her space like he has permission to do that, something unfamiliar begins to build in his chest, something uncomfortable and insistent that logic doesn’t get rid of.

The feeling twists together in a way he doesn’t fucking like, possessiveness was blurring with protectiveness and he cannot ignore the way it is making him feel as pushing it down isn’t working.

Harry had made a very intentional choice to keep their relationship as private as possible, to protect what they had from the constant scrutiny that followed him because of who he was and what he represented to a lot of people, he hadn’t wanted his relationship to be brought into that.

Hell, even bringing her into events like this had been something that he struggled with, he wanted her there, with him at all times but the idea of sharing her with anyone in this realm of his life felt wrong.

And now, watching someone else chat with her like this, in this setting, the fact that it’s this employee, it feels a little bit like he’s losing the sense of security or privacy.

He knew it was impossible to keep their relationship entirely out of the public eye, especially as who he was but Harry had always believed it could at least be someone maintained and kept on the down low.

But standing there now, he felt something uncomfortably close to a middle schooler watching his first girlfriend laugh with someone else, the reaction immature and irrational in a way he would normally have complete control over.

He wasn’t worried about YN.

Harry knew their relationship was fucking unshakeable.

And still, the feeling sat wrong with him.

Harry was not a controlling partner and he had never been the type of husband to try to tell her who she could or couldn’t speak to, he was never someone who would try to limit her interactions with other men or make rules about who she was allowed to engage with at events like this because he trusted her completely and because their relationship had never been affected by distrust or disloyalty.

It’s his own insecurities that he doesn't like to admit that he has.

At some point, he sees Theo roll up the sleeve of his dress shirt, showing off a tattoo along his forearm as he angles it toward YN, clearly explaining something about it, and YN leans in without hesitation to get a better glance at it. 

A second later she throws her head back and laughs as she sits back in her chair, shaking her head as he replies which only makes her continue to shake her head at him.

Harry’s patience doesn’t just thin, it fucking disappears entirely, snapping in a way that leaves no room for him to think about it for another minute before he’s just doing something. 

He finally stops pretending to listen to the men around him and simply walks away from the conversation mid-sentence, cutting someone off without so much as a glance and definitely not an apology.

It was the audacity of the situation.

The sheer fucking audacity of it.

That Theo thinks he can walk up to his wife and slide into her space like it is casual, like it is friendly, as if Harry does not hold his entire career in the palm of his fucking hand.

Theo acting like Harry couldn’t have him blacklisted from every serious position in this industry before the night is over if he wanted.

Harry knows that thought is unfair.

Who the fuck cares.

His jaw is tight as he moves, his stride confident, ignoring the people who attempt to grab his attention as he passes, hands reaching slightly as though they might stop him for a moment to chat but he’s moving to fast, voices starting to call out his name before quickly quietening back down when they realize he is not going to acknowledge them.

Harry does not spare any of them a glance.

He comes up directly behind YN’s barstool, close enough that his presence is felt as soon as he has arrived, his hand lifting without a moment of hesitation to rest at the nape of her neck, his fingers spreading there with deliberate touch as his thumb presses into the soft curve of her throat in a touch that is unmistakably possessive.

YN responds instinctively, her body easing back into him without thought, her head tilting slightly up to give him access as he leans down and presses a kiss to the apple of her cheek, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary, and she presses  further into the touch too because she’s so unaware of where his mind is right now.

Harry lifts his head slowly, his gaze settling on Theo over her shoulder, narrowing slightly, his expression steady but his eyes sharp in a way that he hopes makes his unhappiness known.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something,” Harry says, trying his best to keep his tone casual and unassuming.

“No,” YN responds with a smile, her body still relaxed against him in a way that helps soothe him only slightly but this wasn’t about YN, the anger was solely directed towards Theo, “I didn’t know that this was your CFO candidate that you spoke so highly of.”

Harry immediately regrets ever saying anything positive about him.

His teeth pressing together for a brief second as his hand remains firm at the back of her neck, his thumb still moving slowly along her skin to make it seem like he’s just being an attentive husband to what she’s saying.

“You two know one another?” He replies without giving himself away but his shoulders were tense enough he knew they would ache when he laid down in bed that night.

Theo answers before YN can.

“YN was the first girlfriend to cheat on me,” He says easily, his eyes bright with amusement.

Harry’s attention is caught now, not in a positive way but he’s actually taken by surprise because it doesn’t make any sense.

It doesn't match with every little piece of information that Harry had come to learn about YN.

He and YN had always been up front and open with each other about their pasts, about the kind of relationships they had been in, and infidelity had never been part of that conversation because neither one of them had ever cheated.

That can only last for a moment though because YN rolls her eyes immediately, completely unbothered as she leans her head back slightly against Harry’s shoulder, her tone dismissive as she replies, “We were in fourth grade and you considered it cheating that I sat on the bus with Caleb Alder during a field trip.”

Theo laughs at that, clearly enjoying taking the piss far more than Harry is, and he adds on like it is a necessary justification for his accusation, “You also admitted to sharing your sweets with him.”

There is an ease between them.

And Harry doesn’t fucking like it.

“Theo and I dated in fourth grade,” YN explains, her tone evening out slightly as she shifts just enough to look up at Harry, “But we also dated from junior year in high school to sophomore year of university.”

Harry’s expression does not change on the outside but something in him tightens further, trying to make all the information he knows fit but it’s hard because he also feels slightly foggy right now.

“I thought that boyfriend’s name was Jacob,” Harry says, his tone still reasonable but struggling because Theo is not a name he recalls ever hearing from her before.

“He used to go by his middle name, which is Jacob,” YN explains, which does make sense why he didn’t remember it but also, YN didn’t talk about him very often either.

“I see,” Harry replies, his expression staying completely neutral, giving nothing away even though the irritation has settled deeper into his body instead of improving.

His hand is still firm at the back of YN’s neck as his thumb drags slowly along the curve of her throat.

Harry shifts slightly, his body turning more toward Theo now, ready to fully address him, he doesn’t need anymore backstory to know that he doesn’t like Theo talking to YN.

“You knew that YN was my wife, before the interview, correct?” He asks, his tone still undeniable calm but carrying a faint accusation beneath it that is impossible to miss if you could tell he was irate.

Theo laughs.

And that only makes it worse.

“I think everyone in the world knows you two are married,” Theo says, his tone light, missing the tension, “Your wedding was on the cover of every magazine in the world.”

He continues without hesitation, clearly comfortable in a way that feels entirely out of place to Harry, “No one believes me when I say my first girlfriend married a billionaire though.”

YN rolls her eyes at that but Harry can’t find the humor, doesn’t try to.

“You didn’t mention this in your interview,” Harry points out, losing the eveness as this interaction goes on.

“I didn’t want any special treatment because I know her,” Theo replies, his tone straightforward like it was a given that he would, that he assumes that would make Harry like him?

If YN were not standing right in front of him, if this conversation were happening anywhere else, he would have scoffed outright at that comment, at the fucking gall it took to think that knowing YN would somehow earn him a treatment like he was special, as though Harry’s based major business decisions off of personal relationships.

Fucking insultling.

He is already done with this interaction, done with Theo being in his wife’s space, done with the casualness of it all, the familiarity of it too, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to keep the irritation from seeping into his tone.

“Perhaps you should be spending this cocktail hour networking with the other executives in my company rather than socializing,” Harry says, his voice more scolding, more boss-like than easy, the suggestion clearly not just a suggestion at this point.

Theo’s expression shifts immediately.

The easy smile he had been wearing drops, replaced by something more cautious as he picks up on the change in Harry’s tone, the realization that he may have done something wrong even if he didn’t know what.

“Yeah, um—absolutely,” Theo replies, clearing his throat awkwardly as he reaches for his drink, his movements less sure now as he nods once, glancing briefly between them before stepping away from the bar.

“Go get ‘em, hot shot,” YN says lightly, completely missing the tension as she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, her tone encouraging, “We’ll catch up later. Text me?”

“Sure,” Theo answers, though the smile he gives her is much more unsure than it had been moments ago and he gives Harry a brief nod before turning and slipping back into the crowd, disappearing.

“I hope he does well on his one-on-one interview. He’s really smart, great for the position—” YN begins, her tone genuine and happy but Harry cuts her off before she can finish, his hand sliding from the back of her neck to cup her jaw as he turns her face toward him and presses his lips firmly against hers.

It is a little possessive in the way he holds her there for that extra second and it catches her off guard enough that she lets out a soft gasp against his mouth before melting into it, her hand coming up to rest against his chest as she kisses him back like she forgets where they are.

Harry remembers, he just doens’t fucking care.

Harry keeps his hold steady at her jaw, his thumb brushing along her cheek as he pulls back just enough to look at her, his expression composed again because he didn’t want her to know that this was bothering him, didn’t want her to feel any ounce of responsibility for his emotions right now when it wasn’t her fault.

“Dorothy’s around here somewhere and I know you wanted to ask her about the pound cake recipe before they have us sit,” He murmurs, his tone softer now, sweeter because she didn’t deserve any harshness and he was just happy to have her back to himself.

YN blinks at him for a second, still slightly dazed from the kiss, her lips parted as she processes what he’s saying, and then her expression brightens almost immediately, the distraction working exactly the way he intended.

“Oh my god, yes,” She nearly squeal, her voice lighting up with excitement as she moves in her stool, “She gave me the recipe for the cake but not the icing!”

Harry lets out a chuckle at that as he slides his hand down to help her off the chair, his palm settling against the small of her back to keep her close and right in the crook of his side.

He knows he should be doing something else.

He knows there are people here waiting to speak to him, conversations he is expected to have, relationships he is meant to check-in on and maintain like the CEO that he is.

But right now, he finds it difficult to put any distance between himself and YN, he was feeling clingy in a way that usually wasn’t there, of course he always wanted to be around her but this felt a bit different.

They eventually find Dorothy near one of the side tables, already in conversation with a few of the administrative assistants, and YN immediately slips into the conversation with her contagious friendliness that pulls Harry along with her.

He stays beside her, nodding along as Dorothy launches into an explanation about measurements and butter ratios, the conversation so far away from anything he should realistically be focusing on tonight that it would almost be comical under different circumstances.

He can feel the frustration around him.

The subtle irritation from people waiting for his attention, the glances, the quiet attempts to catch his eye.

He ignores everyone else in the room.

-

Dinner just so happens to place Theo at their table, something that had been arranged earlier in the day to give the candidate better access to networking to see how they would do, almost a test run.

A decision Harry himself had approved when the board brought it to him without much thought at the time though he finds himself regretting it now that Theo is pulling out the chair across by them and sitting down.

Harry’s arm rests along the back of YN’s chair, his hand wide and heavy where it cups over the curve of her shoulder, his fingers slipping just slightly beneath the strap of her dress.

YN brightens when she sees Theo sit down, her reaction immediate and easy in a way that draws Harry’s attention to it again, and he doesn’t miss the way her posture shifts toward him just slightly as she greets him, her expression soft with fondness for a friend.

Theo seems to have completely moved past Harry’s earlier reaction to him, whether because he had written it off or because he has had enough to drink to eliminate whatever caution he should be feeling.

Harry cannot even fault Theo for not networking with the rest of the table, not when the other executives seated around them are more engaged in half-drunk conversations about golf courses and crypto trades than anything remotely related to the business.

The conversation between YN and Theo flows, moving from one topic to the next without effort as they try to catch up on years in only minutes.

They talk about old college friends, high school classmates, and memories that Harry wasn’t a part of.

He can’t quite pinpoint why it irritates him as much as it does when the conversation starts to move from surface-level into something more personal, something that shows at one point, Theo was very much a part of her life whether Harry wanted to admit that or not.

Theo puts his glass down after a sip, “How’s Rosemary? I miss her. I see her when I’m visiting home, and she always remembers me.”

YN’s expression softens immediately, the fondness for her grandmother obvious as it sinks into her features as she responds, “Of course she does. I think she had a crush on you too. I didn’t forget the times she pinched your bum when I wasn’t looking.”

Theo laughs at that, his cheeks coloring faintly as he shakes his head, clearly amused, “Yeah, she was a bit handsy.”

“She’s good, loving retirement,” YN continues, her voice soft as she speaks about it, her hand drifting to rest on Harry’s thigh beneath the table, her fingers squeezing lightly.

“Oh really? I thought she’d never be able to stop working. I’m happy to hear that,” Theo says and there is nothing wrong with the comment, nothing inappropriate in the conversation, and yet Harry still can’t stand listening to Theo ask her private questions.

“Well, she put up a bit of a fight but Harry was generous and paid off her house, built her a beautiful new one, and supports her so that she doesn’t have to work anymore,” YN adds, turning her head slightly to look at him as she says it, her expression so loving that it makes him forget about everything for a moment.

She is so fucking pretty.

And the realization hits him all over again, it hits him at least once a day if he’s being honest with himself, that he would do absolutely anything for her, that every reaction he is having right now, every ounce of irritation and possessiveness is based on that one undeniable fact.

He has never loved someone the way he loves YN.

“Wow, no wonder you married him,” Theo jokes, his tone light enough but then he adds, “Money does buy love, huh? Was my gift to her of a new kettle not good enough?”

It’s supposed to be a self-depreciating joke on Theo’s end but it ends up feeling a bit like a jab to Harry.

His nostrils flaring in reaction as his grip tightens around the glass in his hand, the muscle in his jaw starting to tense and twitch again as his leg begins to bounce once under the table, a restless, irritated movement he does not bother to control.

And Harry’s restraint finally slips.

He does not snap directly at Theo, that would give him away.

Instead, his irritation moves outward, across the entire table as he shifts, his arm tightening slightly around the back of YN’s chair as he leans forward just enough to get everyone’s attention at the table without raising his voice.

“I didn’t fucking invite you all here to bullshit,” Harry says, his tone cutting through the table conversation, the words landing heavy and harsh in a way that shuts everyone up who was blabbering about meaningless, non-work related things.

The men around the table straighten, conversations cutting off mid-sentence as they realize that Harry wasn’t happy with them.

Theo goes still, in surprise, he hadn’t been around Harry enough to know what he’s like.

His eyes widen slightly as he glances toward YN, and Harry notices that too, notices the instinctive look in her direction like he is seeking some kind of reaction of understanding at his behavior and his hand pressing more firmly against YN’s shoulder, pulling her further into his body.

“If you all come into tomorrow’s meeting with no good ideas and a hangover, I hope you’re fine with getting a percent or two cut off your next bonus,” Harry continues, his tone calm but sincere with something that was obviously threatening, because he can say it, because he will follow through if he needs to, and each one of them knows it.

He lifts his glass and takes a slow sip of his whiskey as if he has not just scared the shit out of the entire table.

YN’s lips turn down slightly, her fingers pressing into his thigh with her nails slightly, in warning, in a way that pulls his attention back to her as he turns his head to look at her properly.

“Harry,” She says, her tone quiet but laced with disapproval, and it hits him in a way nothing could.

Because he had tried.

He had made an effort to keep himself in check around her, to keep the meaner traits of his work tucked away, and the fact that he let it slip like that, that she saw it, that she is reacting to it, frustrates him more than anything Theo has said all night.

Harry would not take criticism from anyone else in this room.

He would not even entertain it but the moment YN looks at him like that, even just from the corner of her eye, guilt starts instantly eating a hole in his chest at the idea of letting her down.

“What?” He replies, his tone innocent as he shrugs slightly, attempting to brush it off as though it had been nothing more than a passing comment, “S’just a lil’ motivation.”

“Don’t have to be like that,” YN tells him, her voice lower now to make sure no one else hears but firm enough that he cannot ignore it.

“They should be networking until dinner’s served, s’etiquette,” Harry mutters in response, the justification coming out more defensive than he intends as he lifts his glass again and takes a longer drink, the burn of the whiskey doing nothing to ease his nerves.

-

The entrees are served not long after that interaction, which naturally means the energy at the table eases as conversations quiet down and people turn their attention to their plates.

Theo has her full attention again, launching into a story about hiking somewhere across Europe, something that sounds long and detailed and entirely fucking boring to Harry.

Yet YN is listening with genuine interest, nodding along, asking questions because that’s who she is, that’s what she’s like with everyone around her, and it’s not just for Theo.

Harry just listens in, barely adding feedback when YN’s phone vibrates softly inside her purse, the sound just loud enough for her to notice as she pauses mid-conversation.

“Hold on a second,” She says to Theo, reaching down to fish it out.

Harry glances over briefly before returning his attention to the man beside him, trying to stay present in the conversation, trying to keep himself distracted from himself, from his stupid fucking emotions that he couldn’t control.

A second later, YN nudges him lightly with her elbow.

He turns his head toward her, his gaze dropping to where she is holding her phone just out of sight of the rest of the table, angled so only he can see.

The screen lights up with a notification that is impossible to miss with all the obnoxious emojis that follow it.

‘Today is your day, mama! Get to the bedroom and get to work! Today is your peak ovulation!’

Harry’s eyes linger on it for a second, considering as his focus hones in on it.

They had not started tracking at first.

It had been something fun and spontaneous in the beginning, something they assumed would happen easily but after months of negative tests, after disappointments that start to hit YN particularly hard.

Her doctor had suggested they be more consistent, more intentional with trying, and YN had taken that seriously, tracking everything with a diligence that sometimes made Harry’s chest hurt even more when they got a pregnancy test.

They are still in that stage where it feels exciting even if there is a quiet pressure sitting underneath it now.

YN looks at him with a small smile, something sweet and hopeful in her expression, and despite everything else that’s been fucking with him tonight.

The irritation, the jealousy, the frustration, YN giving him that looking fucking just makes him melt like a fucking ice cream cone.

Harry exhales slowly through his nose, setting his fork down on the table as his hand slides briefly over YN’s thigh beneath the table.

The jealousy is still there, the possessiveness sitting tight in his chest, and on top of all of that, the truth is really simple, the fact that he wants her, that he always does, that the reminder on her phone only gives him reason to act in this moment even if he shouldn’t.

Harry leans slightly toward her, his voice low enough that it stays between them.

“Come with me for a moment,” He says, trying to stay unassuming even though she’s completely oblivious, “Want to introduce you to someone, real quick.”

YN looks at him, clearly confused by the sudden thought, her brows pulling together slightly as she glances between him and the table but she nods anyway, trusting him without question.

Harry stands first, his hand immediately finding her again as he helps her up from her chair.

YN stumbles half a step trying to keep up with his pace, her heels clicking quickly against the floor as she glances up at him, confusion written across her face as she lets out a soft laugh under her breath.

“Harry,” She murmurs, confusion just becoming stronger in the moment, “Who am I meeting?”

He doesn’t answer her.

Instead, his hand presses more firmly into her back, steering her around groups of people without slowing.

YN’s confusion deepens when they make it into the back hallway, her steps slowing as she looks around, her brows knitting together as she tries to make sense of where he’s taking her.

“Who am I meeting back here?” She asks again, a bit of amusement slipping into her tone now because she knows something isn’t right.

Harry finally answers her by reaching for the nearest door and pushing it open.

A single stall bathroom.

Perfect.

Before she can process it fully, he is crowding her inside, not even bothering to look around, the door shutting firmly behind them as he moves her back until she is pressed lightly against the countertop, his body moving into her space in a way that makes her breath hitch in surprise.

YN lets out a soft laugh, her hands coming up against his chest as she looks up at him, her eyes bright and somewhat entertained. 

“Harry—” She starts, shaking her head slightly as she tries to piece it together, “What are you doing? We have ten minutes before you have to go on stage and give a speech.”

His hands grips at her waist, his gaze dropping to her mouth for a second before lifting back to her eyes, his hips pressing into hers as his hands start to gather her dress at her hips.

“You said it yourself,” He murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges, “We’ve got ten minutes to try to make a baby, yeah?”

YN’s lips part as she processes his words, another laugh slipping out as her grip on his suit jacket tightens, he doesn’t give a fuck that it wrinkles the fabric of the expesnive outfit.

“You’re insane,” She tells him even though there’s no resistance in it, and he can sense the excitement in her voice, “I didn’t mean we had to try now. You’re going to miss your speech.”

YN had never once asked him to change his morning routine, never suggested he should sleep in or slow down for her own sake but it had become obvious fairly quickly that the routine he had kept when he was a miserable bachelor did not work anymore.

Before YN, Harry used to get up at three-thirty in the morning no matter what time he had gone to bed and no matter how many hours of sleep he had managed to get.

He never once allowed himself to snooze the alarm or  give himself the luxury of sleeping in because, reflecting on it now with the hindsight that only came after his life had changed, he can admit that he had been punishing himself.

There had never been a real reason for it.

He had just done it.

Every single day.

