Cercis

The new office looked… expensive.

Too expensive, if I’m being honest.

Everything screamed money; from the marble floors to the oversized chandelier that looked like it cost more than my old apartment.

I followed the nice lady through the halls, pretending not to gawk at the lavish décor. She smiled at me warmly, clearly used to new hires getting lost in all this shine.

“This way, Miss Aragon,” she said, leading me to a large set of glass doors. “The boss’s office. He should be with you shortly.”

“Right,” I murmured, stepping inside.

The room is immaculate; sleek desk, panoramic window view, not a single speck of dust. Whoever this boss was, he either had severe OCD or a really good cleaning staff.

Except… he's not here.

“Classic,” I muttered, dropping my bag onto the couch before plopping down myself.

While waiting, I pulled out my sketchbook and pencil. My hand moved on autopilot, lines forming a familiar face.

Sharp jaw, soft eyes, that infuriatingly perfect expression somewhere between innocence and sin.

Shun.

Or Giovanni.

I honestly didn’t know which one anymore.

My brain said Giovanni, but my hand kept sketching Shun. Figures.

Just as I was shading in the collarbone, the door clicked open.

I looked up, half-expecting to see my mysterious “future boss.”

Nope. Stranger.

Tall, well-dressed, probably in his late twenties. He smiled politely. “Ah, Miss Aragon. I’m not the boss, but he asked me to brief you for the day. I’m Ayer, his assistant.”

“Of course he did,” I said under my breath, closing my sketchbook.

He didn’t seem to hear. “You’ll be handling client prep, concept revisions, and assisting the design department. We have several pending projects you can start reviewing immediately.”

Several?

Oh, joy.

“Right. Sounds… thrilling,” I said flatly.

And that was how my first day went, a blur of chaos. Meetings, edits, mockups, more edits, then “urgent” revisions that somehow weren’t due until next week.

By the time I looked up, the sky outside had gone from blue to black. My wrist hurt, my back ached, and my coffee had gone cold three hours ago.

And guess what? I still hadn’t met the boss.

It was like he was intentionally avoiding me.

Or maybe he was just enjoying watching me drown in work from afar. Wouldn’t be the first man to do that.

I sighed and got up to stretch. The office was starting to empty, save for a few employees chatting by the front desk. I was about to head to the pantry for water when a sudden commotion broke the monotony.

“Good evening, sir!” someone chirped.

“Welcome back, boss!”

The tone of reverence made me glance up instinctively.

And that’s when I saw him.

My breath caught for a second... a small, bitter second.

No.

It can’t be.

But it is.

Jerry.

Same confident stride, same damn dimple when he smiled. His hair was shorter now, neatly styled, and his suit probably cost more than my entire yearly rent, but it was unmistakably him.

He looked around the room, then his gaze landed on me.

And of course, he smiled wider.

“Long time no see, Cercis,” he said, voice warm, too casual, like we’d just run into each other at a café instead of this twisted setup.

I blinked, forcing my expression into something neutral. “Jerry.”

So much for escaping the past. I wonder how he feels about my sister’s disappearance. Knowing how much this motherfucker liked Iris, I bet he only took me in just so he could still have a piece of her through me, her sister.

Jerry walked over, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the confident executive. “Welcome to Sandoval Studios. You look well.”

“Can’t say the same about my schedule,” I replied dryly. “You’ve been keeping me busy, and we’ve barely even met.”

He chuckled, that same smooth sound I used to think was charming. “I wanted you to get comfortable first. Work is the best icebreaker, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I said with a fake smile. “Nothing says nice to see you again like unpaid overtime.”

He laughed, actually laughed, like I’d just told a joke.

God, he hadn’t changed.

I crossed my arms. “So, what do you want, Jerry? After all these years.”

His eyes softened, but there was something calculating behind the warmth. “Nothing, really. I just happened to take over my family’s business recently. When I saw your name and portfolio online, I thought, why not give my former lov—an old school mate a shot?”

I raised a brow. “So you asked my boss for a transfer?”

“Exactly.” He smiled again, dimples and all. “He said you were about to be fired anyway for, uh, underperformance. So, I figured I was doing you a favor.”

I let out a short laugh, the kind that sounded more like disbelief than amusement. “Of course he did.”

“Hey,” he said lightly, “look at it this way. You’ve got a stable job, a new team, and a boss who actually believes in your talent.”

I smirked faintly. “Right. A boss who also happens to be a ghost until five minutes ago.”

Jerry grinned, stepping closer. “I’ll make it up to you. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be more… present.”

Something in his tone made my skin prickle. I couldn’t tell if it was a promise or a warning.

He turned to leave, but not before glancing over his shoulder. “Get some rest, Cercis. You’ll need it. The next few days, maybe weeks, maybe months, are going to be busy.”

As he disappeared down the hall, I exhaled slowly, staring after him.

“Busy,” I muttered to myself, gathering my things. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

I slipped my sketchbook into my bag, the one with Shun’s half-finished face staring up at me.

Somehow, I had the feeling Jerry isn’t the only ghost from my past I’d be dealing with soon.

That night, exhaustion should’ve sent me straight to bed.

But my feet had other plans.

Before I knew it, I am standing outside the studio where Shun’s shoot is happening, lights still glowing from the inside, crew members milling about, the faint echo of cameras clicking.

I told myself I was just passing by.

Just curious. Just stupid.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I wandered past the set pieces. Empty dressing tables, racks of clothes, makeup half-wiped from earlier models.

And me... loitering like some desperate fool.

Am I really this pathetic?

Orbiting around him like a moth too stubborn to admit it’s burning?

I scoffed at myself, shaking my head.

Then I saw him.

Shun.

Standing near the back hallway, still dressed in his shoot outfit; dark slacks, half-unbuttoned shirt, his hair slightly tousled. But he isn’t alone.

There is a man with him.

At first, I thought it was just another conversation, maybe some executive trying to smooth-talk him. But then the air shifted.

The man flinched. Groaned.

I froze, instinctively ducking behind a pillar.

“Don’t ever touch me like that again.”

Shun’s voice, low, cold, sharp enough to cut glass.

The man was on his knees now, hands trembling. “I’m sorry, Shun—I—I didn’t mean to, please, don’t tell anyone—”

Shun grabbed the man by the hair, forcing him to look up. The sight was chilling, beautiful in a way that shouldn’t have been. His expression was unreadable, eyes dark and calm... too calm.

“You think you can buy me?” Shun hissed. “You think because you’re an executive, you can put your hands wherever you want?”

The man shook his head frantically.

Shun leaned closer, his voice dropping into something even colder. “Tell the others. The ones who think the same way. I’m not theirs to touch.”

He let go, and the man stumbled backward, clutching his face, muttering apologies before scrambling out of sight.

For a long second, the studio is silent again.

I exhaled slowly, stepping out of the shadows just enough to see Shun’s face under the dim light. His expression softened, not regretful, not angry... just quiet. Like a storm that had finally passed.

A smirk tugged at my lips. “Something never change,” I muttered to myself.

It was almost nostalgic, in a twisted way.

The same beautiful Shun I remember. The boy who keeps his smile for the world but bares his teeth when someone crosses the line.

Shun is beautiful, through and through. But when someone dares to touch what isn’t theirs, when someone tried to strip him of control... he snaps.

And honestly?

I can’t blame him.

He’s always been like that.

Always.