On the final day of the National Day break, the account @WorkIsKillingMe, silent for three months, uploaded a new video.

Julian wore a floral Lolita "bridal" dress and performed a popular dance. The video followed the dance with a series of artistic photographs.

Julian understood the elegance of his own frame; the lens focused on the delicate lines of his ankles, the curve of his calves, his collarbones, and the expanse of his back.

The cinematography was pure appreciation—devoid of a predatory gaze, yet of such high quality it left the internet breathless.

The comment section erupted: [Snorting sounds] The legend returns!! So cute! My wife knows exactly what we want to see! These photos... this is a state banquet! Fine, I'll forgive the three-month disappearance if I get to eat this well!!

Many fans saved the video to watch on loop, assuming it was a simple comeback. They weren't prepared for the final two minutes.

Julian stood squarely before the camera, his expression solemn. "Late last winter, I started this account because I was drowning under the weight of work. In the year since, I've received an amount of attention, love, and support I never could have imagined. You stayed with me through my darkest moments. I cannot thank you enough."

He bowed deeply, his voice thickening with unshed tears.

The fans panicked: Baby, don't cry! You're the best! I remember when he was in a tiny rental with a cheap dress and no confidence.

Now he's in a beautiful home with high-quality content. I watched him grow up. I feel like I won the lottery with this creator.

"For personal reasons, I will no longer be crossdressing," Julian continued. "I won't be logging into this account again. All proceeds from this video will be donated to charity."

After a long silence, he bowed one last time. "Goodbye."

The reaction was visceral. Fans swarmed the comments, begging him to stay, accusing him of "PUA-ing" them with such a perfect farewell. When Julian didn't respond, the crowd migrated to Orca's page, demanding answers.

Orca replied with a single, somber line: I can't persuade him. He won't see me anymore.

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The social media withdrawal was a physical ache. Julian's thumb twitched with muscle memory, reaching for the apps during lunch or in the elevator. Eventually, he simply deleted everything. After a few days of white-knuckling through the silence, he adjusted to a world without endless scrolling.

He poured that excess energy into Apex Capital. Perhaps because of his performance on the Synapse AI project, Samuel began taking him to high-level business functions.

The stuttering intern was gone. Julian introduced himself and exchanged business cards with a practiced, calm poise. Investment banking was a game of finding gold, packaging it, and selling it at a premium; it required the favor of titans and investors.

Many of these titans had read the news about Julian "catching a blade" for his MD in the canyon. They showered him with praise that made Julian's skin crawl, but he learned to accept it as social grease. He would smile and nod at a man while privately noting the man's abysmal personal morals.

Julian could control the mask now. He could separate the public from the private. Occasionally, a small voice in his head would whisper: You're becoming a hypocrite, Julian.

But if the choice was between the naive, trembling boy he had been and the worldly, effective man he was now, he chose the latter. He couldn't change the corporate environment of New York City, but he could stop the environment from changing who he was at his core.

That afternoon, Julian followed Samuel to a meeting with a high-net-worth investor at a golf course.

As he left his duplex, Julian spotted workers hauling furniture into the unit next door. He'd lived there for months and the unit had always been empty. He wondered briefly who was moving in, then put it out of his mind.

At the golf course, Julian realized he had no place on the green. He wasn't there to play; he was there to wait. He retreated to the shade, watching from a distance as Samuel negotiated for hours under the sun.

That evening, Samuel hosted a dinner to close the deal. He drank heavily—a rare occurrence for the disciplined MD—but he walked away with a massive order.

Julian had never seen Samuel this drunk. The man could barely keep his feet. As Samuel swayed, Julian caught him by the arm. "Sir. Let me get you home."

"Mmh," Samuel hummed.

His scent was a heavy mix of alcohol and his usual crisp cologne. A soft, vivid flush stained the high planes of his cheekbones—a rare, startling beauty. Julian cleared his throat, averting his eyes, and signaled the driver to help get him into the sedan.

Julian had a few drinks himself, and the rhythmic swaying of the car made his head swim. He closed his eyes. When the car finally came to a stop, Julian opened his eyes to find they were in his own apartment complex's garage.

"Why aren't we at Emerald Lake?" Julian asked, confused.

"The boss said to come here," the driver replied.

Samuel stirred beside him, his eyes heavy. "I had a falling out with my family," he murmured. "I moved out."

Julian blinked. Samuel Frost, a man who seemed to inhabit a fortress of tradition, had argued with his family?. He didn't pry. "I'll help you up, sir."

The driver knew the way. Julian followed them up the elevator, supporting Samuel's weight, only to stop dead when they reached the hallway.

Samuel didn't just move into the building. Samuel had moved into the unit directly next door to Julian.