He had dragged himself out of bed before the sun came up and forced himself into routines that left him exhausted before the day had even started, convincing himself this is what successful people did, they didn’t relax, they weren’t lazy.

It had been easier to stay exhausted.

Easier to keep his body running on empty because when he was that tired all the time, when every morning began already feeling tired, burnt out, and too much responsibility already waiting for him, it numbed everything else.

The loneliness that sat loudly if he didn’t shut it the fuck up in the background, no matter how much money he made or how many people surrounded him, it never went away unless he made it.

Harry had built an empire before he turned thirty and somehow he had still managed to feel completely empty standing in the middle of it.

That routine had worked when he was alone.

It does not work anymore because now he has a clingy little octopus of a creature who somehow manages to wrap herself around him during the night no matter how they fall asleep, her limbs tangling with his until one of the are trapped enough it is impossible to move.

In the mornings she is so fucking warm and soft in that sleepy way that only happens before she fully wakes up, her body pliable and heavy against him while she refuses to acknowledge that the day has started.

It is far too early for her liking.

She is whiny in the mornings.

Grumpy.

And she complains the moment he so much as readjusts if it means she loses even a fraction of the body contact she demanded on maintaining while she sleeps.

Harry had rarely ever slept in the same bed as someone before YN and if it had happened, it was usually nothing more than a fluke because he had been too tired to leave the hotel room after a quick fuck.

Never because he had wanted to linger there afterward or gotten lost in the post-sex cuddling because he simply did not do that type of shit.

He had never had anyone in his bed inside his own home before YN.

Not once.

He had never invited a hookup back here, never allowed anyone into this space that was meant to be his privacy, and instead he spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxury hotel suites where things could stay surface level and on a time limit.

An hour or two at most before he left again and headed back to the house alone, restless and still desperately unsatisfied. 

Harry had convinced himself a long time ago, most likely out of self-preservation, that he simply would not enjoy sharing a bed with someone.

He told himself he needed the quiet, the space, the ability to wake up without another person touching him or breathing beside him.

He had been certain that sharing a bed would feel suffocating, that it would be overbearing and intrusive and far too much for someone who had already spent every waking hour surrounded by people demanding something from him.

But Harry had been wrong about a lot of things when it came to relationships.

YN had proven him wrong on all of these things without even trying.

First of all, Harry fucking loved sharing a bed with her.

When he had to go on business trips where she didn’t get to come with him, he did not sleep nearly as well without his wife curled up against him, without the weight of her on top of him in some way, making him sweat and overheat because she insisted on burrowing into him even when the room was already warm.

He even missed the small annoyances that would have driven the old version of him insane, like the occasional elbow to his ribs when she rolled over or the way she would yawn directly into his ear without the slightest bit of apology.

And the difference in how he slept without her beside him was so obvious that even Harry had eventually been forced to admit something that the old version of himself would have laughed at.

He needed her there.

Before YN, his mornings had been bleak like the rest of his life.

He would wake up at three-thirty, drag himself out of bed, and drink his pre-workout while leaning against the same space of marble counter in the kitchen.

His unnecessarily massive kitchen.

It always felt too large for one person because it really fucking was.

Too quiet.

The early mornings and late nights were the worst because every small sound echoed around the huge open space and high ceilings, bouncing off all of the glass in a way that reminded him that he was alone here.

The house itself was practically unused, fucking usless, it was.

Entire wings that he never went in even.

It was excessive.

Laughably excessive because why the fuck does a single man with no plans for a family need a nine-bedroom, twenty-two-bathroom house?

The answer had always been the same because he could.

Because seventy-nine million pounds on a house didn’t even make a dent in his bank account.

Though, it hadn’t brought any type of excitement to make such a big purchase, it was just another day, like if he went to the store and brought groceries.

He had fucking hated that house and everything it represented.

He didn’t even particularly like the way it looked.

The sleek, hyper-modern design with a stupid amount glass, neutral stone, and sharp detailed angles and lines had never appealed to him in the first place.

It had been something that popped up on the market at the right time, something expensive and impressive enough to match the idea that people expected from him, and he had bought it without putting any real thought into the decision.

If he looked back on it now with any honesty, he could admit that he had never actually searched for a home he wanted.

He had simply purchased something that looked appropriate for a man in his position.

Something massive.

Something expensive.

Something that screamed success.

The truth was that Harry had always imagined a different kind of house entirely, one that looked nothing like this sterile museum he had ended up with.

He imagined older, brick, worn a bit with love, and ivy crawling up the sides of it with sprawling green for miles, no other house in sight.

He had imagined children running down hallways.

Imagined toys left in every single room, making the expensive place still look like a home.

Somewhere along the way he had convinced himself that those things were never going to happen for him and once he accepted that idea, it had stopped making sense to search for a house that looked like a home.

So he bought the cold one instead.

The one that was impressive enough that it was all over all the magazines when he purchased it, Architect Digest basically wrote a love letter about it, and all of its features.

After his pre-workout, he would head down into his private gym and run on the treadmill until his body hurt, always pushing himself far past the point that was healthy because the burn in his muscles and the tightness in his lungs gave him something to focus on that was physical.

Once he was done, he would step into the cold plunge in the spa until his skin went numb, then move into the sauna, shower, and eventually stand in his massive walk-in closet to pick out a suit for the day before deciding which stupidly priced car he would drive into work.

The cars were the only small thing that brought him any genuine enjoyment.

He liked them.

Actually liked them.

That had been his routine every single day without exception, if he was away on business, he’d find the closest thing to routine he could, and none of it brought him any real sense of joy or satisfaction but he doesn’t think that had ever been the goal in the first place.

Because by the time Harry walked into his skyscraper in the heart of London every morning, dressed in a tailored suit with the entire building already tense and alert for his arrival, he was already a nightmare to deal with.

Now…

His alarm goes off at four-forty-five every morning, the vibration buzzing against the nightstand, and he immediately reaches over to snooze it for fifteen minutes.

That is the first change he ever made to his old routine.

Those fifteen minutes belong entirely to YN.

He rolls onto his side the moment the alarm is off, already reaching for her, his arm sliding around her waist as she instinctively curls further into him, and her sleepy body warm and heavy against his.

She always grumbles when the alarm goes off.

Every single morning.

A quiet, annoyed little noise into the pillow as though she was being inconvenienced with having to disrupt her beauty sleep.

And Harry always laughs under his breath when she does it because she is the cutest fucking thing.

She nuzzles deeper into him when she realizes he is awake, nosing into his chest, her arms tightening around him with the stubborn hold with absolutely no intention of letting him leave the bed anytime soon.

Harry always lets her.

Those fifteen minutes are spent entirely fussing over her.

His hands move slowly over her back, massaging the ache from sleeping from her shoulders and along her spine, his fingers always underneath whatever she was wearing, on her bare skin.

He presses lazy kisses against her shoulder blades when she starts to squirm about, brushing his lips against the skin there while she wriggles and grumbles about the early hour, and he murmurs soft little reassurances into her hair that she doesn’t even fully respond to because she is still half asleep.

His hand slides up to cradle the back of her head, fingers gently combing through her hair while he holds her there.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” He murmurs against her temple, his voice soft in that way it never is with anyone else.

Her body is toasty from sleep and she always smells faintly like the vanilla almond shampoo she uses mixed with his cologne from the night before.

He never compromises on these moments. 

Sometimes she grumbles at him for moving too much.

Sometimes she just buries her face deeper into his chest like she can just go right back to sleep and have a few more hours with him.

Sometimes she nips at his throat, scolding him without any fight about waking her up.

And Harry fucking loves every single second of it.

There is still a small, unreal part of him that wakes up every morning and has to remind himself that this is real.

That this warm, sleepy girl clinging to him is actually his wife.

Eventually, around five, she starts to wake up properly, her voice still thick with sleep as they begin to talk about their plans for the day.

He still drinks his pre-workout.

He still works out most mornings but the workouts are different now.

He still pushes himself but it’s within a healthy range, not to numb but to truly improve.

By the time he finishes and comes back upstairs, YN is usually already in the shower.

And more often than not, Harry ends up stepping in with her under the excuse that they are “saving water.”

That is his little pocket of time to be spoiled in the morning.

YN washes his hair for him, her fingers working through the strands slowly while she scratches lightly at his scalp in a way that makes his eyes close like a god damn cat, and she takes her time with it always.

She washes his body for him too and the entire time she murmurs sweet things, little compliments about what a good husband he is or teasing remarks that make him laugh against her hair.

Harry never rushes her when she does it.

He just stands there and lets himself be taken care of.

It feels nice.

He never imagined a version of his mornings where someone was standing under warm water with him, letting them wash his hair and touch him like he was something special.

Now he is finally in a place where he can acknowledge how much he likes it.

How much he likes her taking care of him.

However, this morning is a little different.

Harry has a rest day from working out and he had already showered the night before, so now he is just standing in front of the bathroom mirror finishing brushing his teeth when he feels the warmth of her hands on his skin.

Her palms slide slowly over his sides, thumbs grazing along the definition of muscle there before drifting to rest more against his belly.

She presses herself against his back immediately after, gluing herself to him like space between them is illegal, her cheek smushing against the skin between his shoulder blades while she noses along the line of his spine.

“Don’t go,” She tells him softly, her voice still thick with sleep and carrying that sad, pleading tone she knows he is completely unable to ignore.

It is manipulative.

He knows it.

And God, he loves her for it.

“Wish I didn’t have to, m’heart,” Harry replies after spitting out the toothpaste, his voice still rough as he reaches forward to rinse his mouth, “I have some important meetings today that I can’t miss.”

YN drags her teeth lightly along his skin in response, the small bite telling him just what she thinks about it.

“You always have important meetings,” She grumbles against his back, her annoyance weak but obvious as Harry sets his toothbrush back in its holder.

“I am the CEO and owner,” Harry reminds her with a teasing edge to his voice, his hand coming down to cover hers where it rests against his stomach, holding it there.

“So am I,” YN quips instantly and Harry is suddenly very grateful that she cannot feel the way his cock twitches at that statement. 

The world had called him a lovesick idiot when he married her.

His lawyers had tried to talk him out of it all together.

His accountants had mental breakdowns over his unwillingness to consider any protective options to his assets. 

Even the financial advisors who had worked with him for years had sat him down more than once and carefully explained just how reckless it would be to marry without a prenup.

Harry had listened to every single one of them with a lack of patience before ignoring them completely because if he was marrying YN, he was going to do it right, they were going to be equals no matter what sat in their bank account.

So her name went on everything.

Half of the company.

Half of the assets.

Half of everything he had built.

“You’re right, baby,” Harry hums in agreement, pride in his own tone, “My pretty business partner.”

Most days he still cannot quite believe that this is real, that he somehow ended up with the one person in the world who makes all of this feel worth it, and even after a year and a half of married life it still feels like things are getting better.

“Am I your boss then?” YN teases, her lips smoothing against the skin of his back as she speaks, suddenly a bit more perky.

He reaches behind himself to squeeze her hip, his fingers pressing into the soft plush there as he answers easily, “In more than one way, my love.”

“What is so important?” YN asks after a moment, her voice curious now instead of whining because despite the fact that she technically owns half of everything with him, she doesn’t involve herself in the business.

Harry had never expected her to.

If something major was happening he would tell her, of course.

If something important happened that would affect their lives, she would always know the minute it came up but day-to-day wasn’t something she cared much about.

YN has gone completely handsy while she speaks and Harry can feel the shift in her attention as soon as it happens because her fingertips start wandering with slow, curious intent over the plane of his stomach like she’s never felt him up before.

She does it casually at first, simply tracing shapes over his tattoos while she listens to him talk, her nails dragging lightly over the skin there as she outlines the moth below his sternum.

Harry’s stomach tightens beneath her hand when she traces along the lines of ink.

They travel lower after a moment, sliding down the firm lines of muscle along his stomach until her fingertips reach the fern tattoos that trail along his hips, and she traces both of them lazily.

Harry watches the movement in the mirror even though he knows he shouldn’t, his jaw flexing slightly as he sees how she touches him like she owns him, how comfortable she is with touching what is hers.

It really fucking is hers.

Her thumb drifts lower again, brushing through the coarse line of hair just beneath his belly button, and Harry exhales slowly through his nose as she begins to toy with it.

And now her kisses are changing too.

What had started as soft little presses of her lips along his back turn into something more purposeful, more distracting, as she begins to nip lightly at his shoulder blades.

She sucks gently, following each teasing bite with another drag of her teeth as though she is testing exactly how much she can push him until he does something about it.

Harry can feel the way she smiles against his skin when his shoulders finally start to tense up.

Harry doesn’t even realize how much his voice has dropped when he starts speaking, his attention caught on the reflection in the mirror as he watches her hands move lower.

Her fingers follow the vee of muscle along his hips, sliding into the indents there and it’s more obscene than it sounds.

He clears his throat gruffly and tries to sound unaffected when he answers her question.

“Well you know we’re looking to hire a new assistant chief financial officer to replace Janice when she retires in a year or two,” He explains, trying to get himself to focus on the words instead of the way her hands keep drifting lower,“We want someone who can transition into the role easily when the time comes.”

He glances at her hands again in the mirror before continuing.

“The board has apparently found some good candidates and I have to meet them today. They’ve already gone through months of interviews and assessments so this is the final stage where they actually sit down with me and the rest of the board,” He continues as steadily as possible, “Up until now they’ve only been dealing with human resources and recruitment.”

YN hums in acknowledgement that she heard him, though it is clear she is only half listening because her attention has drifted somewhere else entirely.

Her fingers have slipped beneath the band of his briefs now, her touch slow and curious as she smooths them along the coarse line of hair at his lower stomach, tracing lazy little patterns over the warm skin there while he talks.

Harry can feel the way her thumb moves there, it brushes against the base of him, where he is, of course, already hard for her.

It’s enough to make it impossible for him to ignore even as she continues humming softly like she is being perfectly innocent.

“M’heart,” Harry warns, attempting to give her a stern look over his shoulder.

YN immediately does that bratty fucking thing she does whenever she isn’t getting her way, the one that somehow manages to work on him every single time despite the fact that he knows exactly what she is doing.

She goes still for half a second like she has been scolded, like he’d literally just screamed at her instead of calling her a pet name.

Her hand pauses where it rests against his stomach.

And then she lifts her chin just enough to give him that fucking look.

Her mouth pulls into an obvious pout, her lashes lowering slightly like she is deeply hurt that he would even think about stopping her, that it’s her god given right to touch him.

Any other woman who had ever tried something like this with him would have irritated him almost immediately.

It would have felt needy.

Manipulative.

A quick way to lose his interest.

But with his wife, he eats it the fuck up every single time.

She gives him that attitude whenever she doesn’t get her way, the kind that makes it seem like he is some horrible, neglectful partner who refuses to give her even the smallest bit of attention, as though he does not already revolve all of his world around her.

All because she is not getting exactly what she wants the moment she wants it.

She’s not greedy in the way people would assume, she doesn’t care about money or possession, she’s downright fucking greedy when it comes to getting what she wants out of him.

She lets out an exaggerated little huff, her hand pulling away from his stomach as she tosses out a bratty remark over her shoulder, “Fine, go to work then. Since you love it so much more than me.”

Harry watches her detach from him, her arms sliding away from around his waist as she turns her back and starts to walk out of the bathroom like she’s just been banished.

The fucking drama of it all.

He knows exactly what she is doing.

And worse than that, he knows he is willingly walking straight into the trap she has set.

Literally anytime she sets it, he’s there.

They both know that.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry rumbles as he turns toward her, his hand coming up to the back of her neck in a touch that is gentle but firm enough to stop her from moving forward.

He draws her back into his chest before she can get more than a step away, her back settling against him as he cages her there easily like she was hoping that would happen the entire time.

“Are you pouting right now?” Harry asks, already knowing the answer before the words have even finished leaving his mouth.

“No,” YN pouts immediately, the lie obvious as she wriggles slightly in his hold, her body restless and defiant in a way that makes it clear she is doing everything she can to wind him up this morning.

Harry lets out a quiet huff of amusement at that, tightening his grip on her hips as he pulls her back against him.

“You have my everything and it’s still not enough?” Harry teases as he shifts his stance and nudges her hips back into him, “Marriage has made you a greedy little monster, hm?”

He chuckles softly when she pouts even harder at the teasing, clearly annoyed that she is not immediately getting exactly what she had been trying to provoke out of him.

“Don’t have everything,” YN bleats as she pushes her bum back into him, adding with deliberate emphasis, “Don’t have your cock right now,” and the shamelessness of it makes his breath hitch despite himself.

In response, his cock twitches against her backside, and he knows she feels it because she stills for half a second in a way that tells him she is absolutely delighted with herself.

He can practically picture the grin spreading across her face without even seeing it.

“Oh,” Harry hums in exaggerated concern as if the revelation has truly surprised him, his tone far too thoughtful for the situation. “Is that what this is about?”

“You’re supposed to be doing your husbandly duties,” YN replies with a distinctly entitled edge to her voice, the words carrying that bratty confidence she always gets when she knows she is about to win.

Harry reaches around the front of her body, his hand finding the loose knot tied at the front of her robe, and he gives it a firm tug until the fabric falls open easily beneath his fingers.

“Isn’t it convenient that you’re pouting over cock when I’m getting ready to go to work and you don’t want me to leave?” Harry coaxes, his voice low with amusement as he lets the robe hang open.

“No connection,” YN lies immediately, though the lie loses most of its credibility when she arches forward the moment his hand comes up to cup her breast.

His thumb drags slowly over her hard nipple, and she pushes into his palm like she is performing for him, exaggerating the movement just enough to make it clear she knows exactly what she is doing.

She is absolutely putting on a show for him.

And he really fucking appreciates it.

He always will.

Because it works every time.

Harry gives in with a quiet laugh under his breath, shuffling them towards the vanity, his hand sliding from her breast to guide her forward until she bends over the counter, her palms bracing against the marble as he crowds in behind her.

He licks her out like he has all the time in the world but he’s not surprised to find her already swollen and puffy for him.

It takes nearly no time at all for the first orgasm to hit her, her fingers knotted in her hair, and her head thrown back as she lets her moans echo through the big open space.

By the time he finally pulls her more upright until her back is to his chest, her thighs are still trembling slightly beneath the robe that was barely hanging, and his arm comes around her front.

His forearm presses across her sternum to keep her held firmly against him, keeping her there while his other hand stays at her hip, guiding so she stays arched into him exactly the way he wants.

The angle keeps her facing the mirror, forcing her to look at them in the reflection and meet his eyes as he moves behind her, “My pretty fuckin’ wife. You take me so fuckin’ well.”

For a moment she manages to maintain it, her gaze locking with his but her eyes are a bit moony like they tend to after an orgasm, her breath catching every time he thrusts forward.

But as his pace picks up, as he fucks in harder, and with more target thrusts on her spot, her eyes squeeze shut as she comes again.

Her body tensing up before she goes soft in his arms, the strength leaving her all at once as she melts back against him.

She turns whiny and oversensitive immediately, her shoulders trembling while he keeps her held upright, his forearm still firm across her chest to support her weight.

“Need me to stop?” He murmurs near her ear, he already knows the answer, it’s the same everytime but he still checks to make sure that the whines aren’t of it being too much for her to handle.

YN shakes her head immediately.

“No,” She insists breathlessly, even though she continues to whine, gripping onto him, and pushing back even though she’s spent.

She is completely ridiculous.

And god, he fucking loves her.

Oh, married life.

+

Harry was rarely late to work before YN.

If he ever was, it had always been because of something outside his control — traffic, an accident blocking the motorway, construction.

It had never been because of him but today Harry is striding into the office nearly an hour late to an important meeting and the reason is something that happens every so often.

He cannot say no to his pretty little wife when she decides she wants something.

Especially when she is both horny and stubborn about it.

When she is clinging to him with sleepy little whines that made it impossible to put on his suit when she was like that.

Harry had ended up tucking her back into bed instead, pulling the covers up around her while she curled onto her side and nuzzled in, still a little dewy but too tired to shower.

He stayed there longer than he had the time to.

He murmurs sweet things to her about good she was for him, how he loved her more than anything else in the world, and pet all over her while he did it which she fucking preened at.

He finally pulled back once her breathing had evened out, drifting back to sleep easily, and he hated leaving but he had to.

At the end of the day, though, it didn’t really matter, Harry could be late if he goddamn wanted to be.

This was his company, after all.

And no one was going to fire him for showing up an hour late.

He does not acknowledge that he has kept these men waiting for nearly an hour when he finally strides into the conference room with a coffee in hand.

There is no apology offered and no explanation given because Harry has never felt the need to justify himself.

