Photographs. Dozens of them, meticulously arranged. The images showed various scenes—Planet Xylos’s bioluminescent night markets, the company headquarters at sunset, candid shots of what must have been Neville’s coworkers.

The composition of each photo suggested an artistic eye.

Grayson turned the pages slowly, studying the glimpses into Neville’s life outside the office.

Neville was really someone who noticed beauty in mundane moments. Who else would take the time to preserve memories in physical form despite living in an age where everything was digitized?

The sound of cooking filled the apartment. The aroma spread in the room, making his mouth water.

He continued flipping through the album.

Near the end, his own face stared back at him.

Grayson froze.

The photograph had been taken secretly when he was going down his hovercar. It was probably a few months ago, based on his hairstyle. He stood in the perfect sunlight, fitting perfectly with the green background of the Maxwell Corporation’s garden.

Based on the unwanted light that was reflected in his silver eyes, it seemed that Neville was the one who flashed that light before and hid. It really caught him off guard, but he brushed it off as an unwanted reflection.

So that was from Neville’s camera, huh.

Looking at this photo, he looked almost... human.

Not quite like his photos that were taken as the CEO. Also, not quite as intimidating as the image taken when he was the general of the Imperial Military. He looked like an ordinary working man. Slightly looking tired perhaps, but it was...humbling.

Grayson’s fingers traced the edge of the photo. It wasn’t laminated like the others. Loose. As if Neville had debated putting it there.

A sharp clinking sound jerked his attention up.

Neville stood at the counter, spatula frozen mid-air. His eyes had gone stupidly wide. His mouth formed a perfect ’O’ of horror.

Their gazes locked.

Several seconds passed. The sizzling continued in the pan behind Neville, forgotten, and smelled a little burnt.

Grayson kept his expression neutral, though his mind was already running.

Finding a photo of himself in his employee’s house should’ve raised concerns. For one, a privacy violation. Next should be the potential stalker behavior. At the very least, it was inappropriate.

Instead, all he felt was... curiosity.

Why did he take this photo? Why would he keep it? Why would he hide this book filled with photos carelessly under the table?

But looking at Neville’s state, he doubted he would get any concrete answer.

Therefore, with deliberate casualness, he slid the photograph back into its protective sleeve and closed the album. Then he set it on the table, perfectly centered, as if he had just been idly looking at it.

"Is it done?" He asked in a casual tone, obviously giving Neville an out.

Neville’s throat seemed to be stuck, but he managed to nod jerkily. His movements were obviously mechanical as he turned back to the stove. His hands shook slightly as he plated the food.

Grayson recognized stress when he saw it. Neville practically vibrated with nervousness; his barely recovered composure was gone completely.

Because of the photo? Because he had found the photos? Or because it was his own photo that he found in it?

Neville approached with two plates, stepping carefully like he was navigating a minefield rather than crossing three feet of floor.

Grayson stood to help.

It was instinct to help someone struggling with something. It’s simple.

But his sudden movement must have startled Neville, because he jerked backward. The plates tilted dangerously, food sliding—

Grayson’s hands shot out, catching both plates before the food fell. His quick reflexes saved them.

But in the process, his hands covered Neville’s.

The contact jolted through him like electricity.

He really missed this sensation. Neville’s hands were smaller than his. His slender fingers were now trapped between Grayson’s palms and the warm ceramic. His skin felt impossibly soft.

The familiar scent wrapped around Grayson’s senses. He became hyper-aware of their proximity.

He was less than a foot away from them. He was close enough to smell his familiar scent. Close enough to see the small red mole under Neville’s right eye. Close enough to watch his pupils dilate.

And close enough to feel the tremor that ran through him.

Neville was shaking.

The realization snapped him out of the momentary distraction. He felt like he was suddenly drenched in cold water.

Neville was trembling; it didn’t look like it was from attraction or excitement, but more like from fear.

Fear of him.

How did he scare him? Was he really scared of him?

Unable to discern Neville’s emotions, Grayson frowningly released Neville from his clutches.

"Sorry." He said, not looking at Neville. "I didn’t mean to startle you."

No. He was afraid of finding that Neville was really scared of him. Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable, suffocating even.

Neville clutched the plates to his chest like a shield.

"It’s—it’s fine. Just wasn’t expecting—" He exhaled shakily. "Let me just..."

He turned away, setting the plates on the table with exaggerated care. His shoulders remained rigid, drawn up almost to his ears.

Grayson stood there, hands now empty, feeling distinctly wrong-footed.

Was he really that frightening?

The question made him aware of his spiraling thoughts, but he couldn’t do anything about them.

During his time in the military, he had cultivated an intimidating presence. Fear and respect went hand-in-hand on the battlefield. But here, in civilian life, with someone under his protection...

Maybe Bryan Stewart had been right to question why he would come personally.

"I should help," Grayson said carefully, keeping his voice quiet and low, as if to express that he was harmless.

"No!" Neville spun around, then seemed to catch himself. "I mean—no, thank you. I’ve got it. Please, sit."

Grayson sat, watching Neville.

He watched Neville make three more trips to gather utensils, drinks, and condiments. Each time, Neville placed a certain distance between them. It was as if Grayson might suddenly lunge at him and bite him.

This distance felt unbearably uncomfortable for him.