The moment he enters, the room shifts abruptly.

The group of men seated along the long conference table move almost on instinct, their relaxed postures changing as they straighten in their chairs, the casual conversation that had been filling the space moments before cutting off mid-thought without prompting.

Just seconds earlier they had been talking amongst themselves, Harry heard bits and pieces of topics like crypto, golf courses, and whatever bullshit they decided to spend their paychecks on.

Now that Harry is here, that atmosphere vanishes completely.

Every single pair of eyes shifts toward him instead.

Harry does not greet them, he doesn’t acknowledge their patience or the fact that they have all been sitting in this room waiting for him to arrive which was undoubtedly rude.

He simply walks to the table and pulls out the chair at the head without hesitation because in this building, Harry’s time is the only time that truly matters.

The tension in the room thickens while he sets his coffee beside him and leans back slightly in the chair, the movement unrushed like he has no where else he needs to be.

Harry’s assistant steps forward quietly and places an iPad in front of him, already prepared with every file and background detail he might need for the meeting.

Harry accepts it without looking up at anyone else in the room, his attention already scanning across the screen as he reviews the first candidate’s information.

The silence remains while he does it.

They simply sit there and wait for him to decide when the meeting will actually begin.

The first candidate is brought into the room a few minutes later and directed to the chair at the opposite end of the long conference table, sitting there with the stiff, uncomfortable posture of someone who doesn’t have great confidence.

Harry is already bored with the entire process.

Tere are no pleasantries when the first man sits down, no polite introductions, and no small talk.

Harry barely looks up from the iPad in front of him before he goes straight to business.

“George Frick,” He says, his voice even but direct as he finally lifts his eyes toward the other end of the table, “What can you offer that someone else with the same experience and background as you couldn’t?”

It is not a complicated question, Harry has asked some variation of it a million times over the years, and in his mind it is the most basic starting point of any interview.

George, however, looks like a deer caught directly in the headlights of an oncoming car.

For a moment he simply stares back at Harry, his mouth opening slightly as though he hadn’t expected for Harry to even address him, blindsided that the billionaire owner was talking to him.

Then George clears his throat awkwardly and shifts in his chair.

“Sorry, um… could you — uh — repeat the question?” He stammers, his voice already carrying the nervous edge of someone who isn’t prepared enough for the assignment.

The men seated around the table grow noticeably more tense the moment George asks him to repeat the question because everyone in the room knows exactly what their boss is thinking.

A man who wants a C-suite position in a company this size should not be sitting across from him shaking like a leaf before the conversation has even properly begun.

This is already going badly.

Harry’s patience, which had been thin to begin with, lessens even further as he leans back slightly in his chair and repeats the question, his voice slower this time and his pronunciation far more deliberate.

“George Frick,” He says again, the edge impossible to ignore, “What can you offer that someone else with the same experience and background as you could not?”

He does not bother hiding the irritation creeping into his expression.

If anything, he allows it to show because if George cannot handle this version of Harry, the restrained and relatively polite version who is simply asking a direct question across a conference table then he would be completely fucked in a moment something actually went wrong inside the company.

George nods his head several times in quick order, the movement almost frantic as though he needs those few extra seconds just to process what Harry is even asking him.

Finally George clears his throat and begins to answer, but the words that follow are exactly what Harry had expected.

Useless and robotic.

He starts talking about willingness to learn, about adaptability and strong problem-solving skills, all the basic trigger words to perk up a hiring manager's ears.

Harry has heard it all before.

He has heard it hundreds of times.

These are the types of answers candidates memorize after reading leadership articles online or skimming interview advice written by people who think they know shit.

Instead of thinking critically about the question or offering something specific about their own experience, he falls back on the same hollow phrases that don’t mean anything when asked to explain further.

George keeps talking.

Harry stops listening.

Especially once the board members begin stepping in with their own questions, Harry makes absolutely no effort to disguise the fact that his interest in this conversation is gone, and he’s already been crossed of the candidate list.

He glances down at his watch, trying to get a smudge off of the glass, and adjusting it on his wrist.

He swipes absently across the screen of the iPad in front of him.

At one point he even picks up his personal phone to check emails that he needs to answer that are more important than this.

The shift in his attention does not go unnoticed.

George begins stumbling over his words more frequently.

The board members notice it too, though they continue the questioning for the sake of finishing the interview properly and being professional.

Eventually one of them leans back slightly and turns toward Harry.

“Harry, what are your thoughts on George’s response?” The man asks, clearly aware they don’t get to make the final call and that he has all the control here.

He glances down at the notes on his screen once more before looking up toward the other end of the table, his expression neutral and giving nothing away.

“I think,” Harry says evenly, “That I’ve heard these exact same answers from twenty different candidates for all different jobs in the past month.”

Harry doesn’t give mercy.

“Which means one of two things is happening here,” He adds, his gaze settling on George, “Either everyone applying for positions in my company has had the same exact experiences and learning opportunities or you googled ‘how to answer executive interview questions’ before you walked in here and decided to memorize a few keywords and phrases to get bonus points in here.”

A few of the board members shift uncomfortably in their chairs.

He leans back slightly, his tone remaining level and bored as he finishes, “And if that’s the case, George, I’m going to need something more interesting than willingness to learn and problem-solving skills because those are basic expectations for anyone asking to sit in a C-suite office. I would expect that from my fucking unpaid interns, not someone looking at a three million pound salary.”

George’s mouth opens slightly as though he might attempt to smooth this over but he falls flat.

“Thank you for coming in,” Harry says calmly, the words sound polite enough but his tone is anything but, it’s saying that this was a waste of his time and he’s not happy that he’ll never get these thirty minutes back to himself.

There is no warmth in the statement, no suggestion that the conversation might continue.

George hesitates for half a second before nodding anxiously, clearly realizing that the interview is already over even though they are barely halfway through the set aside time.

He gathers his folder from the table, murmuring a quiet thank you to the board members before pushing his chair back, it nearly topples over in his haste to exit.

Harry simply watches George walk out of the room with the same distant, bored expression he had worn throughout most of the conversation.

The door closes behind him.

“Next candidate.”

++

The next candidate barely manages to answer a single question before the entire tone of the meeting shifts into something else.

Harry is only half listening to the man speak while he scrolls through the electronic file on the screen in front of him.

Across the table, Kurt is in the middle of a rehearsed explanation about his leadership experience, his voice somewhat steady as he speaks with knowledge and skill that isn’t deniable.

However..

“I typically enjoy leadership roles as I find that—”

“What the fuck is this?”Harry’s voice cuts straight through the room without warning.

The words are not loud at first but the sharpness in his tone immediately halts the flow of the interview.

Harry continues staring down at the screen in front of him, his jaw tightening as his thumb scrolls back up through the document as if confirming that what he just read is actually there.

When he finally lifts his head, the calm composure he had worn throughout this is nowhere to be found.

His expression is cold and unforgiving.

“What the fuck is this?” He repeats, this time directing the question into the room as his gaze finally lifts from the screen.

He is not looking at Kurt.

His eyes move instead toward the HR representative sitting halfway down the table, the unspoken demand for an explanation obvious as he stares them down.

“In your file,” Harry continues, his voice raising slightly, “It says that there have been three harassment complaints filed against you from three different women.”

Kurt shifts in his chair almost immediately, pulling at the collar of his button-up like he was hoping that it wouldn't be brought up.

“We—er—we did investigations and we couldn’t prove the women’s claims,” The HR representative explains, his voice faltering under the weight of Harry’s attention.

Harry’s jaw flexes hard enough his jaw aches as he leans back slightly in his chair, one hand coming up to rub briefly along his mouth as though he is trying to process what he has just heard without losing his temper.

It doesn’t fucking work.

“This woman filed a complaint saying that when they were alone in the break room he would say inappropriate things to her,” Harry says slowly, reading directly from the report in front of him before looking up again, his expression hard, “How exactly do you expect proof of a verbal interaction?”

The HR representative shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “We just—”

“And all three women filed complaints with nearly identical details,” Harry cuts in sharply, his voice rising now as his patience finally snaps, “Three different women. From three different unrelated departments.”

He sits forward again, the movement sudden enough that several people at the table flinch slightly, “How the fuck is that not proof of misconduct?” 

Harry’s patience finally snaps.

“It is fucking absurd that you’d screen this creep through as a candidate,” Harry says, his voice loud and scolding as his gaze finally flicks toward Kurt for the first time since the file had come up, “Because not only is he not getting this job, I want him fucking fired, and removed from this premises today.”

Kurt’s composure collapses almost immediately.

He had walked into the room expecting a promotion opportunity, expecting to impress the CEO of the company he already worked for, and the realization that this interview is instead turning into a dismissal hits him.

“What—wait—” Kurt stammers, the panic obvious in his voice as he looks between the other executives seated at the table, “You can’t just—”

“All women should feel safe at fucking work and not have to put up with any type of inappropriate behavior,” Harry says with no room for argument, “Their human resources department should believe them when they come forward.”

His gaze shifts briefly toward the HR representative again.

“We will be reviewing and restructuring our policies around harassment,” He adds, it’s not a suggestion, it is an order that will be followed through on, and he’ll make sure of it.

Harry has never had any tolerance for that type of behavior.

He is fully aware that everyone considers him an heartless asshole and he doesn’t fucking care, he knows that he curates the image but being difficult to work with and being careless are two different things.

The idea that someone could walk into work every day and feel uncomfortable or unsafe because of a man in a leadership position is something Harry refuses to tolerate under any circumstances.

Harry also knows that stance surprises people more often than not because from the outside he does not look like the kind of man who would have hard moral boundaries around something like workplace behavior.

His reputation in the industry has always been cold, intimidating, and ruthless which people tend to assume that he only cares about profit.

Firing Kurt during the interview process wasn’t the first time that he had to step in when others (like HR) weren’t doing their job.

Hell, two weeks ago he had an incident that he dealt with himself instead of letting Human Resources take care of it.

-

Harry had been walking down the hallway that led through the C-suite offices after a tense meeting with the board as he headed toward the escalator that would take him up to the private top floor where his office sat alone.

He had an espresso in his hand, his thoughts already shifting toward the next meeting on his schedule with a group of executives he had to talk to like they were fucking primary school kids.

Harry noticed someone standing near the small seating area outside the conference corridor but he didn’t pay any attention to it.

People stood around this hallway all the time waiting for someone all the time.

But after a moment it became clear that the person near the sitting area had not been waiting for just anyone.

They had been waiting for him.

Harry was already in a piss-poor mood, the frustration from the meeting still tight underneath his skin, and all he wanted at that moment was to get upstairs to his office where he could close the door and have a few minutes to himself before he has to deal with the same cycle of idiots all over again.

When that someone reaches out and lightly brushes his elbow as he passes, not grabbing him but touching him just enough to get his attention, Harry feels his irritation spike instantly.

He turns sharply, already prepared to snap at whoever thought they could just grab his attention like that but the words never make it out of his mouth because the person standing beside him is not another executive or assistant trying to push paperwork into his hands.

It is a young woman.

She looks to be around the same age as YN, somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties.

And the moment Harry looks at her properly, the anger he had been about to unleash hesitates because she looks nervous.

But not the normal kind of nervousness someone feels when speaking to him because he is who he is.

The expression on her face is strained, an attempt at a controlled look of someone trying very hard to hold themselves together long enough to say what they came here to say.

Her eyes are red-rimmed and her face is puffy in the way that comes from crying and she is clearly struggling to get the words out as she tries to steady herself in front of him.

“I’m s-so sorry to bother you—” She manages, her voice catching slightly halfway through the sentence.

Harry forces himself to pause instead of brushing past her the way he normally would when someone stops him in the hallway, keeping his expression even as he looks down at her. 

He does not look particularly pleased about the interruption but he pulls in the irritation that he felt from the meeting he just left.

“What can I help you with?” He asks, his tone neutral and measured even if it is was far away from being warm or welcoming.

“I’m having a really big issue with my boss, the director of brand—” She begins, the words rushing out too quickly as her skin flushes with embarrassment. 

Her eyes dart upward toward the ceiling as she tries to blink back the tears threatening to spill again, the same thing Harry has seen YN do countless times when she refuses to let herself cry over something.

“That sounds like a Human Resources concern,” Harry replies, keeping his professional because as harsh as it might sound he does not have the capacity to personally handle every employee problem that happens inside a company with hundreds of thousands of employees.

He begins to turn away, intending to keep moving toward the escalator but before he can take more than a step, he hears her speak again.

“I tried to—” s=She says quietly, the words trailing off as her voice falters, “I can’t… never mind.”

Harry stops.

He turns back around and sees the way her shoulders pull in, the shame on her face as though she already regrets stopping him in the first place, and something about that expression tugs at him in a way he does not particularly enjoy.

Like she knew he wouldn’t listen and he was proving her right.

Empathy has never been his strongest instinct but he has spent enough time with YN to know exactly what she would say if she ever saw him brush past someone who looked like this.

She would be disappointed in him.

And that thought alone is enough to make him stop walking.

“Wait,” Harry says, turning back toward her fully now and giving her his attention instead of half listening over his shoulder, “You’ve run this past HR and it is still an issue?”

“Well,” The girl mumbles, her breath hitching, “He told me if I went to HR that he would get me fired and I can’t afford to lose this job. I know you have better things to do than this but I feel lost and scared.”

Harry feels something shift in his chest when she says it because beneath all the cold and sharp edges of his personality there has always been something in him that reacts badly when someone tries to threaten or hurt people who they have power over.

Harry shakes his head slightly, dismissing the idea that she is wasting his time.

“No,” He says, his voice steady as he looks directly at her, “You’re my employee. This is my job.”

“What’s your name?” He asks as his mind starts to process the information he’s being given.

“Elaina Owen,” She answers quietly, her voice small and the surprise on her face makes it obvious she had not expected the CEO of the company to actually stop and listen to her.

Harry glances briefly at the watch on his wrist, mentally running through the next meetings and to-dos on his schedule before making the decision.

“Okay, Elaina,” Harry says as he gestures toward the escalator that leads to the private executive floor above them, “I have thirty minutes before my next meeting. Let’s go to my office and figure out a solution.”

Harry solves it in less than ten minutes.

Once they are inside his office, Elaina sits awkwardly in one of the chairs across from his desk while Harry asks her a line of direct questions to get the full story.

He does not interrupt her when she speaks.

He does not rush her when she has moments she needs to pause because she’s getting upset recounting some of the interactions.

He simply listens to get the story and lead him to his next decision which is an easy one.

Harry reaches for the phone on his desk.

The line rings twice before someone answers.

“Director of Branding Sales, Stanley Utz,” The man on the other end says, his voice casual, clearly unaware that the CEO of the company is about to speak to him

Harry does not waste time with pleasantries.

“Mr. Utz.”

There is a brief pause on the other end of the line as the man realizes who he is speaking to.

“Oh—wow, hello-”

Harry cuts him off immediately.

“I’m calling because one of your employees is sitting in my office right now explaining that you’ve been making inappropriate comments toward her and threatening her job if she reported you,” Harry says, his voice eerily steady.

The man begins talking quickly, attempting to defend himself, the words tumbling over each other in a mixture of denial and excuses, pushing the blame back onto her.

Harry listens for ten seconds before he’s interuppting, “You’re fucking done.”

“What?” The man replies, clearly caught off guard.

“You heard me,” Harry continues, leaning back slightly in his chair as he speaks into the receiver, “I want you off my fuckin’ payroll. I don’t fund the lifestyles of fucking creeps. ”

The man immediately starts protesting, his voice rising with panic as he tries to talk over Harry, “You can’t just fire me like that, I’ve been with this company for—”

“Are you forgetting this is my company and I can do whatever the fuck I want to?” Harry chuckles dryly but sharp, “And if you think I’m even the slightest bit concerned about you attempting to file a claim for unfair dismissal, you’re welcome to try your luck with our legal department and I’ll see to pressing charges against you on behalf of our employee.”

The man tries again.

Harry does not let him finish.

“Let me make something crystal fuckin’ clear,” He continues, his voice sharpening slightly as the irritation creeps back in at being pushed against, “The moment an employee tells me they feel unsafe because of someone in a leadership position that person stops working here.”

The silence on the other end of the line is immediate.

Elaina sits frozen in the chair across from his desk while the conversation unfolds, her eyes wide with disbelief as Harry rips this man to shreds without any doubt in her story.

Harry hangs up.

The office falls quiet for a moment.

Harry sets the phone back and stands from his chair, adjusting the front of his suit jacket as he walks around the desk with the calm composure he always has, like he didn’t just ruin someone's livelihood without much thought into it.

Elaina is still sitting there, stunned.

“Your issue should be resolved now,” Harry tells her evenly.

He pauses briefly before continuing, his tone softening just slightly as he adds, “However, if you need further assistance, please reach out to Human Resources. They can provide you with information about our free therapy services and other helpful resources.”

For a moment Elaina just sits there staring at him like she is still trying to process what just happened.

Harry is already reaching for a folder on his desk, ready to move on to the next thing on his schedule now that the issue has been handled when Elaina suddenly stands.

“Thank you,” She says, the words coming out a little breathlessly.

Harry nods once, already turning slightly toward his desk again.

“You’re welcome,” He replies simply, brushing it off like what he did was nothing.

But before he can take another step, Elaina moves forward ad suddenly she puts her arms around him.

Harry freezes, in a way that would have made YN absolutely cackle at him for.

The reaction is immediate and instinctive, his entire body going still in surprise as he stands there.

For a brief second he does not know what to do because employees don’t fucking hug him.

Then he hears her sniff quietly against his shoulder and feels the way she squeezes him like someone who has been carrying worry for too long and finally feels like she can breathe again.

Harry exhales softly through his nose.

His arms lift after a moment and he returns the hug, brief and professional but an attempt at reassurance.

“Alright,” He murmurs quietly, the words much gentler than his usual tone, “No problem.”

After a moment she pulls back quickly, clearly realizing what she just did as embarrassment flashes across her face.

“I’m so sorry,” She blurts, wiping quickly at her eyes, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Harry can’t help but quirk a quick, amused smile at her before dismissing.

And if she tells people about this interaction, well she does, and they don’t fucking believe a bit of it

–

The next candidate who walks into the conference room looks nothing like the nervous men who came before him.

He is older than Harry by at least twenty years, maybe more.

Harry notices it immediately.

He’s not nervous one bit.

Almost all candidates come into this room with some level of nerves.

This one does not.

Harry scrolls through the file on his iPad while the board member beside him introduces the man.

“Richard Caldwell, currently Director of Financial Systems. Twenty-seven years of experience in corporate finance, previously with—”

Harry lifts one hand slightly without looking up.

The introduction stops immediately.

He finishes scanning the paragraph on the screen before setting the iPad down in front of him, finally lifting his gaze toward the man seated across the table.

Richard meets his eyes without hesitation.

Harry leans back slightly in his chair.

“Director of Financial Systems,” He says evenly, “That’s a long time to spend managing the systems that run the company’s finances.”

Richard smiles faintly.

“I’d describe it a little differently,” He replies smoothly, passive disagreement “My job is designing the financial systems that allow companies to grow without collapsing. It is important when an organization expands as quickly as yours has.”

There is a subtle tone on the last sentence.

Harry hears it.

So does everyone else in the room.

Richard continues speaking before Harry responds.

“Rapid growth is impressive,” He says, folding his hands together on the table, “But when companies grow that quickly, parts of the operation usually suffer. My job is fixing those problems.”

The implication is heavy, reading between the lines.

One of the board members shifts in his seat.

Harry remains perfectly still.

He watches the man for several seconds without speaking, the silence stretching long enough that Richard’s confidence begins to look slightly shaken.

Finally Harry reaches for his coffee and takes a slow sip, when he sets the cup down again, his gaze settles on Richard.

“Let me make sure I understand you correctly,” Harry says almost conversationally, deceptively understanding, “You walked into an interview for a position in my company and decided to open by suggesting the company is lacking.”

“I’m suggesting improvement opportunities exist in any organization,” He replies but his tone is condescending, like he’s talking to a child, and not his fucking boss.

“You’re suggesting that you know how to run this company better than I do.”

Richard isn’t stuttering or stammering, he’s digging his heel in, and not backing down.

“I’m simply saying I know what I’m talking about,” He shrugs, the tilt of his lips refusing to drop.

Harry nods slowly before he picks up the iPad again and scrolls through the file once more.

“Twenty-seven years,” Harry murmurs almost to himself.

Richard nods, proud of that, “Yes.”

Harry looks up again.

“You’ve spent twenty-seven years working for other people, correct? Who built these systems well before you,” He reframes it, there’s a level of judgement, of not being anywhere near impressed.

Richard’s expression tightens.

Harry continues before he can respond, “As you work in systems that I have built from the ground up.”

Harry leans back again.

“So let me ask you a very simple question,” Harry reaches for his coffee, sipping it like this was any conversation, “If you believe my company is lacking, why do you want to work here instead of building something better yourself?”

Richard opens his mouth and then closes it.

After a moment Richard begins speaking, clearly attempting to regain control of the conversation, “Well, I believe that to get to a greater goal of leadership and collabor-”

Harry lifts a hand.

“No,” Harry says calmly, “I didn’t ask for a bullshit answer that you pulled from your ass. I asked a direct question. Tell me why you can run my company better.”

Richard hesitates again.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry says flatly, a rude shake of his head in disbelief.

Richard frowns, “I haven’t answered yet.”

Harry glances up briefly, “You’ve said enough. Thank you so much for your valuable time.”

He does not offer a handshake.

He simply moves on.

“Next candidate.”

+

The door opens again a minute later, and the next candidate walks into the conference room with the calmness of someone who isn’t intimidated by the setting nor overly confident either.

Harry glances up from the iPad in front of him, already prepared to skim through another file and endure another dreadful conversation.

The man walking toward the chair at the far end of the table is younger than the previous candidates, somewhere in his early thirties possibly.

Harry’s eyes flick down briefly to the name at the top of the file on the iPad.

Theo Ellis.

He scans the first few lines of the profile.

Ten years in the business.

Former senior advisor promoted to director-level within five years.

Harry’s interest sharpens almost instantly, the first promising aspect.

Unlike the previous candidates, the resume in front of him is not overloaded with corporate lingo or endless buzzwords that mean nothing to him but disguise the lack of experience.

And every promotion listed on the page happened faster than the average in their industry.

“Theo Ellis,” He greets with a nod.

“Yes Sir.”

There is no nervousness in the response.

“What can you do,” Harry asks without any more pleasantry than that, “That the last five candidates couldn’t?”

Theo does not answer immediately.

He thinks about it.

Actually thinks.

“I don’t waste time telling executives what they want to hear,” Theo says with a shrug like it’s that simple, “I fix problems and if they don’t like the solution I know will work, I’ll stand by my ideas and process.”

Several board members shift slightly.

Harry’s gaze sharpens.

“That’s vague,” Harry challenges, just to see what kind of reaction that he would get out of it.

Theo nods easily in agreement, not tensing or shaking.

“You’re right,” He laughs to himself like he realizes he didn’t expand enough on his words.

“Your systems are still operating for the size of the company five years ago. You’ve expanded by nearly twenty-fold since then,” Theo says, he’s not challenging or being dismissive, “When you merge new companies into this business, the process takes too long, which means you’re paying operational costs longer than you need to. Based on your last report, you could be profiting more than you are if you improved the process and decreased the acquisition time.”

The room goes silent and they’re all bracing for his response to Theo.

“None of those problems are catastrophic,” He adds, almost kindly, “But they’re costing you.”

Harry’s very interested in what he has to say.

“That said, the company itself is clearly very strong,” He goes on, thinking, “You’ve grown the company faster than any other in history without major issues popping up, which usually means the process behind it is solid. What you’re doing is working.”

He pauses briefly, as if choosing his words carefully.

“My point isn’t that the company is being run poorly or had been set up with error,” He finishes up, “You know what you’re doing but there’s room for improvement.Which is actually a good problem to have that will only increase your revenue.”

One of the board members clears his throat nervously.

Harry does not move.

He watches the man at the end of the table with interest ecause for the first time that morning, someone has said something that actually makes him think.

Finally Harry asks bluntly, “And you can fix that?”

Theo nods slightly, “Yes.”

Harry studies him for another moment.

When Harry finally sets the tablet back down on the table, his expression remains even but the shift in his posture makes it clear that the interview is interesting to him.

“You’re the first person today who’s actually said something useful to me,” Harry points out as he clasps his fingers together, “Your thoughts about reworking to systems are accurate as that has already been a discussion.”

“I don’t need another round of board interviews,” He says finally, “You’ll move to the final round. Next week.”

He simply nods once.

“What will that involve?” Theo asks in return.

“You and me,” Harry replies with a slight smirk, “One-on-one.”

“That will be all for today,” Harry dismisses but it’s not harsh or cruel.

Theo stands, offering a nod to the board before leaving the room.

Harry exhales slowly through his nose and leans back in his chair, “At least someone has a god damn brain in this office.”

Two days later +

“Not allowed out lookin’ like this, m’heart,” Harry grumbles as he greets YN at the front entrance of the hotel.

There was a dinner tonight for several major clients and the leadership team to celebrate a particularly successful quarter, it was something the events teams coordinated because Harry would much rather be at home with his wife.

YN’s dress fits her beautifully, hugging her in a way that makes Harry’s possessiveness flair, he just wants to hide her away selfishly, and when he dips down to kiss her in greeting she lets out a soft giggle.

“Well, I’m going for the richest man in the room,” She teases as she presses her lips to his, murmuring against them, “So there’s no competition for you tonight.”

Harry chuckles quietly at that before pinching her bum hard enough to make her squeak, which only makes her laugh harder as she swats at his chest.

It still feels new to him bringing her to events like this.

Yes, they have been married for nearly two years now and had dated for a year before that but there is a big part of Harry that wants to shield her from this part of his world.

YN has met most of the people attending tonight.

She has been introduced but Harry has never fully liked having this to himself, the privacy of their marriage, their life together, who he was outside of the suit.

They have barely stepped inside the ballroom before Harry is taken away for some business chats.

Years of these events have made it easy to get through these mindnumbing boring conversations.

The steady eye contact, the bland responses that keep the conversation going and giving off the idea that he’s interested in what these people actually have to say.

But tonight, his attention drifts because while the clients are talking, YN quietly slips away as she normally does.

She gives him a look that says this is boring as fuck and squeezes his hand once before wandering toward the bar on the other side of the ballroom because they had yet to get a drink.

She reaches the bar and settles onto one of the stools where she’ll most likely stay until Harry’s done, the bartender taking her order, and he knows she’s ordering something fruity and sweet.

Harry forces himself to turn back to the conversation even though he just wants to be next to his wife.

He nods at something one of the clients is saying, offering a response that is half-hearted and uninterested but people here hang on his every word like it’s gospel - it dones’t really matter what he’s saying.

And then he sees him.

Theo.

Harry notices his preferred candidate for CFO crossing the room in a similar line that YN just walked.

He is navigating through the crowd without hesitation before stopping beside YN at the bar.

Harry’s attention sharpens to it immediately.

He watches as Theo reaches out and places a hand lightly on YN’s shoulder to get her attention over the noise of the room.

The ballroom is loud tonight.

Theo leans down slightly toward her so she can hear him, his mouth near her ear as he says something that Harry obviously can’t make out from across the room.

YN turns in her seat to look at him.

And suddenly Harry realizes he has not heard a single word the clients standing in front of him have been saying for the last several seconds.

His focus is completely gone because now all he can see is the man standing beside his wife.

++

ugh this felt so OG and i loved it

She wasn’t in any danger, not walking the short distance from her house to school, and she hated knowing that Niall was being forced to go out of his way, dragged from the estate each morning just to play the role Harry normally filled with ease.

The worst part wasn’t Niall’s presence, though.

It was the absence of Harry.

Every day that she opened the door to see someone else standing there, her chest sank a little heavier.

Niall was a lot.

He talked incessantly, filling every second with chatter until YN thought her head might explode open from the sound of his voice.

She was convinced he spoke from the moment he woke until he finally went to bed, never pausing long enough to breathe - let alone chill.

That, she suspected, was half the reason he avoided his wolf form—because when he was shifted, he couldn’t yap on and on.

She was almost certain the pack preferred him as a wolf for that exact reason, because at least then there was peace and quiet, if only for a little while.

“Believe me, I had to get up twenty-five minutes early. I think it’s fucking stupid too,” Niall huffed one morning, dragging his feet even though his stamina was fine.

Despite being fit, he moved like someone was hauling him against his will, each step heavier than the last.

“Then why are you?” YN slowed her pace so she wouldn’t leave him behind.

Walking with Harry was different—his stride was long, steady, purposeful, and even when he was in wolf form she never had to think about adjusting her speed, he had to slow down to keep her pace.

With Niall, it felt like babysitting.

Niall shot her a look, as though she had asked the most idiotic question in the world, “Alpha’s commands, obviously.”

Her brow furrowed at that, “What?”

He rolled his eyes with enough force she thought they might get stuck, “Harry’s orders. The second he realized he was going into rut, he barked them at me with his alpha voice, nearly busted my fuckin’ eardrums. Told me I had to walk you to and from school every day until he could again. Didn’t matter if you wanted me to or not. Didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. Alpha commands aren’t optional.”

YN had no argument for that.

She really didn’t mind Niall walking her, not when she thought about it logically, but it wasn’t Harry, and that was the problem.

With every day that passed, the absence weighed heavier, a dull ache that pressed at her chest like a constant reminder that something vital was missing.

Even without a formal mating bond, she was certain she and Harry had formed something else, something spiritual, something neither of them could easily explain.

A spiritual bond was not the same as a mate bond—it wasn’t even necessarily romantic but it was undeniable.

It happened when an alpha and omega had been tied to one another for so long, in so many ways, that the bond formed regardless of ceremony or ritual.

Almost like a common law marriage of shorts where time equaled commitment without it being formal.

It was as natural as breathing.

Harry and YN had never told anyone of their suspicions.

They both knew what kind of chaos it would unleash if they did.

Her parents would panic, his parents would apply pressure, and suddenly they would be staring down a future neither of them had been ready to face yet.

It wasn’t that Harry’s parents didn’t like YN.

In truth, they adored her.

They had always seen her as a steady comfort for their son, someone who soothed his more volatile tendencies and cared for him in a way any others could.

YN was Harry’s person over blood, over pack, over anybody or anything.

In fact, they already thought she would be the perfect omega for him but that was in a different reality, one where Harry wasn’t the heir to the pack, destined to lead one day.

His parents’ approval of YN didn’t outweigh their duty to the bloodline, their insistence that Harry’s omega would need to come from a strong lineage.

Ideally, one tied to another pack leader’s family.

An omega whose father had led before, or who still did, strengthening alliances through blood with pedigree.

Alpha leaders did not bond for love.

It was strategy.

It was evident in Harry’s parents - the constant underlying tension, the emotional distance between the two, and the bond was so weak sometimes Harry wondered if it really existed.

YN’s family didn’t fit those requirements.

Her parents were both betas with no history of alphas in their lineage, no prestige or bloodline to offer the council.

It wasn’t a mark against them, but it wasn’t acceptable for future leaders.

YN tried not to dwell on that truth, but lying to herself was impossible.

She thought about it constantly.

Every time the thought crossed her mind, her stomach churned, the ground seemed to tilt beneath her, and she felt like she might be physically sick.

Because the idea of Harry giving all of the devotion, all of the fierce protectiveness, all of the relentless attention he had always reserved for her - giving it to another omega - was unbearable.

She told herself not to think about it.

She told herself she was being foolish but the fear gnawed at her anyway, and these six long days of separation only sharpened the edge of it.

His rut meant the council would begin pressing harder, whispering about the necessity of him finding a mate, preparing lists of suitable omegas from prestigious bloodlines, carefully selecting the ones they thought might suit him.

It was the next step in his life, whether either of them wanted it or not.

It was the sixth day without him, the sixth day without his presence, without his scent, without even the faintest taste of his attention.

YN felt herself slipping into something low and heavy, a dull depression that came from her alpha not tending to her needs the way he always had.

If they were mates, she would have been with him, helping him through the rut, grounding him in the way only an omega could.

The way only she could.

She didn’t usually allow herself to think of him as “her alpha.”

She tried not to entertain fantasies of what it would be like to be bonded, to belong to him in that way.

As the days dragged on and the bond between them pulled tighter in his absence, it became harder to stop those thoughts.

Harder to ignore the craving.

Harder to imagine surviving the future she feared most because if the day came when Harry wasn’t at her door, when he wasn’t walking beside her, when he was pouring all that fierce attention into someone else, she didn’t think she would survive it.

She didn’t think she could exist in a world where that kind of bond could be broken.

It felt impossible.

It felt like something that would split her in two, something that would shatter her into a million irreparable pieces.

Because Harry wasn’t just any alpha.

He was hers—even if no one else in the world recognized it .

+

YN hadn’t told anyone what went on during her heat.

The only person she ever told everything to was Harry, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about this.

She couldn’t tell him that he had been the sole fixation of her body and her mind, that it was three full days of being consumed by him, of her brain refusing to latch onto anything else.

He had been plastered behind her eyelids, the empty missing weight in her nest, the relentless ache that nothing and no one could soothe.

Every time he dropped something off—an item saturated with his scent, she went wild for it.

She pressed her face into the fabric until her nose was dry, rolled herself up with it in her bed until every inch of her was coated in him, tucked it into her nest.

The comfort never lasted long.

She wore the scent down too quickly, rubbed it into her skin and her sheets until it was almost gone within hours.

By the end of her heat, she was desperate and furious in equal measure.

She had shredded one of his sweatshirts in a fit of frustrated rage, the fabric torn into strips on her bedroom floor because it had stopped smelling like him too soon.

Harry never said anything about the ripped sweatshirt.

He never mentioned how often she was requesting items, though she could tell he knew.

By the final day, he had adjusted without asking, leaving her bigger things, heavier things—blankets, pillows, anything that might hold his scent longer.

When he brought his own comforter, still drenched with the days he had slept beneath it, she had nearly sobbed with relief.

That had been what pulled her through the worst of it.

It was layered thick with him, with the way he slept, with the careless way his body coated everything he touched.

She had buried herself into it until her lungs felt full with him, until she was sure she had absorbed every molecule into her bloodstream.

Afterward, it had been hard to look him in the eye.

Not because he had done anything wrong, but because she had.

She had spent three days lost to filthy thoughts, unraveling with scenarios she couldn’t confess, her imagination spinning images of him stripped bare, stretched out, taking her apart in every way she craved.

It was hard to reconcile those images with the Harry who stood in front of her now—her best friend, her constant, the boy who had always been hers in a way that was supposed to be innocent.

It hardly seemed innocent when she imagined him whispering sweet things, murmuring that she could take it when he pressed his knot in, filling her full.

Her attitude had been short since then, her mood fogged with the residue of her heat.

She wasn’t as hormonal anymore, not the way she had been when her body was in overdrive, and her sex drive had dulled into nothing - the memories lingered, and she didn’t know how to shake them off.

Harry had insisted she come over anyway.

He had demanded it, really, telling her she needed rest, that she owed him a day of cuddling, movies, and snacks at the estate after shutting him out.

She had grumbled when he tugged her into a hug, rolling her eyes as though she didn’t want it, but it was only for show.

She melted into him the second his arms closed around her, because there was no fighting that kind of comfort.

He had cooed at her, the sound low and rumbling, a purr settling in his chest as he ran his nose along her jaw.

It made her heart stutter, her breath catch, because it was everything she had wanted during those three days of torment.

Then, too suddenly, he pulled back.

His eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed a deep red, and he took a stumbling step away from her.

“Sorry,” He muttered, his voice rough and strangled, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

YN blinked at him, confusion carving deep lines into her expression, “Why?”

Harry coughed, shifting on his feet.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

His hand shoved through his curls, dragging them out of his face in a nervous habit she hardly ever saw in him.

Harry didn’t get nervous.

Harry was unshakable, composed even when angry, but now he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

“Nothing,” He said quickly, voice too high, too clipped, “You just still smell… strong.”

His words cracked in the middle, like they had snagged in his throat.

He cleared it, forcing a casual tone that didn’t land, “I’ve got to use the bathroom. Go pick a movie, pup.”

He left before she could say anything.

At some point in the future, she would look back on that moment with fondness.

She would understand why he had reacted that way, what had been coursing through him when her scent hit him like a wave.

But in the moment, none of that mattered.

All she felt was the sting of rejection.

It burned sharper than she expected, hollowing her chest with the thought that maybe he didn’t like it, maybe he found the scent cloying instead of delicious.

It wasn’t logical, but it lodged itself anyway.

So when Harry came back, his face carefully blank, his body language pretending nothing had happened, he was surprised to find her curled up tightly in the corner of the sofa.

She was wound into the smallest ball she could manage, knees tucked to her chest, her head tipped against the armrest, making herself as unapproachable as possible.

There was no space for him to sit close, no room for the cuddling he had demanded.

She had put herself out of reach.

Harry paused in the doorway, confusion furrowing his brow as his gaze flicked from her to the empty cushion beside her.

He looked like he couldn’t understand why she had moved, why she was shutting him out, and YN hated that he didn’t see it.

Hated that she couldn’t explain it, because explaining would mean admitting just how badly she wanted him, and that wasn’t something she could give in to.

So she stayed there, arms locked around her knees, while Harry stood silently, wondering what he had done to make her upset.

Sometimes Harry didn’t realize that he was growling, because he wasn’t doing it on purpose but there was a low, displeased rumble emitting from the back of his throat as he walked around the couch.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Harry asked after a moment.

YN was still mindlessly scrolling through the movies.

There were too many to select from, and she wasn’t even really paying attention to what was flashing by her on the screen anyway.

“No,” YN replied stubbornly, eyes darting over to the side to get a reaction, and his lip curled upward automatically - flashing his canines at her.

“If you’re going to be rude, will you at least give me a cuddle? Haven’t seen you in days,” Harry said accusingly, like it was her fault she had gone through heat.

It felt weird to talk about with him, and now that he had reacted so negatively to her scent, it felt all the more awkward—at least for her.

YN wanted to make a snarky comment, to ask why he’d even want to cuddle when she apparently smelled so awful.

But after days of being away, days of only wanting him, there was no amount of stubbornness in her body that could resist him, could resist the need to be close to him.

YN’s throat tightens, regretful that she let her emotions get the best of her.

But the thing was, they skated around all these topics—they never talked about mates or dating or bonding, because they didn’t want to step into what was a serious conversation.

So instead, they paraded around under the guise that they were just friends.

Friends—hell, even people with spiritual bonds didn’t act the way they do.

YN ends up curled into Harry, her legs thrown over his lap, tucked into his side like she belongs there, and the movie is only twenty minutes in when Harry laughs softly.

The sound pulls YN from her daze.

A daze where she’s been nudging into his neck like a needy pup, pressing closer and closer without even realizing it.

Her face has been practically smushed against his scent gland, her nose dragging along the curve of his throat.

She thinks she might have been half-asleep, dozing in that strange place between unconsciousness and reality, lulled by the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.

She realizes with horror that she must have made some type of noise to draw out his laugh—probably a pathetic whine and if she could die of embarrassment right now, it would be a gift.

She hadn’t expected it to be this difficult to hide how she was feeling, to mask the craving that still lingered after her heat.

“Didn’t know you’d turn into such a needy puppy,” Harry teases, but his tone is softer than his words.

His hand is heavy against her thigh, not pushing her away but holding her in place, and the weight of it sends her stomach tumbling.

YN stiffens, her voice quiet, muttered more to herself than to him, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here today… it was probably stupid.”

Harry stills immediately.

The laugh dies in his chest, his body going rigid beneath her.

Slowly, he turns his head.

“Why the hell would you say that?” His voice is low, clipped, and there’s no amusement left in it.

She swallows hard, staring at the movie she hasn’t been watching, “Because—after my heat, it just feels like… maybe I should’ve given us more space. My parents already warned me, they knew it was a bad idea.”

Harry exhales sharply, almost a scoff, and shifts so she has no choice but to glance up at him.

His jaw is tight, his mouth pulled into a frown.

“A bad idea?” He repeats, the words biting, “That’s what you think this is? Me asking you to come here, wanting to spend time with you—you think that’s a mistake?”

YN feels heat rush to her cheeks, “That’s not what I meant—”

"Watch the movie,” Harry gruffs out.

The words are clipped, forced through clenched teeth, and though he isn’t using his alpha timbre, it hovers there, right at the edge.

His body is rigid beside her, his grip on the sofa cushion tightening, knuckles pale with strain.

His scent shifts with him, bitter and sharp, filling the space between them with disappointment that stings more than any shouted words.

It tells her exactly how much she has upset him.

YN’s throat tightens, regret already building heavy in her chest.

But no matter whether they were mated or not, her alpha was mad at her, he was hurt by her, and that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

They were still as close as before—that was the thing.

Harry hadn’t shoved her off.

He would never do that, no matter how upset he was but his body language was different now, tense in a way that told her he was holding himself too carefully still.

He had always been better at controlling his reactions than she was, better at locking his emotions inside until no one could read them.

YN, on the other hand, was overly emotional, and she knew it.

She kept blaming it on the aftermath of her heat, but the truth was that it really did come down to that.

She could practically feel the fluctuation of her hormones, her body struggling to reset after three days of hell.

It made everything feel sharper, heavier, harder to manage.

So it wasn’t a surprise when the tears started.

The minute her throat closed up, the minute the burn reached her nose, she knew it was going to happen.

She managed to hold back a full-on sob, but she couldn’t stop the way her shoulders began to shake, couldn’t stop the small, broken sniffle that slipped out.

It felt impossible to deal with Harry being upset with her right now.

Her chest ached like she might combust, like her whole body couldn’t survive the weight of him being angry.

Harry never could stay mad for long.

The shift in him was subtle at first—his breath catching, his jaw loosening, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxing inch by inch.

Then his head turned, and he pressed his nose into her temple, nuzzling her as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

His lips brushed against her cheekbone in a ghost of a kiss, not quite firm enough to be one, but enough to make her pulse stutter.

And then came the change in his scent.

It wasn’t back to normal, not the familiar richness she craved, but it was softer, warmer, less sharp.

It was the scent he only ever released for her when he was trying to comfort her.

It was Harry, pulling her back in, even after her words had cut him.

“I’m sorry,” YN whispers after a moment, her voice shaking with the effort to keep it steady, “I just… I feel like we’re off today.”

Her eyes are glossy, her lashes damp from the tears she’s been holding back.

Harry pulls back just enough to see her face, his brows knitting together, his jaw tight again but for an entirely different reason.

“We’re not off,” He says firmly, and there’s no hesitation in his voice, his thumb brushes against the corner of her eye, catching a tear before it can fall, “Don’t ever think that. Not with me.”

YN wants to believe him, but her chest still feels heavy, her heart pounding with the fear that she’s somehow damaged what they have.

“It feels like it,” She admits softly, curling tighter into his chest as though hiding the words might make them less real.

Harry exhales slowly, the sound rough, almost tired.

His arms shift around her, pulling her in until her body is entirely under of his, until his chin is resting against the top of her head.

“It’s not you,” He murmurs, and she can feel the rumble of his voice against her temple, “It’s me. I’m the one who’s been off. I’ve been losing my mind these last few days, pup, and you’ve been the one paying for it.”

She tilts her head up, startled by the sharp honesty in his tone, “What do you mean?”

Harry’s throat works as he swallows, his eyes shutting for a beat before he forces them open again.

“Not being able to take care of you through your heat… it wrecked me,” He admits quietly, like the words are pulled out of him against his will, “I wanted to. Every second, I wanted to. I wanted to be here, wanted to make sure you were safe, wanted to keep you calm and fed and looked after. And I couldn’t. I had to sit there, locked up in my own hell.”

YN’s lips part, her chest tightening, because she hadn’t thought of it like that.

She had only thought of herself, of her own loneliness, of her own longing.

She hadn’t considered how it must have felt for him, to be unable to answer the pull that tugged at both of them.

Harry presses his nose back into her hair, breathing her in like he’s been starved.

His voice drops lower, softer, almost hoarse, “So no, we’re not off. I’m just… I’m worn down. I’ve been fighting myself and fighting the ache of not being able to take care of you the way I should. That’s not on you, pup. That’s on me.”

His scent shifts again as he speaks, sliding into that warm, enveloping note she knows so well—the one he only lets slip when he’s being bare with her, when he’s showing her what’s really going on inside.

It fills the air around her, heavy and sweet, wrapping her in reassurance until her body starts to relax against him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Harry says finally, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin so she has to meet his eyes.

YN sits there, listening to every word he says, but the problem is that none of it makes anything clearer for her.

Harry’s voice is steady, his words are honest, and she doesn’t doubt that he means them, but she doesn’t know what they mean.

When he says he wanted to take care of her, does he mean it the way any best friend would—wanting to make sure she ate, slept, and didn’t hurt herself in the middle of a heat that could have easily overwhelmed her?

Or does he mean it the way a mate would—wanting to hold her through it, soothe her when she burned too hot, press his body against hers until she was satisfied?

She can’t tell.

There is no distinction in his tone, no giveaway in the way he looks at her.

His touch is soft, his scent warm, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that makes her chest ache but Harry has always been like that with her.

So how is she supposed to know if this is different?

Her mind spins in circles, chasing itself down dead ends, trying to read between the lines of something that doesn’t seem to have lines at all.

She wants an answer, something solid to cling to, but all she has is his voice, his scent, his hands holding her close.

That was why she decided to attend the pack’s weekly bonfire despite the tension between them.

It was tradition, a gathering of the young pack members in one of the field openings behind the sprawling pack estate.

Outsiders were sometimes permitted (if harry gave permission) —boyfriends, girlfriends, human friends who had earned the privilege but for the most part it was meant for those still on the younger end of the pack.

The elders never came.

That absence, however, meant that the responsibility of maintaining order and safety fell squarely on Harry’s shoulders.

Whenever his father wasn’t present, the unspoken rule was that Harry was in charge.

It was a role he never questioned but it also meant that the bonfires were fun for others - he wasn't allowed to relax.

He patrolled the perimeter with the same precision as always, circling the grounds to ensure that every scent in the air was familiar and that no unexpected intruder approached.

With so many young wolves gathered in one area—future fighters, it was a perfect target.

Harry made sure it never became one.

He and his second-in-commands took all the responsibilities so that the rest of the pack could unwind without worry.

The bonfires themselves were an important part of their culture.

No one questioned YN’s presence at these events, not even at the gatherings that were explicitly pack-only.

By now, her existence within Harry’s life was so permanent that she might as well have been born into it.

Some of the younger members did not even realize she was not blood-bound to them, and visitors who did not know better often assumed she and Harry were already mated despite their young age.

When YN finally arrived that evening, the fire was already blazing high, sparks dissipating into the night air.

Music pounded loudly from a set of portable speakers, muffled somewhat by the laughter of boys tossing beanbags at cornhole boards and girls shrieking as they sprinted across the field to avoid being caught between alphas play fighting in their wolf forms.

It should have been comfortable, ordinary, the same as every other week.

What YN did not expect was the deafening growl.

It ripped across the field with the weight of a thunderclap, low and guttural, loud enough to cut through the music and silence the laughter in less than an instant.

The sound vibrates into her chest, rattling against her until all she could hear was the rumble of his fury and the faint beat of the speaker still playing behind it, dull in comparison.

Her whole body tensed instantly.

She knew it was directed at her and only her.

She told herself scolding that she had been stupid to think he might have calmed down by the time she arrived, but some part of her had hoped.

The truth was, she didn’t even know what had set him off in the first place, which only made the warning growl feel sharper, more confusing.

The pack reacted instinctively.

Even those who had known Harry all their lives, who were used to his quick triggered temper and his rigid rules, still grew uneasy when he made his presence known so aggressively.

Heads snapped toward the treeline as he appeared from the darkness of the woods, his massive form appearing in unhurried steps that conveyed not calm, but control.

His annoyance was written in the hard line of his jaw, the rigid hold of his shoulders.

There was nothing playful in his expression, she wasn't expecting that there would be.

His eyes, already narrowed, glowed in the night with that intimidating golden shine, catching the light of the fire until it looked as though the flames themselves had been trapped in his irises.

YN felt the muscles in her shoulders tighten, the same familiar irritation bubbling up to meet the exasperation that always followed these confrontations.

She was tired of the dramatics, tired of the way his protectiveness slipped so easily into overreaction.

She had come to these bonfires every week without incident.

Nothing had changed.

Why, then, was he acting as though this time was different?

She crossed her arms, forcing herself to ignore the glances and the obvious way their friends tried and failed not to stare.

Even when they looked away, their eyes darted back in flickers, pulled toward the growing tension between their alpha and his claim.

Harry’s swagger carried him across the field with his ears pressed back, his lips twitching as though he wanted nothing more than to bare his teeth.

He stopped in front of her, towering, bristling, radiating enough dominance that she could feel it surround her.

“What is your issue?” YN hissed in a low voice, her patience worn thin.

She knew perfectly well that other alphas standing by the fire could hear every word, but she did not want to draw the entire pack into their fight.

She kept her voice sharp but contained, her chin tilted up in challenge as her teeth clenched, “Why are you acting so weird today? I come here every single week, Harry.”

Any time Harry felt unsettled, his moods jagged and his temper running high, he never handled being challenged well.

It was an instinctive response, primal and taught, for his warning growl to roll through his chest, telling her without words to tread carefully.

That sound was not only for her—it was for anyone close enough to hear, a reminder of his dominance and of the authority he carried.

But YN had long since stopped being intimidated by the sound.

His rumbling warnings, meant to keep her cautious, rarely had the desired effect because Harry was pushing his own luck as much as he claimed she was pushing hers.

“Suddenly I’m not able to come to these bonfires?” YN asked him, her tone heavy with pointed agitation, though her voice remained quiet enough.

She knew his sounds well after all these years—the low chuffs, the huffs of breath, the drawn-out growls, what he was trying to convey.

And right now, even without words, she could tell that he was not forbidding her from being here.

His message was more complicated than that.

He was frustrated, yes, but it wasn’t about her attendance at the bonfire.

Harry circled her slowly, his movements deliberate and paced as he prowled around her, the line of his body brushing close.

He dipped his massive head low and pressed the edge of his nose against her bare arm, dragging the bridge of his muzzle along her skin.

He was laying his scent on thick, pressing it into her with every brush, and she knew it immediately.

It clung in a way his usual scent didn't, more forceful, more insistent, overbearing, and it made her nose twitch with discomfort.

His wolf form carried an earthier undertone, rich and musky, so much heavier than the cleaner, sharper scent he carried in his human skin.

She had grown used to his scent, even liked it, but when he layered it on this aggressively it left her restless and itchy.

She tried to let it pass.

Harry was always sensitive when he was like this, when his protective instincts overtook his sense of logic.

But when his snout rose higher, nudging insistently at her throat, pressing close to the vulnerable space just beneath her jaw, she reacted instantly.

She shoved him back with quick, panicked force, her wide eyes flicking around the field to see who had noticed.

Heat flooded her cheeks when she caught sight of a few curious stares, and shame curled in her stomach like a fist.

Everyone here knew the etiquette.

It was not right for an unmated alpha to scent an unmated omega’s neck, not right for him to press his mouth or nose near it.

That was sacred, forbidden in public, and while rules might bend in private, it was not something that could be flaunted in front of the pack.

It was taboo, the kind of offense that could be carried back to the elders as a complaint if anyone chose to make it into one.

And Harry knew that.

He had always known it.

Even when he sometimes gave in to his impulses and pressed his face to her throat in private, it was with the understanding that it stayed between them.

“Harry, that’s enough,” YN said finally, her voice cold, her jaw clenching with the kind of anger she rarely had to show him.

This was something different, something that disregarded her boundaries and left her feeling exposed.

Her voice dropped even lower, every word precise and full of quiet rage, “I said stop.”

He did step back, but the retreat was full of fury, not compliance.

His ears flattened against his skull, his eyes burned brighter, and his lips peeled back into a snarl scary enough to silence conversation across the field.

The sound that tore from him was so loud and unrestrained that several alphas closest to the fire immediately went on alert, shifting their weight as if preparing to transform, their instincts prickling with the warning that YN might not be safe.

But YN did not flinch.

No alarm bells rang in her.

She knew, bone-deep, that Harry would never harm her.

He could be off-kilter, unpredictable, moody to the point of irrationality, but never dangerous to her.

Harry tilted his massive head toward the estate in the distance, a motion that made his intention clear.

He wanted her to leave, to go inside, to remove herself from the bonfire and let him dictate her movements.

When she did not move, he stepped closer again and nudged her hip with his snout, harder this time, a rough shove meant to direct her where he wanted.

YN planted her feet firmly in the dirt and took a deliberate step back, her eyes narrowing, her chin lifting with stubbornness.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” She tells him, her voice still kept low for the sake of privacy but harsher, “I’m going to enjoy the bonfire, and you are going to stop being such a fucking knothead.”

For a long moment, Harry did not move, his body bristling, every muscle spun tight as though holding himself back from lunging.

But when YN turned and stormed toward the fire, he did not follow.

His silence followed her instead.

It lasted only seconds before he broke it.

His head tilted back, and from his chest tore a howl so deafening it seemed to rattle every single person.

It carried through the trees so violently in its force that the branches trembled and woodland creatures scattered from their hiding places to new ones.

The pack flinched as one, several ducking down instinctively, others throwing their hands over their ears to muffle the sound, their faces twisted against the sheer volume of his rage.

The music, the laughter, all of it seemed to disappear beneath the weight of that howl.

YN did not flinch.

She rolled her eyes, her back stiff as she refused to turn around, because she knew exactly what came next.

At some point, Harry would vanish into the treeline, his temper leading him to pout and linger.

She knew him well enough to expect the tantrum.

She just wished he could have spared her the spectacle.

–

YN knew, without needing to question it, that Harry would walk her home.

He always did.

No matter how tense the day had been, no matter what words had been exchanged, Harry had never let her make the walk alone.

Normally, those walks were light, woven through with his version of playfulness.

He would nip at her ankles with quick snaps of his teeth, forcing her to squeal and hop out of the way, his deep rumbling laugh vibrating in his chest when she glared at him for scuffing her new shoes.

Other times he disappeared into the treeline, slipping into shadows so effortlessly that she could not track him, only for him to burst out at the last second with a growl meant to scare her, his satisfaction obvious in the smug arch of his brows when she startled.

Even when she was not in the mood for games, he adapted, pacing beside her so closely that his fur brushed her hip with every step, nudging his snout into her hand or side in small reminders that she was not alone.

Those were the versions of Harry she loved most—protective, yes, but steady, warm in his adoration.

Tonight was nothing like that.

He did walk her home, as she expected, but everything in his demeanor was different.

Instead of stalking by her side, his steps dragged just behind her like a rain cloud.

A constant growl rolled from his throat, not too loud but steady, a background vibration that rattled her nerves further.

Each time she turned her head to look back at him, searching his eyes for some explanation, he bared his teeth in silent command, an unspoken order for her to face forward and keep moving.

The message was clear - he was in no mood for questions, no mood for compromise.

By the time they reached her front door, YN was already edgy.

She turned sharply on her heel, crossing her arms over her chest.

One eyebrow arched, her expression dared him to keep up the shitty behavior.

“Well,” She demanded, her tone clipped and expectant, “Are you going to apologize for all your bullshit today?”

Harry lingered at the base of the steps, he did not bound up the way he usually did.

Instead, his chest heaved with the weight of his breathing.

Then, slowly, his paws creaked against the old wooden steps, each one heavy and deliberate, carrying him closer.

But he did not apologize.

He did not explain.

Instead, when he reached her, he leaned forward and let his teeth graze across the thin skin beneath her jaw.

The contact was shockingly intimate, far too close to the vulnerable spot just above her bond gland, and her pulse jumped wildly beneath him.

Her breath caught, her body tensing in equal parts shock and something far more dangerous—anticipation.

His canines pressed in, just enough to test, light enough that she could feel how carefully he was holding himself back.

He wasn’t tearing or biting, but it was no gentle touch either.

He had never been this reckless before.

Never so close to crossing a line that, once crossed, could not be undone.

“Ha—” YN’s voice caught, her throat closing around the sound as she swallowed hard.

Her omega did not want her to stop him.

Her omega wanted the opposite—wanted him to sink those teeth deeper, to claim her in entryway..

And that terrified her, because she had spent so long training herself not to think like that, not to imagine what it would mean, not to walk down the path of her best friend.

Heat curled low in her stomach, a familiar burn, a tugging ache that made her legs weak.

She needed to get inside before it betrayed her, before the slick scent of her arousal was in the air around them.

But when his nostrils flared and his low growl softened into something different—something closer to a purr, almost cooing, she knew he already smelled it.

Her embarrassment doubled, she shoved at his head with trembling hands, her eyes wide, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She knew he hadn’t meant to push her this far, knew this wasn’t supposed to undo her like that, and yet she had let it.

She had overstepped in her response, had let her body betray her, and now the air between them felt dangerous.

His ears were still drawn back, his body taut, but his eyes had lost their fury.

Heavy, deliberate blinks, as though trying to check himself, to come back to the mind set of some place deeper and less controlled.

For the first time all evening, he did not look angry—he looked unsteady, almost vulnerable in a way she could not make sense of.

Her omega tugged at her to give in.

And that was why she turned away so suddenly, slamming the door hard enough that the frame shook.

It was the only choice she had left to stop herself.

The sound that followed was furious and sharp.

His snarl echoed against the night, followed by the solid thud of his shoulder slamming into her front door, the impact shaking through the wood.

It was his way of letting her know exactly how angry he was, how much he hated being shut out.

She pressed her back to the door, and tried to block out the sound of him raging just beyond the wood between them.

++

The next day, Harry wasn’t at her door to walk her to school.

Her heart dropped straight into her stomach because even when he was annoyed with her -he had never skipped walking her.

It made her feel uneasy before the day even began.

She hoped through the entire walk that he would appear, maybe step out from the trees, maybe circle in late, but he didn’t.

People looked at her strangely when she arrived without him, their eyes catching on her, curious and unsettled because no one was used to seeing her without Harry at her side.

It was unbearable, the first period.

Absolutely unbearable, because there was no way she could get through an entire day not knowing why Harry hadn’t come.

She watched the classroom door every second, waiting for him to appear and take the seat beside her, but he never did.

It felt like a punch to the gut, heavy and hard to ignore.

By the time the fifty-four minutes were over, she knew she couldn’t stay.

Not until she knew.

So she slipped out, sneaking through a side door to avoid questions.

Though truthfully, she doubted anyone would dare to ask—thanks to Harry and the unspoken rule that no one wanted to get on his bad side.

There were only a few places he could be.

So she started the long walk toward the estate, the sprawling land and the massive old house that had always belonged to the alpha line, the one Harry would inherit one day.

She half-expected him to appear at some point during the trek, half-hoped he would reveal himself the way he sometimes did.

But there was no sign of him anywhere.

Anxiety twisted in her chest at the thought that he was so angry he had simply abandoned her, left her unprotected.

It was irrational—she could protect herself but she had grown used to his presence, to the security it gave her, and the thought of it missing sat wrong.

She knew the code.

She stepped quietly into the house, the silence pressing against her as she made her way straight for the stairs.

Her feet carried her to Harry’s room, and when she found the knob locked she pounded on the door with rising panic.

For one fleeting second, a terrible thought flashed—what if he had an omega in there with him?

The flare of jealousy that followed was sharp, vicious, and unexpected.

But then the door swung open.

Harry stood there shirtless, in nothing but a pair of briefs that left very little to imagination, his body slick with sweat, his hair plastered damp against his forehead.

He looked wild.

He wrapped a hot, strong hand around her wrist before she could say anything and yanked her inside, locking the door behind them.

It reeked in here—in the best, most overwhelming way.

His scent was transformed, denser, richer, more intoxicating than it had ever been.

It made her mouth water.

Harry pinned her back against the door in a single, breathless move, a low rumble shaking through his chest as his nose found her throat.

His shoulders dropped in relief, his body relaxing only when he pressed into her scent, and his rasp was low and broken.

“My omega.”

Her heart jolted.

“What?” Her voice cracked, her chest tight.

“Harry? What’s going on? Are you sick?” She whispered, concern lacing every word, but she stayed frozen as his mouth pressed against the gland at her throat.

His tongue lapped at it, in a way it never had before, marking her so thoroughly she could hardly breathe.

When he pulled back, his eyes were hazy and unfocused, his pupils blown wide, “I—huh? Wait. Oh, fuckin’ shit—Niall didn’t tell you? That fuckin’ dickhead prick as—”

“Tell me what, Harry?”Her words cut him off, her swallow hard and nervous.

His chest heaved.

“I just started my first rut this morning,” He admitted, voice deep and guttural.

And suddenly everything made sense.

“You shouldn’t be here,” He muttered, shaking his head like the sight of her was painful, stepping back like her presence burned him.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“You don’t—” YN started, frowning, her chest tight with the sting of rejection.

But Harry shook his head harder, more violently, his whole body trembling.

“I’m barely controlling myself right now, pup,” He rasped desperately, she had to focus her eye on his face and not the cause of his rut.

“I can’t—I’ll do something we’ll regret.”

Her heart squeezed at the warning but still, she asked, “Like what?”

His voice dropped even lower, primal and raw, “I’ll get you on my knot and sink my teeth into your bond spot. I’ll tie us together for life—right now.”

Her thighs pressed together without thinking, heat licked at her stomach, wrong and sharp and desperate.

Fuck.

She needed to leave.

She knew she needed to leave.

But she let out a helpless whine, a broken, betraying sound that told him she didn’t want to.

That she wanted it, wanted him, wanted everything he had just described.

He perks up at the noise, his pupils narrowing, his whole body shifting to pounce..

He stalked forward again and pinned her against the wall, his nose dragging across her skin, his tongue finding her throat once more.

His voice was wrecked, dripping heat and want.“Does that sound good to you, omega? You’d feel so nice ‘round me. So slick and warm—I know you would.”

Her body flushed hot, her face burning, her chest tight with flustered need.

She had never heard him talk like this, never imagined he would, but instead of recoiling she felt herself drawn in, desperate for more.

Harry’s big hand slid up, gripping the nape of her neck in a hold that felt both grounding and possessive.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” He whispered, rough but tender, “S’why I’ve got to protect you so much—‘cause you’re so fuckin’ precious to me.”

Her throat was dry, words caught somewhere and she didn’t need to answer because then Harry was kissing her.

Hard and soft at once, greedy like he would die if he didn’t taste her, his lips crashing to hers with desperate hunger.

And she kissed him back, her mind emptying under the touch.

Her body melted, pliant against him, until his hand slid lower, pressing to her stomach, starting to move upward toward her chest.

And then he froze.

He ripped himself back, stumbling clumsily in a way he never was, shaking his head like he was fighting himself.

“Fuck, baby. You have to leave. Now. I’m barely holding it together.”

“Harry—”

“Unless you want to leave here knotted and bonded,” He growled, his whole body trembling, “You need to leave.”

Her chest ached at the command, torn in two directions, desperate to stay and terrified of what staying would mean.

He was shaking, his voice breaking apart as he softened suddenly.

“I love you,” He reminds her, the words aren't new but they feel different, she was probably just imagining it, “I want nothing more than to keep you here, but you have to leave, puppy.”

Her heart cracked wide open.

Sometimes it annoyed her but that wasn’t all that common because she was so used to it, she looked at him more fondly than anything else.

She pushed back against it, lived her life as she wanted, and when she pushed boundaries—staying out too late with friends or wandering where she shouldn’t to find a good place to read, she was never surprised to catch the faint silhouette of him in the treeline, a shadow tracking her until she made it home.

And when she pushed too far?

Harry had no problem making it known.

She’d watch her friends scatter in the directions of their homes under the weight of his growl when he pop out from the treeline and scared the shit out of them, leaving her to be herded home with nudges to her back, his snout pressing between her shoulder blades until she finally relented and stopped dragging her feet.

She’d curse at him the whole way, throwing insults over her shoulder, but by the time they reached her porch, she was always over it.

She knew this wasn’t just him being controlling for the sake of it—it was something innate, necessary for him, and deeply embedded in his bones.

He respected her boundaries most of the time.

Unless something genuinely endangered her, he didn’t cross those lines.

But this— today was different.

There was a feralness to him she hadn’t seen before, a tension in his movements that made her confused, made her wondering if she had missed something that happened to set him off but she kept coming up blank.

She had been tasked with a school project for her media class, to photograph local wildlife with certain lenses and angles, and the best way to do that was in the woods behind the school.

YN had been back in those woods multiple times to photograph different things, the high-end camera hanging on a strap around her neck, and she was happy to be able to get out of the stuffy school for a bit even if it was for an assignment.

YN had done it before without incident, quite a few times because their media teacher was prone to sending them out into nature for photography opportunities that they couldn’t get inside the bleak building.

There was a creek deeper in the woods she wanted to photograph—she knew that it would fit the assignment perfectly because there was even a small waterfall that would look great through her high-quality lens.

She found it.

The shallow stream roped lazily through a small, overgrown clearing, the was a picturesque beam of light that was seeping through the massive trees looming overhead, and she knew this was going to get her a good grade.

She crouched low, removing the camera from around her neck for a better ability to move it, and she lifts the camera to her face, adjusting the focus until it starts to become clear enough to line up—

And then she was yanked backward so suddenly she lost her balance, her body hitting the wet ground with a thud, bum hitting hard against the uneven mud of the creek, and her elbows scraping the ground.

The startled yelp that left her mouth was loud enough to send a few nearby birds scattering, and the expensive camera tumbled from her hands - coming to a stop directly in the creek, water starting to race around and over it, completely drenching it.

From her YN could see the lens had cracked against a nearby rock.

To top it all off, mud was quickly seeping into the seat of her jeans, cold and disgusting as her sneakers were caked in dirt, water soaking through to her socks.

And the camera—worth more than she’d earn in years of allowance was undoubtedly destroyed beyond compair with the water damage, the mud that was already caked into the small crevices.

Her first thought wasn’t Harry—why would it be?

She hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

Her heart jumped into her throat because she was worried that she was about to be attacked.

But then she heard it - that deep, irritated growl she could recognize anywhere, echoing through the air like a warning siren, and vibrating the trees around them with how obnoxiously loud he was.

She whipped around, angry tears already burning at the corners of her eyes - partly from being so terrified but also the over pain from falling, it was a dull ache but still…and the humiliation of her close being ruined, the camera being broken.

“What the fuck, Harry?” YN shouts at him, turning to glance over her shoulder with the meanest glare she could manage.

He stood there in his wolf form, towering above her, heavy breathes coming from his chest that were mixed with the rumbles of his anger.

His coat was deep brown, nearly black in the low light but the brief rays of sun managed to capture the almost copper-like strands that only really showed when light hit it in a direct way.

He had her hoodie between his teeth, tugging her another step back from the creek before releasing her, his massive body shifting, blocking her from moving forward again.

She pushed herself upright, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive way to make it known just how pissed off she was,“You ruined my jeans, my shoes, and the school’s camera! Why are you even out here—you’re supposed to be in Econ!”

Harry’s only answer was another growl, low and unapologetic, the sound was too loud for the quietness of the space that they were sharing.

Then he swiped one paw across the mud, a silent command to move, tilting his head toward the school.

“It was an assignment,” She snapped, unsure of why she even felt the need to explain herself to him because she didn’t, bending to retrieve the mud-streaked camera, grimacing as she held it away from her body.

“Mrs. Bett literally told me to come back here. There’s zero reason for you to be here right now,” YN points out, which she knows he won’t like, and won't appreciate being questioned on his actions (especially when he’s caught on bad behavior).

His teeth flashed briefly—more a snap of disagreement than a threat and the sound lit her temper like a match.

He was so unperturbed by her anger that it made her furious and no, it wasn't her best moment when she picked up a rock and threw it at him.

It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, he wouldn't have even noticed unless he had just watched her throw it, blocked by the dense layer of fur and thick muscle.

Normally, he’d at least yowl or bare his canines in response to the action (it wasn't the first or last time she'd hurl a rock his way).

Instead, Harry stepped forward in the quiet, stalking grace that if any other alpha came at her that way, she would be scared shitless.

It was not a casual step but the kind that closed distance like he was hunting, his paws sinking into the wet mud by her.

The air seemed to thicken with the tension.

His head dipped lower, eyes narrowing into slits, the gold in them catching the flicks of some emotion she couldn't recognize.

He wasn’t looking at the ruined camera in her hands or the mud on her jeans.

He was staring at her—her proximity to the water, the narrow ledge that she had crouched on haphazardly.

Her anger flared hotter at the realization because she's not a fucking child.

“This is about the creek?” She demanded, her voice rising over the pounding thump of her heartbeat in her ears, “You think I’m too stupid to stand near water without falling in?”

His tail gave one sharp swish behind him, ears angling back just enough to signal his displeasure, but he didn’t back down like he normally would have by now.

Instead, he took another deliberate step forward, she could see the deep chest rising and falling with each controlled breath.

The stubborn part of her—the part that had been testing his boundaries since they were kids, didn’t step back.

If anything, she leaned forward a fraction in a challenge, chin tipped in defiance despite the primal warning in every line of his body that her senses ignored easily.

It was trust at the end of the day, that no matter how irrationally mad he was, she trusted that he would never harm her.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the tension stretching between them like it was about to snap..

A bird darted across the stream, its wings flapping obnoxiously right in front of his face and for a heartbeat she thought he’d break eye contact.

He didn’t.

Instead, he lowered himself fractionally, muscles tightening in his shoulder, the slow, predatory crouch of a wolf ready to drive pounce.

She already could guess his plan.

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” She huffs as she stands her ground, her voice softer now but edged with the stubborn fight he knew all too well.

One ear twitched.

He huffed through his nose, the warm air hitting her skin as his nose skirted the edge of her sleeve—sniffing, checking, confirming she wasn’t hurt.

His gaze flicked once toward the school through the trees.

When she didn’t move, he bared his teeth—not in a threat, but in that unmistakable impatience that always came right before he acted without asking.

She took a step back, but her heel caught on a root, and before she could recover, he nudged her forward with the solid weight of his shoulder, steering her toward the path.

The shove wasn’t rough, but it was forceful as he knew she wouldn't listen willingly.

“Harry—” She started to scold, but he gave another insistent push (a bit rougher), and the sound that came from his throat this time was low enough to make her body vibrate.

She tried, at first, to put a little distance between them, stepping toward the opposite edge of the trail, but he matched her instantly, closing the space with silent precision.

Every time his head lifted again, his gaze flicked toward her, a quick, assessing check before returning to the path ahead.

It was infuriatingly calm, and it made her made because she knew he was doing it because he cared.

There was no true anger in the way he moved with her—he was corralling her in the most literal sense, guiding her without trapping her, each nudge or sidestep an unspoken order.

By the time YN got back to the school, her body felt coiled tight with irritation, like every nerve ending was buzzing under her skin.

She ignored Harry’s sharp, commanding chuff from the shadows of the tree line—a demand to wait for him to shift back.

But she didn’t wait.

She didn’t even look back.

Instead, she shoved through the back doors of the school so forcefully that the metal handle rattled and the hinges squealed in protest.

The schooled smelled faintly of disinfectant chemicals but even that couldn’t cut through the saturation of Harry’s scent clinging to her.

It was suffocating, dizzying, wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, and YN realized with a sharp pang of understanding why the teacher’s expression softened in wary recognition the second she appeared back in the classroom.

The woman’s nostrils flared.

Her eyes flicked down to the camera in YN’s arms, then back up again, but instead of reaching out, she took a half-step backward, spine stiff with a kind of primal caution.

Harry’s scent had warned her—loud and clear that YN was protected by an alpha leader.

Without a word, the teacher simply pointed to her desk, making it clear she would not be touching anything YN handed her.

The humiliation stung, but the anger stung more.

YN dropped the camera onto the desk harder than she intended, the thunk echoing too loudly in the empty room, then spun on her heel and stalked back out.

By the time she pushed open the front doors of the school, she was already digging in her bag.

Her fingers found the familiar bottle, she didn’t even hesitate—just yanked off the cap, pressed the nozzle, and sprayed.

The mist laid over her throat, her wrists, the fabric of her shirt - everywhere.

She pressed down again and again, until she was sure every trace of him was buried, smothered, neutralized.

She knew he would be furious and that's the reason she's done it.

She knew that blocking her trail would drive him mad with frustration, that he’d follow the fruitless leads expecting her scent to lead him to her only to find empty air.

That he would realize what she had done, realize that she had chosen to make herself untraceable.

And that was exactly what she wanted.

++

YN barely remembered how she got home.

By the time she finally shoved her way through her front door, her limbs heavy with the weight of her emotions.

She dumped her bag onto the floor with a careless thud, kicked her shoes halfway across the entryway, and headed straight for the bathroom.

The scent blocker mingled with soap and shampoo until she couldn’t smell anything but her pomegranate body wash even though she's sad Harry's scent was washed away as well.

By the time she crawled into her bed, tucking herself beneath the blankets, her body deflated with exhaustion.

The irritation was still there, a steady burn in her chest, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from drifting.

It didn’t last.

The crash of her bedroom door slamming open jolted her awake so violently that her heart lurched in her chest.

The wooden edge smacked against the wall hard enough that she swore she heard the drywall crack.

Her head snapped up, sleep-bleary eyes wide, and the sound that scared her still semi-unconscious mind..

A growl.

Low, guttural, and dangerous.

It rolled through the room like thunder, echoing with a feral edge that made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end.

Harry stood in her doorway, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

His eyes were sharp, almost wild, and the tension in his body was like a coiled spring seconds away from snapping.

The air around him carried heat, thick and heavy, and YN’s instincts screamed that something was wrong—worse than just his temper.

“Harry—” She started, voice catching in her confusion and tiredness.

“Don’t,” He snarled, low and hard to understand through the rumbles, stepping forward, “Don’t even say my name right now.”

Her back pressed into the headboard instinctively as he stalked further inside, each heavy step measured, deliberate, still just as angry as the woods.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, and his jaw ticked with barely controlled fury.

“You think you’re clever, huh?” He spat, his voice sharp and unsteady, like it was starting to crumble. “Think I wouldn’t notice? Sprayin’ yourself down like that—wipin’ me off you when I purposely fuckin’ marked you?.”

YN’s lips parted, anger flaring just as quick as her fear.

“Because you were being a knothead!” She shot back, even though her voice was croaky, “You freaked out for no reason! You ruined my day and my media project and my clothes for what reason? None.”

He growled again, louder this time..

YN’s pulse still fluttered, her fingers gripping the blanket tight around her.

She didn’t know why it felt different—why his presence seemed hotter, sharper, more intense than usual.

The air in the room was charged, thick with something she couldn’t name, but her gut told her it wasn’t just anger.

Harry’s nails dug into his palms, the muscles in his forearms trembling like he was restraining himself.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me—losin’ you on the trail? Do you know what it does to me when I can’t find you?” His voice cracked, raw,“You don’t disappear from me, YN. You don’t. You fuckin’ know better.”

His tone was commanding, but underneath it, there was desperation for her to just obey.

YN wasn’t ever fearful of him.

Her heart was pounding, yes—but it wasn’t the kind of fear that made her want to run.

It was the kind that sat low in her chest, gnawing and heavy, because it hurt her omega instincts to be at odds with him like this.

Her room was already stinking of him again.

On a normal day, his scent was strong enough, a constant presence on her clothes, her sheets, in the air she breathed—but right now it was heavier, richer, almost intoxicating in a way that made her head spin.

It was different too, sharper at the edges, saturated in something she didn’t recognize.

She wasn’t going to complain, not really—she loved his scent, the comfort it brought, the way it turned her bedroom into something that felt claimed and safe.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t obnoxious.

And he was being so fucking obnoxious.

“Harry, you’re being too much today,” YN huffed, dragging a hand over her face as if she could wipe the irritation off, “Like what happened in the woods, it was so unnecessary—”

“Do not fuckin’ tell me what is too much,” Harry cut across her, his tone low and jagged, a snarl caught between his words,“I’m the alpha here.”

YN’s brows shot up.

That was a line he knew better than to cross.

He knew she hated when he played that card, when he tried to use his title like it was some kind of weapon.

He rarely did with her—never, really.

She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d thrown “I’m the alpha” in her face, and to hear it now?

It made her own fury flare hot in her chest.

“Oh, really?” She snapped instantly, her voice rising with her temper, “So you get final say because you’re a stupid fuckin’ alpha?”

Her hand curled around the nearest pillow, and for a moment, she thought maybe hurling it at his head would snap him out of this, make him laugh, break the tension but the second the snarl ripped out of him, warning and feral, it sent a shiver down her spine.

That wasn’t the Harry she knew.

“I’m your alpha,” Harry rasped, his voice rough, his pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the green of his eyes until they were nearly black.

She only ever saw him like this when he was seconds away from tearing into an intruder on their land.

There was still no doubt she was safe.

“No, you’re going to listen to me,” YN hissed back, spine straightening, shoulders squared.

She shoved her chin high, glaring at him with every ounce of defiance she had left,“You’re going to get the fuck out of my room, now. I’m done with this conversation. You’re being a knothead.”

Harry’s lip twitched, the corner of his mouth pulling back over his teeth in displeasure.

His eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing, like he was debating whether to ignore her demand or snap at it.

“Get out, you stupid alpha,” YN raised her voice further, throwing the words like rocks, her chest heaving with adrenaline, “I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.”

Something about that, about the sharpness in her tone, about the authority she forced into the command—made him pause.

It woke him up from a fog.

The silence stretched long enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her throat, and then, without another word, Harry turned.

He didn’t slam the door—he shoved it, hard enough that the frame rattled and the crack of wood rang in her ears.

And then he was gone.

YN sagged back against the headboard, her pulse thundering, her whole body tight with the aftermath of the clash.

She knew what he’d do—what he always did when she pushed him too far.

He’d shift, slip into his wolf skin, and stalk the treeline outside her house, pace relentlessly to protect.

The same rule applied for omegas too, though sometimes their cycles triggered a little later.

Whether it was heat or an actual illness didn’t matter—if someone disappeared, everyone assumed it was cycle-related and minded their own business.

YN had just gone through her second one. 

It had crept up quietly, without the dramatic warning signs they’d drilled into them during health class. 

It started slow, subtle—the kind of thing you only noticed when you were looking back at it. 

A slight sugary shift in her scent, an instinctual need to rearrange her nest until it made her bed look nothing like an actual bed, and the way everything started to make her more teary. 

It started in late July, right on the edge of her eighteenth birthday, three days after actually, and it was mortifying - she still wasn’t… secure enough with herself to not be embarrassed about heats.

Harry, and by default his pack, had known immediately.

She lied to everyone else, of course, she had said she had plans for the week, made up for a vacation that she’d never spoken of before until that very moment, and no one in her friend group questioned it.

But Harry? 

She should’ve known better than to try. 

She’d crafted the excuse anyway (a very lazy one at that), typed it with trembling fingers while already fighting the early fogginess, pray he’d drop it which she knew better.

YN: Don’t come over for the next few days, stomach bug—doctor says it’s super contagious.

She wasn’t sure what she expected but deep down - she did know.

There was no version of the world where Harry wouldn’t show up because that was what he did, it’s what he’s always done, and would still continue to do even if she tried to fight it.

It wasn’t just about being her best friend. 

Some days, it felt like he was hers, even though she tried her hardest not to spiral down that path. 

It was dangerous—omega instincts could be tricked, misled. 

You could imprint on the wrong alpha, mistake friendship for bond. 

You could start to need someone who wasn’t yours, who didn’t choose you back. 

And being diagnosed with mate confusion disorder was something she didn’t want to happen - she’d been warned, taught in health class about the warning signs.

So she tried to be good, tried not to let her omega hope too loudly.

When he didn’t reply to her message, she told herself it was expected—Harry was practically an old man when it came to his phone, and half the time it was off or shoved in his duffel while he patrolled or trained. 

But still, with every minute that passed, her anxiety swelled under her skin - it’s like it was stopping her from falling into her heat. 

And now, five minutes later, she’s still looking at the screen when she hears it—something tapping against her second-story window.

A sound that could only mean one thing.

Harry.

She already knows it’s him before she even gets to the glass. 

Of course it is. 

When it came to her, he didn’t wait for permission - most of the time, he scaled the siding like only someone of his athleticism could do and slipped in through her window like a wind in the night. 

But today, he must’ve sensed she wouldn’t handle that well so he didn’t barge in, he didn’t assume, and she was grateful for that.

It takes everything in her to push herself up from the nest. 

Her body feels heavy, bloated with heat and tension and the ache slapping through every joint.

She drags herself forward, breathing almost a pant with effort as she forces the window open just enough to peer out.

And there he is.

Standing in the grass, head tilted up, chest rising with deliberate, measured breaths like he’s trying to stay calm but his nostrils are flaring, and she can see the moment he catches her scent, his entire expression tightening, going tense and sharp and protective all in one go. 

He blinks slowly, jaw locked, and calls up to her in his low, flat, unyielding voice.

“You don’t have a stomach bug.”

The words punch through the air with cocky certainty, and YN’s entire face goes hot with shame and annoyance because of course he knew. 

And yet… he’s not climbing up, not coming to take care of her and that irritates her more than she can admit even if it’s the right thing he should be doing in the first place.

“I went to the doctor,” She snaps back, voice croaky with the stress, “That’s what they said.”

She doesn’t even know why she says it—why she clings to the lie when it’s so obvious. 

But the second the words leave her mouth, she sees him grit his teeth, sees the effort he’s using to maintain his composure like it’s seconds from snapping.

“No,” Harry growls, voice deeper now, serious, “You started your heat.”

It’s not a guess.

It’s a fact, delivered with that certainty that only he can manage. 

The kind of voice he uses when he’s ready to take on anyone who disagrees - truly transforming into the leader of the pack he will be soon.

She scrunches her nose - why did he have to say it like that? 

Loud and clear, for the whole goddamn neighborhood to hear? 

She knows the pack is out there patrolling and they’ve got ears sharp enough to hear a whisper from across town.

“Don’t say it like that,” She hisses, voice tight and strained, “You don’t have to announce it.”

Harry growls again—this time louder, sharp and guttural.

“You think I care who hears?” He snaps, and his voice isn’t just angry—it’s frustrated, that she lied and she understands why, “Let them fucking hear. Let them know I’m here to protect you.”

Her heart skips in her chest, throat tightening even if it’s wrong, even if this is her friend.

He’s nearly vibrating with his emotion. 

“You smell like you’re burning up,” He mutters, eyes scanning her window like he’s weighing the risk of climbing anyway and a big part of her wishes he would, “Like your minutes away from it and you lied to me.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” She whispers, voice small and tired.

Harry breathes hard through his nose, looking away for the first time, like he can’t.

“I can’t come up,” He finally admits, voice thick with frustration, “I want to—I need to but I can’t.”

Part of her is confused, her best friend is wanting to help her with her heat?

But the omega side doesn’t see an issue with it.

“There are rules. You know that,” He says tightly, “You’re in heat. You’re not mine. If I come up there, I’m not gonna be able to just sit at the edge of your bed and hold your hand, alright? That’s not how this works.”

It was a massive admission.

But after her heat, when YN would replay this in her head, she justified his words.

He was saying that because he wouldn’t be able to sit next to any omega in heat and just hold their hand - she wasn’t special, right?

“I hate this,” He grunts, voice low and increasingly agitated the longer he smells her, “Hate knowing you’re hurting and I can’t do anything but stand here like a fuckin’ useless alpha and watch.”

He lets out a growl so loud it sounds like a roar.

And she knows it’s killing him. 

Normally, on any other day, when her hormones weren’t raging and her body wasn’t lacking into her cycle that made everything feel a hundred times more real and sensitive—his growl wouldn’t have gotten to her. 

She would’ve rolled her eyes, maybe even smacked the window frame with a sarcastic huff and called him a “big dumb alpha” in the teasing way that always made him smirk. 

She would’ve reminded him that his so-called terrifying snarl sounded more like a puppy yipping for attention—not that either of them fully believed it.

But now, in this moment, with her body aching and everything inside her twisted tight—his growl cuts straight through her like an open gash.

She physically flinches at the sound. 

Her hand jerks back from the window. 

Her body recoils without thought, a small, pitiful whine leaves her throat before she can stop it.

It wasn’t just that he was growling.

It was that he was growling - it was her Harry.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until tears pass over her lips, her cheeks are wet and she doesn’t remember the tears starting, only that they won’t stop now.

The moment her face shifts, the second her shoulders fold inward, the second she starts to slump under the weight of it all—his entire expression changes. 

The growl dies immediately like he regretted it the second it came out. 

His jaw slackens, his shoulders drop, and his voice, when it returns, is nothing like before.

“Pup—” He says, quiet, tender, taking a step forward.

But YN shakes her head quickly, her breath hitching, and cuts him off with a cracked voice. 

“Don’t,” Her lower lip wobbles, and she sniffs, furious at herself for crying in the first place, “Don’t pup me.”

His face softens further, something caught between guilt and helplessness flickering behind his eyes as he watches her try to hold herself together.

He says, gentler now—softer, “You don’t have to pretend like it’s not hard. I know it is.”

Her breath hitches again, shoulders trembling now as the tears keep coming. 

She hates this—hates that she’s crying in front of him, hates that she feels so vulnerable, hates that her omega is clawing for him when she knows he won’t come up.

“I’m not mad at you,” He says carefully, eyes locked on hers, “Not for lying. Not for trying to do it alone. I’m frustrated, yeah, but only because I can’t be there because every part of me wants to come through that window and be what you need—and I can’t.”

“You’re not broken. You’re not too much. You’re not weak,” He tells her firmly, all trace of the growl gone now, “You’re my girl. And just because I can’t be there physically doesn’t mean I’m not with you through this, alright?”

Her breath shudders again, a quiet sob slipping past her defenses, and for the first time since it started, she doesn’t try to stop it.

++

They’d been inseparable since they were in diapers—since they first crossed paths at the park and ended up wrestling in the sandbox, fighting and shrieking until both their mums had to intervene. 

Harry had been yanked away by the ear, whining and scowling like a kicked puppy, while YN stood her ground, fists balled at her sides, chin tipped up defiantly because he was the one who started it.

That’s how it had always been.

YN grew up with Harry’s moods—grew up knowing the warning signs of when his temper would start to rise. 

The flared nostrils, the grinding of his teeth, the way his voice dropped a register right before he snapped. 

And honestly? 

It never scared her. 

Harry had always been prone to growling—sometimes over actual problems, sometimes over absolutely nothing and for all the talk from the elders about omegas being sensitive or emotionally volatile, YN knew better. 

Alphas were the dramatic ones. 

Alphas were the ones who lost their minds if you said no, threw tantrums when they didn’t get their way, got pissy over little inconveniences and refused to drop things for days. 

Especially Harry—who, as the spoiled little future-leader-of-the-pack.

One moment in particular was burned into her memory—clear as anything.

They couldn’t have been more than eight years old. 

The annual barbecue was in full swing, it was something the pack hosted for the community.

When someone suggested a game of touchdown tag—a chaotic free-for-all where to tag someone, you had to actually tackle them to the ground. 

It was technically “tag,” but in reality, it was roughhousing disguised as a game which was of course the alphas choosing when the omegas wanted to play hide-and-seek.

All the kids, from older preteens to the younger ones gathered in a circle to plan teams.

There were always unspoken rules - alphas could hit each other full force, but when it came to omegas and betas, they were supposed to pull back. 

When YN joined the circle, bright-eyed and jumpy with anticipation, Harry had already been scanning the group, assessing and the second their eyes met, she knew. 

His entire body tensed, his shoulders squared, and he gave her a look that made her stomach sink.

“You’re not playing,” He said flatly, voice already laced with warning.

“What? Why not?” She snapped immediately, arms folding across her chest in a flash, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

The other kids went still.

No one spoke. 

No one dared intervene. 

Every single pup in that circle went wide-eyed and silent, shifting awkwardly on their feet like they were watching something dangerous unfold.

“You’re not playing because I said so,” Harry growled, baring his teeth slightly—not to threaten, not really, but because he didn’t know how else to handle the uncomfortable feelings rising in his chest. 

His body started to change in that subtle, instinctive way young alphas did when they were posturing—standing taller, puffing up, making themselves broader than they were. 

He didn’t know how to control it yet. 

He didn’t know how to stop it.

“Well, you’re not the boss of me,” YN shot back, full of heat, stamping her foot in the grass, “I’m playing!”

This wasn’t new. 

Harry always did this—tried to shield her, block her from doing things he deemed too risky, too physical, too dangerous. 

“I said you’re not!” Harry’s voice boomed, cracking slightly as he dipped into the early timbre of his alpha command—a sound too big for his small body. 

It echoed across the field loud enough to make every adult look up at once.

The chatter died, heads turned, people stopped eating mid-bite.

The adults exchanged glances like they’re wondering whether they should step in or let them sort it out like pups were meant to? 

They all knew Harry had a temper. 

They all knew how stubborn YN could be. 

With all the indignance of a furious eight-year-old omega who wasn’t going to be bossed around, YN stomped forward and shoved him. 

Hard.

It shocked the entire field as kids gasped audibly, jaws dropped because Harry stumbled backwards because he was completely taken off-guard.

And then everything happened too fast.

Before a single adult could move, before anyone could shout a warning, Harry snarled—a true, instinctual sound that ripped from his chest and his body shifted in a blur as he fell into his wolf form. 

A full shift. 

Right there, in front of everyone. 

It was fast and clean, impressive for someone his age but not unexpected of the next in line.

In the next second, the young alpha lunged and pinned YN to the grass.

The entire field erupted.

Gasps. Screams. Panic.

Several elders dropped their food and sprinted across the field, shouting Harry’s name. 

A few women screamed, some of the younger children started crying because for a heart-stopping moment, it looked like a little girl was about to be mauled by her best friend, by the next alpha of their pack—and no one could believe it was happening.

It wasn’t funny then but YN remembered it fondly because she wasn’t afraid.

Even now, she could still picture the look of confusion and horror freezing all the adults in place when they got close, ready to tackle a shifted pup off of a bleeding girl—only to hear it.

That giggle.

A high-pitched, breathless laugh, bubbling out of her like it was the best thing in the world. 

YN was grinning up at the brown wolf who had her pinned, her hands braced against his massive chest, shoving at him as he loomed over her with bared teeth and wild eyes.

“Stop it! You’re slobberin’ all over me, idiot!” YN squeals in annoyance - their connection, their bond was already so much deeper than anyone could imagine that they didn’t realize she already knew that she didn’t need to be scared.

Harry nips playfully at her hands in return - gentle and mindful of his strength.

The air stayed thick with tension until his mum came rushing over and grabbed Harry firmly by the scruff, dragging him a few steps away with a scolding already leaving her mouth. 

His mother, normally patient and gentle, looked absolutely mortified. 

Her voice was stern and she was clearly trying to keep her composure in front of the watching crowd as the head omega.

“You cannot shift like that during a disagreement, Harry Edward,” She whispered harshly, pointing an accusing finger at his chest, “That’s not how alphas behave. That’s not leadership—that’s losing control. You know better.”

After they brought him fresh clothes, he shifted back and dressed, and he rounded the pavilion - he had a consequence.

Harry just sighed, flopping into the patch of grass she’d designated as his timeout corner, legs swinging back and forth, completely unbothered. 

He kicked at a weed, brushed the grass from his elbows, and turned to look back at YN like nothing had happened like he hadn’t just nearly caused a full-blown pack incident.

And then he smiled.

Not just a little smile—a big, toothy, dimple-showing grin. 

Pure and ridiculous. 

The kind that made his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch, like he thought the whole situation was hilarious, like he was proud of himself for getting in trouble, like she hadn’t just been on the receiving end of a full-body tackle from a wolf twice her size.

YN, brushing grass from her own arms, rolled her eyes but even still, she couldn’t stop the little tug at the corner of her mouth.

He was a little brat.

A bossy, overly dramatic, possessive alpha brat.

++

“S’nothing to be embarrassed about,” Harry tells her quietly, his voice slipping into that particular soft tone he only ever uses with her—low and careful. 

He shifts a step closer, brows still pulled together in concern,“You don’t have to hide it from me. Can’t, really.”

YN shakes her head, swiping at her tear-streaked cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie, already blotchy from crying.

 “I hate this,” She mumbles, her voice tight and breathy, “I feel awful.”

“What can I do?” He asks almost desperately, for once, wanting to be told what to do.

“Nothing,” She sniffles, her eyes glassy and her voice trembling, “I want a cuddle but that wouldn’t end well.”

There’s a flicker of longing in Harry’s expression, his throat bobs with a hard swallow, and his scent  to intensify now, turning thicker, deeper. 

Richer in a way she’s never smelled from him before. 

She doesn’t know what that means.

“No, it—” He starts, then cuts himself off,“ That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I…” YN cuts off, eyes fluttering closed for a second as a wave of heat and aching crashes over her. 

Her entire body feels like it’s burning from the inside out, it hurts just to be in her own body right now. 

“I have to lay down,” She whispers, her legs felt a few moments from giving out, “Everything hurts.”

Harry’s face pinches further, and then he tugs his shirt off, balls it up tightly in his hands, and tosses it up toward her open window. 

She catches it without thinking, her fingers automatically curling into the familiar fabric. 

“Thank you,” She says, her voice thick and cracking under the weight of her exhaustion and emotion, “I miss you.”

Harry’s mouth curves upward just a little—not a full smile, but enough.

“It’ll only be a few days,” He tells her gently, “And you know I’m not really going anywhere.”

YN blinks down at him, confused, “What do you mean?”

“I’m gonna be patrolling right here. Outside your house. Until you're done,” He says it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Something inside her eases because she knows what that means—he’s not just going to pass through once or twice. 

He’ll be circling her house every hour, maybe sitting under her window at night, growling off any stranger who raises suspicion in the neighborhood. 

And over the next few days, YN learns exactly what that means.

Every few hours, something new appears at her window. 

Her favorite meal from the local diner.

A take-out container of her favorite brownie from the bakery.

A worn-out pair of sweatpants she once claimed were her favorite because they smelled better than any of his other clothes. 

A pillowcase from his bed. 

And on the fourth day, when her fever spikes and she feels like she might actually be dying, she wakes up from a hazy nap to find his favorite hoodie on her windowsill—still warm.

It makes her cry again, a light trickle because she’s never felt so cared for.

It’s the kind of quiet, constant care that no one sees. 

And maybe it’s not what typical friends do.

The last time had been when YN arrived, and that was years ago. 

Before YN, it had been at least five years since someone fresh had taken up residence in one of the town’s older homes. 

The town was welcoming, always looking to expand to grow as a community.

Some of the older residents could be a bit prickly at first. 

Not rude, necessarily, just slow to warm up.

But with time, even they would soften and create space for the newcomers.

It had been difficult because the fact that they don't like new and two, YN had been unlike others - not friendly but not nasty, just existing, and mind her own business - not trying to dig into others.

Harry had never had a problem with newcomers. 

He wasn’t the mayor, and he never claimed to be in charge of anything official, but his presence carried weight. 

He owned the hardware store and the town’s only heating and air conditioning business, and now he technically owned the bakery - both YN and him owned these businesses which kept him in contact with almost every household in the area. 

He was the kind of man people turned to when they needed something - Harry was always willing to lend a helping hand. 

And so, when word spread that someone had finally bought the old Prescott house, the big Victorian with the dilapidated wrap around porch and the overgrown ivy-covered fence—Harry didn’t think much of it. 

The house had been vacant for over a year since Mrs. Prescott passed, and though it had charm, it needed a significant amount of work. 

Everyone in town knew that which is why it sat for so long because no one had a desire to take on such a daunting task.

The “For Sale” sign vanished from the front yard on a Monday morning, and by lunchtime, the whole town was buzzing. 

There was someone new coming in, someone ready to take on the Prescott place. 

The expectation, the hope, was that a family would move in, pour life into the house, and settle down.

But it didn’t take long for the truth to surface.

The buyer wasn’t looking to stay. 

He was a house flipper, a property manager —a man who bought old properties, fixed them up, and sold them for profit. 

That tidbit of information hit the older townsfolk in a tizzy - they didn’t quite understand, nor did they want to. 

They didn’t like the idea of someone treating a piece of their town like a business venture.

They didn’t want the town to become commercialized, didn’t want this to become a trend which Harry understood to an extent but it was like they were building new construction were a hundred McMansion were going to pop up, it was an already standing house, and then a family would buy it, move in, and they would have new people to know.

He chose to see the potential. 

He knew not everyone earned their living the same way, and flipping houses didn’t make someone inherently bad.

Harry himself had done plenty of renovation work in town, helping people modernize their kitchens or repair their roofs. 

He saw this as no different.

That was, at least, until the man walked into his store.

+++

It was early, a little after eight, and the hardware store was already humming with activity. 

People milled around the aisles, picking up parts for projects or gathering tools for farm maintenance. 

Some of the older men would come in for one item but end up staying when they run into friends, end up bullshitting for half an hour before they’re on their way again, and usually they’d be back at the store multiple times a day.

Harry was behind the counter, unpacking a fresh box of flashlights to be stocked near the register.

Niall, was at the till, cracking jokes and ringing people up. 

Most of the customers didn’t even carry cash or cards anymore. 

They had running tabs that were settled at the end of each month.

It made everything easier, kept things casual—another testament to how deeply everyone trusted one another here.

Then the new guy walked in.

Harry didn’t recognize him, and in a town like this, that was all it took to peg someone as unfamiliar. 

But it wasn’t just the newness of his face—it was everything else about him. 

The guy looked like a man trying very hard not to look like he was trying hard. 

His jeans were pristine, stiff even, as if they’d never touched dirt. 

His polo shirt was pressed to a near military crispness, and his dark hair was styled perfectly with gel to look messy but not too messy.

A wide smile with unnaturally white teeth as he comes through the front doors, stops, and looks around like he’s taking everything in - still with this wide smile, his hands on his hips, and he lets out a loud laugh, “Isn’t this endearing? Man, it seems like everything really is old school.”

For some reason, that already started to rub Harry the wrong way - it didn’t seem like a compliment as it seemed more like a backhanded insult or jab at him rather than that he actually found it endearing which was a weird choice of words anyways.

“Hey!” Niall waves, he clearly doesn’t catch the oddness but Harry doesn’t expect him to, social cues were something that Niall wasn’t particular great a picking up on, he was allergic to sensing tension, and would continue conversations that were just making things worse without even realizing it, “You must be the new guy in town!”

“That I am,” The man walks forward, eyeing the displays in a way that seemed judgmental somehow, “I’m Calvin, I bought the house on Mayberry Drive.”

“Yeah, that’s sick, man. I heard you’re going to flip it,” Niall was easy to talk to, could have a conversation with a brick wall, and that was something undeniable about his chrm and want to connect with anyone who walked through the door.

“I am, hoping to get it done in the next three months,” Calvin approaches the counter, tapping his fingers against the old wood, “I guess I’ll be in here quite a bit, you know?”

Niall smiles, “Probably multiple times a day! You’re going to need a lot of materials.”

Calvin doesn’t stop smiling, he shrugs casually as he says, “Yeah, probably more than I’d like. The Amazon delivery services seems to suck at her.”

Niall again just laughs, an boisterous honking laugh but again, Harry’s eyes narrow slightly because it’s just known etiquette, especially in a small town that it’s important to support local businesses and not give money to these billionaire dollar companies.

“Well, this is the big shot of this place,” Niall nods back toward Harry, who hasn’t said anything yet, and unfortunately invites him into the conversation.

Harry steps away from the boxes, reaching his hand out over to counter, “Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Calvin took the handshake, his grip a shade too firm, his smile still plastered on. 

He held it a moment too long, as if trying to prove something, adding on, “Good thing we’re meeting. I may need some guidance here and there. Do you know what you’re doing, or do you just own the place?”

Again, he’s saying all these things with a smile on his face, so it softens the blow, but it still seems like they’re some challenge of dominance or hierarchy which is bizarre. 

Harry again, tries to check himself because why would this guy have any issue with him?

They’d never met before.

Harry reasons that he’s probably just being a bit too sensitive but that really wasn’t like him.

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve renovated at least one room in most of the houses in town,” Harry keeps his voice steady before adding, “Also own the only HVAC in town so if you need any help there. My team would be happy to help out.”

Calvin shrugs again, nonchalant, unbothered, “Eh, I’d prefer a better known company, you know? I was thinking of Cool Elite.”

Harry swallows hard, Cool Elite was a chain of HVAC conglomerate that was about two hours away from them - it would be bringing in direct competition especially because he’s never had any competition to think about.

“Whatever works for you. Just an offer,” He said, voice calm, clipped.

Calvin’s eye goes wide, almost dramatically like he doesn't’ realize his faux pas, “Oh no! I appreciate the offer. Everyone in this town has been so generous. Really, thank you.”

It is so disingenuous, fake.

He gave Calvin a polite nod, then turned back to his task, letting Niall resume the conversation.

He tuned most of it out—talk of renovations, timelines, cost-cutting strategies. 

It all sounded like noise, like a pitch rehearsal.

It’s only when he hears something that directly concerns him do his ears pop up.

“Before I came in here, I stopped by the bakery. Just to introduce myself. I wasn’t planning to buy anything. I watch my carbs and sugar, you know—but the owner was so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself. Had to grab something she made. You know how it is,” He laughed again, “She was a little standoffish, but I could tell she was just busy. What a sweet girl. If I lived here full-time, I’d probably be five hundred pounds just from trying to see her every day.”

Harry froze.

His hand curled slightly around the flashlight, plastic creaking beneath his grip. 

He forced himself to breathe slowly, but his pulse thumped hard in his ears.

Niall’s grin faltered.

He glanced nervously at Harry, lips parting slightly, unsure what to say.

Calvin doesn’t know that YN’s his wife, even though he should have clearly seen the fucking diamound ring and wedding band that sat on her finger, he knows sometimes YN does take it off when she’s dealing with something sticky or that could get stuck in the nooks and crannies of the jewelry.

Calvin notices the exchange between the two of them, he laughs loudly, “Did I say something to offend?”

Niall chuckles awkwardly, “Harry and his wife actually own the bakery. That beautiful lady is Harry’s wife, YN.”

For the first time, Calvin’s confident grin wavered. 

A crack appeared in the performance, “Oh. Shit. My bad,” and he looked back at Harry, quickly masking the slip, “You’re a lucky man.”

Harry turned, slowly, his expression calm, but his eyes hard. 

He raised his left arm and tugged up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing black ink—YN’s name, elegant and permanent, woven into the rest of his forearm tattoos.

It was display of dominance, to show that YN was his wife, not to be messed with or leered at.

“There’s a reason her name’s tattooed on me,” He said evenly, firm, and clearly not enthused.

His eyes held Calvin’s with an intensity that felt like standing too close to a fire - Harry was crackling and ready to spark into an inferno.

It wasn’t outright aggression, but it was unmistakably a warning—a silent flair that marked boundaries not to be crossed.

And that was the wrong thing to say.

Harry’s stomach turned. 

The words landed like a pat on the head, like Calvin had just complimented him for winning a prize at the fair, marrying YN wasn’t something to get kudos for. 

She wasn’t a trophy, and Harry wasn’t proud of her just because she was beautiful—though, god, she was.

But that wasn’t the point.

It was the tone. 

The smug little good job like Harry had done well to acquire her.

It was demeaning.

Objectifying.

And maybe Harry was reading too far into it. 

Maybe.

He’d never been the jealous type. 

He was secure. 

But there was something about this guy—about the smooth talk, the slick smile, the way he looked at things like they belonged to him, or would soon that rubbed Harry’s instincts the wrong way.

Still, Harry knew himself, knew when he was being reactive so he checked his tone and fllattened his expression.

“Have a good one,” He said tightly, and without waiting for a reply, turned on his heel and stalked toward the back of the store, the scuffed floor creaking beneath his boots.

He left the box of flashlights half-unpacked on the counter and Niall blinking awkwardly behind the register.

As Harry pushed through the back door, letting it swing shut behind him with a dull thud, he prayed that Calvin would stick to his precious Amazon deliveries and his low-carb diet.

Because if he kept showing up at the hardware store, fine.

But if he kept showing up at the bakery?

That might be a different story.

++

Later that evening, Harry casually brought it up while they were closing down the bakery.

The scent of sugar and warm butter still lingered in the air, clinging to the wooden counters and YN’s skin.

The last customers had left over an hour ago, and the two of them had settled into their usual end-of-day routine—cleaning, counting, sweeping, wiping, winding down from the organized chaos of the day.

Harry was in the cafe area,  sweeping up cookie and muffin crumbs from under the café tables, his broom scratching softly across the tiled floor.

YN was by the register, counting the day’s cash, sorting the bills into neat little piles with a concentration that makes her face pinch up cutely.

“So,” Harry started, tone casual, like it had just occurred to him, “The new house-flipper came into the shop today.”

YN didn’t look up, just kept thumbing through the twenties, “I know, he came in here.”

Harry paused, then swept again, “What’d you think of him?”

He tried to keep it light, tame the edge in his voice. 

If he slipped up even slightly, she’d sniff it out like a fucking bloodhound.

She finally looked up at him, blinking. 

“He looked like he walked out of a generic department store catalog,” She said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “And he asked me how many calories were in my blueberry muffins.”

Harry choked out a bark of laughter, straightening up and resting on the broom handle, “What’d you tell him?”

YN’s expression is comically flat and bland as she said, “All I said was ‘a lot’.”

Harry continues to laugh because she is so unapologetically herself, Harry has to put the broom aside, and tug the money our of her hand, putting it on the counter.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her clean off the floor.

He picks her up by the waist, making her yelp and plops her on the counter, making room for himself between her thighs and resting his hands on the thick of them, “I love you.”

YN’s scowl melts easily into something softer, she makes a humming noise and wraps her hands around her neck, “I love you and I want a kiss, please.”

Harry obliges instantly, easy as anything for his wife, connecting their lips.and feel everything settle.

When he pulls back, YN chases his mouth, hand coming to the nape of his neck to bring him back with a pout, “Another.”

“Greedy thing,” He murmured against her lips, then kissed her harder, deeper this time. 

He felt her sigh into it, her fingers tangling in his hair, his hands flexing against the plush of her thighs.

Between kisses, he murmured, “You can have kisses, or you can have a clean bakery.”

YN’s eyes start to twinkle, “I want both. Aren’t you going to give me what I want?”

Harry’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth, dragging slowly to her jaw, “What do you want?”

She didn’t answer right away. 

Her hands slid down, grabbing his backside firmly and pulling him closer until the heat of her pressed flush against him.

“Do I have to spell it out?” She asked with a roll of her hips, voice thick with something heavier now—playful, but serious, too.

God - she really was the prettiest thing Harry’s ever seen.

Harry let out a soft, choked grunt and ran a hand down her thigh to hook under her knee, “Don’t have to spell shit.”

With one smooth motion, he lifted her off the counter. 

She let out a small gasp of surprise and giggling again as he carried her toward the back hallway—toward the office.

They still had cleanup to do.

But it could wait.

Just a little privacy, a stolen moment behind a locked door, and everything about the day—the flashlights, the jab at local business, that man blurred into background noise.

By the time Harry tucked her into bed that night, hair damp from a quick shared shower and skin warm beneath the sheets, the feeling Calvin had left in his chest was little more than a rumble.

It was still there, but distant.

At least for now.

+

The issue was—it wasn’t nothing.

Because Calvin started showing up regularly over the next couple of weeks.

Like clockwork.

Always mid-morning, after the bakery’s rush had settled and just before the hardware store picked up for the lunch crowd. 

At first it didn’t register—Harry was used to the ebb and flow of familiar faces in town. 

But this wasn’t just a neighbor getting to know his surroundings.

It was a routine.

Calvin would stop into the bakery - stay there for longer than necessary, sit in the cafe, and try to make small talk or work on his laptop then he would always walked out with a paper bag bearing the shop’s cheerful logo, even though he made it clear he didn’t eat carbs and he never ate at the cafe.

He’d walk right into the hardware store, bag untouched, like it was just a prop. 

He never really bought anything either.

He’d half-heartedly ask about a screw size or a paint swatch, but more often than not, he’d just loiter and pretend like he was killing time.

Harry didn’t like it.

Didn’t like the smile Calvin wore like a costume - fake and fucking tacky.

Didn’t like the way he talked to Niall—condescending in a way that tried to pass itself off as friendly.

Harry had worked with Niall for over a decade, been his best friend since diapers. 

He knew him. 

Yeah, Niall was loud, a little too friendly and a little too oblivious but it all added to the charm. 

Sometimes he missed social cues and made bad puns. 

But he was smart—freakishly smart.

Harry had seen him rebuild a riding mower from scraps and memory. 

And yet, Calvin talked to him like he was a child.

Explaining basic drywall installation with exaggerated hand gestures and long pauses, as if Niall didn’t already know ten better ways to do it.

It crawled under Harry’s skin.

There was something performative about all of it—like Calvin was acting for someone else’s benefit, even if that someone wasn’t in the room.

Harry didn’t mention it.

Didn’t want to bring it home.

He didn’t want to drag that into their space.

Until Niall brought it to him first.

Harry was sitting in the back office, hunched slightly over his laptop, halfway through a spreadsheet of inventory and upcoming orders when Niall appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable, “I think our newcomer’s got a bit of a crush on YN.”

Harry’s head snapped up. 

A sharp heat bloomed in his chest, “What the fuck do you mean?”

Niall shrugged, chewing his bottom lip in a way that said he’d been debating saying anything at all, “I don’t know, man. I went over to grab a muffin and he was already there. Leaning on the counter like it was a bar in a movie. Talking to her like he knew her.”

Harry didn’t respond, not right away.

Because he could feel it—the warmth. 

That slow-building, dangerous warmth of jealousy, flaring behind his ribs.

“He was saying weird shit,” Niall added, “Like…he’s got a space in the city she could expand into. I guess he’s a property manager. He was talking about giving her an opportunity to grow—‘spread her wings’ or whatever. Said she was wasting her talent here and could give her so many things in the bigger city.”

Harry stood up so fast his chair scraped violently across the tile.

There was a fury in him.

A pure, clean fury that he almost didn’t recognize.

He was the calm one, the steady hands, the long fuse. 

YN was the one who burned hot, grumpy, and the most impatient little creature he’d ever met.

The idea that Calvin was planting seeds, trying to whisper ideas into YN’s ears—that he was dangling things in front of her, things that Harry couldn’t give her? 

That struck something ugly.

There were only a very few things in this world that made him legitimately angry.

And people messing with his wife was on the fucking top.

“Harry, whoa, chill out,” Niall blocks the doorway when Harry starts to charge toward it, “YN wasn’t even listening to him like she was pretty much ignoring her, doing her normal rude shit - you know I say that lovingly. She wasn’t giving him very much of any attention.”

Harry exhaled through his nose, hard.

He trusted YN.

Of course he did.

She was his heart.

The idea that another man can offer her something that he can’t makes him feel a nasty sense of unease in his belly.

Harry knew he couldn’t give her a city space, couldn’t magically transport her bakery to some upscale shopping strip where tourists lined up around the block.

He could build her a whole new space in town with his own damn hands if she asked—but that wasn’t the same.

Calvin could offer things Harry couldn’t.

And it made his stomach twist.

“Harry,” Niall said gently, still blocking the doorway, “Don’t do anything dumb. You know she’s not listening to him.”

Harry clenched his jaw, “That’s not the point.”

“It is the point,” Niall insisted, “Look—I get it. He gives me the creeps too. But you blow up now, she’s gonna think you don’t trust her. And that’s worse.”

It took everything in Harry not to shove past him.

He sat back down.

The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. 

His hand gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles ached.

But he didn’t go storming across the street.

Not yet.

Still, he made a quiet decision: next time Calvin came in —he was going to speak to him. 

Calmly and directly.

He didn’t need YN to fight this fight.

He’d protect her boundaries the same way he protected their home—gently, firmly, and without apology.

And maybe Calvin needed a reminder of where those boundaries lay.

+

Later that night, YN was lying on her side in bed, facing him.

Her hair was up in a messy twist, loose strands curled around her cheek, and she had one hand tucked beneath her cheek on the pillow.

Harry mirrored her position, he was quieter than usual, subdued even because the anger and insecurity had been eating up at his thoughts, it was hard to think about anything else.

She noticed, of course she did, she observed so closet even if it seemed like she was being flippant - she could tell the minute Harry was off by the way he breathes.

But he's not going to take his anger out on her - he’ll never be his father.

His jaw was tight, his hand fidgeted with the edge of the quilt, and his eyes didn’t hold hers as long as they usually did.

YN is scowling, her brows were knitted tightly, “You're annoying the fuck out of me.”

There was no venom behind it.

It wasn’t alarming, wasn’t mean.

After being married to YN for the last three years, that's a typically way of her checking in on his mood—her rough-edged tenderness, her way of saying I see you. Tell me what’s wrong.

“I'm just tired, Cloud,” Harry murmurs, guilt starts to set in because he's not being truthful but still, he reached out and pulled her into him, pressing her body flush to his chest, despite the grumbling sound she made at the sudden motion, “Don’t be sour, peach. Be nice to your husband.”

“Always nice,” YN mumbles into his shoulder but her hand wraps around his side, her nails lightly scratching st his shoulders.

“Always,” Harry agrees as he pressed kisses to her hairline.

++

Harry had spent the better part of the morning mentally rehearsing what he’d say when Calvin inevitably walked through the door again, same as he always did, with that smug, insincere smile and his pastry that he never ate. 

Harry had the whole thing mapped out in his head—a calm but deadly serious reminder that this town wasn’t just another place for him to throw his weight around, that YN wasn’t someone he could talk at, or make offers to, or treat like some sort of project to “fix.”

It took something serious to rattle his confidence, and Calvin had managed it like it was easy like Harry’s worst fear had been sitting there just waiting to be touched.

Harry can’t even remember the last time he felt like this.

The idea that he wasn’t enough.

That she deserved more.

That someone else might be able to give it to her.

He would build her a new bakery with his own two hands if she asked. 

But he couldn’t offer her a high-rise space in a trendy part of the city, couldn’t make magazine dreams come true. 

No Hallmark movies.

He was behind the counter at the front of the hardware store, leaning slightly over the till where Niall was checking out

an

invoice. 

The card reader was being finicky again, blinking an error message that Harry had come to despise. 

He was halfway through trying to reset it when the front door slammed open with a force that sent the little overhead bell jangling hard against the glass.

And Calvin was standing there.

But something was different.

He was soaked.

Drenched, actually—head to toe.

His white polo was stained a muddy brownish color  clung to his body like a second skin, completely see-through now, the collar wilted.

His jeans were soaked through, clinging uncomfortably. 

Even his loafers squelched when he stepped inside. 

His hair, usually slicked back with gel, was plastered to his forehead like a dog fresh out of the river.

But that curiosity was short-lived.

Because Calvin's face was twisted in rage, cheeks flushed red and jaw tight as he zeroed in on Harry like a missile.

And then he shouted, "You need to get control of your fucking wife. She’s a nasty bitch."

It was so loud, so sudden, so brazen that for a split second, time seemed to stop.

Harry didn’t react right away—not because he didn’t hear, but because he was trying to process whether the man in front of him had really said what he thought he said. 

“What the fuck—” Niall started, taking a step forward behind the counter, his voice tinged with disbelief and a little fear.

But Harry was already moving.

Quiet and steady.

Out from behind the counter, eyes locked on Calvin, expression unreadable.

Niall’s shocked, halfway between stepping back and lunging forward, but Harry’s already moving.

Not rushing.

Stalking.

There’s something terrifying in how calm he looks, how composed his face is despite the pulse jumping and the way his jaw clenches so tightly the muscle ticks beneath his skin.

He stops only a few feet in front of Calvin, close enough that the man’s nostrils flare like he’s bracing for a swing.

But Harry doesn’t hit him.

Not yet.

Instead, he takes a long breath in through his nose, slow and deliberate. 

And then his voice comes out low, smooth, almost dangerous in its control.

“You’ve got about three seconds to walk back out that door before I make sure you never step foot in this town again,” Harry says, each word coated in quiet dominance.

Calvin laughs, it's loud and ugly, “Oh, you’re gonna do something? Gonna what, hit me? Does no one else tell you the truth? That your wife is a stone-cold cunt—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Because Harry moves.

He shoves Calvin. 

Hard.

Not a slap, not a push—it’s a full-bodied drive forward that sends the man stumbling backwards, crashing into the endcap of hammers with a loud clang that makes the whole rack tremble before everything topples onto the floor. 

Harry doesn’t stop there.

Calvin scrambles to straighten up, wild-eyed.

He looks smaller now, “She threw iced tea on me—she—she assaulted me.”

Harry steps forward again and Calvin flinches, like he expects the hit this time.

Harry only stares at him, eyes like ice—furious and flat, “You touch her?”

“What?” Calvin stammers.

“Did you touch my wife?” Harry’s voice is a whisper now, but it’s the kind of whisper that promises violence.,“Is that what made her throw tea in your face? Or was it that slimy mouth of yours that got you soaked?”

Calvin hesitates.

He’s cornered now.

He knows it.

“I didn’t touch her,” He mutters, avoiding eye contact.

“You said something to her, didn’t you?” Harry asks, stepping even closer, until there’s barely space between them.,“Something disgusting. Something you wouldn’t dare say to a man. And when she told you to fuck off, you couldn’t take it.”

“I was being nice—”

“She doesn’t want nice from you,” Harry spits sharply, “She doesn’t want anything from you.”

Behind him, Niall finally speaks, voice tense but steady,“Harry, maybe take a breath—”

But Harry doesn’t even flinch.

His gaze is locked on Calvin like a wolf tracking its prey.

Calvin swallows hard, “I’m gonna—press charges. I’ll tell the sheriff.”

Harry finally smiles, but it’s not kind.

It’s sharp and cold and unforgiving.

“Go ahead,” Harry goads with a laugh, “Let’s tell Sheriff Gibbons that you tried hitting on a married woman at her place of work, got iced tea dumped on your head, and then came into her husband’s store and called her a bitch. Let’s all have that conversation.”

Calvin’s mouth opens, then shuts again.

“You should go now,” Niall says gently, stepping around the counter, “Before Harry gets real angry.”

With one last glare, Calvin turns and storms toward the door, shoes squelching across the floor, water leaving sticky footprints in his wake.

The bell chimes as the door swings open and slams shut behind him.

Silence lingers.

Harry doesn’t move.

His hands are shaking now, not with fear, but with leftover adrenaline that hasn’t found a place to go yet.

His jaw aches from clenching it so tight.

His vision feels like it’s still sharpening back into focus.

He didn’t even realize how far he’d let it go.

“Holy shit,” Niall finally breathes out, “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Harry doesn’t answer right away.

His heart is pounding in his ears.

But then he says, voice hoarse, “He went too far.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, “he did.”

Harry nods once.

Then, with a deep breath, he runs a hand through his hair and turns toward the front of the store.

“Where you going?” Niall asks nervously.

“To see my wife.”

++

When Harry walks through the front door, YN is standing behind the counter, there wasn’t anyone in at the time but there was a large puddle of tea on the floor.

A shattered pitcher lay in pieces just beside the register, a large puddle of tea fanning outward like a stain.

And behind the counter stood YN.

She wasn’t doing anything.

Just standing there, hands clasped in front of her like she didn’t know what else to do with them. 

Her eyes were locked on the floor, shoulders pulled tight, and the muscles in her jaw were visibly working to keep something in.

But when she looked up and saw Harry — her expression crumpled.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, voice thin, almost breathless.

Her eyes welled with tears, fat and shimmering, and her lower lip began to tremble even as she tried to hold herself together.

That was the worst part — watching her try to be okay for his sake, even when she was unraveling.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

Harry’s heart cracked right down the center.

His expression must have been stormy when he walked in — shoulders tense, jaw tight, still riding the adrenaline of nearly knocking Calvin’s teeth in.

But she thought it was for her.

He softened instantly.

“Cloud,” He said gently, voice low, as he stepped around the puddle and toward her, “Of course I’m not mad at you.”

That broke her.

A sob burst out of her as her body curled inward slightly, arms wrapping around herself.

“I want you to hold me,” She said in a tiny voice, so small, like she was ashamed to even ask.

Harry didn’t waste a second.

He was already reaching out, gathering her against his chest and pulling her in tight.

One arm anchored around her waist, the other threaded into her hair as he pressed her head to his collarbone.

“I got you. I got you, peach,” He murmured into her hair, swaying them gently like they were back in the kitchen slow dancing,“Why would I ever be mad at you, huh?”

“I know sometimes people think I’m not the nicest,” YN whispered, breath hitching, “and then I go and—and throw iced tea at someone like I’m outta my mind—”

Harry pulled back just enough to cup her cheeks, thumbs wiping the tears away as they fell freely now.

“Listen to me,” He said, firmly but not unkind, “I don’t give a fuck what people think. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. For not letting that bastard get away with speaking to you like that.”

YN hiccuped a watery laugh, face flushing, but her gaze didn’t falter, “I shouldn’t have thrown the pitcher on him.”

“What did he say?” Harry asked carefully, his voice already going rough around the edges.

He didn’t want to know — not really.

YN exhaled shakily, “He said I could do better than this shitty bakery. That I was wasting my talent staying here in a deadbeat town. And that I was only here to please you.”

Harry’s breath punched out of his lungs like he’d been hit.

That motherfucking prick.

The muscle in his jaw twitched again as he ground his molars together, fists curling at his sides before he forced them to relax.

YN’s fingers brushed his chest, grounding him.

“It doesn’t matter,” She said softly.

“It does,” Harry rasped, “He doesn’t get to—”

“No, Harry.” She stepped back just enough to meet his eyes, her voice sharper now, steadier, even as her tears clung to her lashes, “It doesn’t. Because I’m not staying in this town out of obligation. I’m not working in this bakery because I don’t have other options. I’m choosing this. Choosing you. Every single day.”

Harry swallowed hard, “But if you ever wanted more—”

“I don’t,” She interrupted, “I don’t want a big bakery in some big city. I want this. I want my four ovens and my chipped ceramic mugs and the way the sun hits the counter in the morning. I want to frost cupcakes while you stock hammers across the street and know you’re coming over for lunch. I want our life, Harry. You understand?”

He did.

God, he did.

Emotion swelled in his throat, thick and unrelenting.

He stepped forward again, framing her face in his hands like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

“You have me, cloud,” Harry murmured, forehead dropping to hers, “God, you fuckin’ have me.”

And then he kissed her.

Slow and deliberate.

When he pulled back, her nose brushed his, and she was smiling through the tears.

“I love you,” she whispered.