The next morning, Julian went for his run and found Samuel already on the path.

NYC was deep in November, the morning air sharp and biting. Julian was layered in winter gear, yet Samuel stood there in a thin, compression short-sleeve and black running shorts.

The fabric clung to a broad chest and a tapered waist, highlighting a physique that looked like it had been pulled from a high-heat manhwa.

Julian didn't comment on the choice of attire—Samuel always had his reasons—and simply began his warm-up.

Samuel ran exactly two paces ahead. It was close enough for Julian to see the standard precision of every stride. Julian didn't feel like eating his boss’s dust, so he pushed his pace to pass.

Samuel matched it instantly. Julian slowed down to create distance; Samuel lagged back, maintaining that precise two-step gap. It felt like a deliberate exhibition of his form. Julian took a sharp turn back toward his unit, and this time, Samuel didn't follow.

There was another matter weighing on Julian. The night he’d been brought home drunk, he had left his tie in Samuel’s bedroom. It wasn't an expensive accessory, but the thought of it being there made his skin prickle. He waited a week, hoping Samuel would return it, before finally bringing it up in a low, professional murmur.

Samuel’s expression shifted—a flicker of something strange—before settling back into a mask of indifference. "The tie was soiled," Samuel said. "I’ll buy you a replacement."

Soiled? Julian’s mind blanked. How?.

Samuel didn't give him time to spiral. He led Julian to a boutique on the ground floor of the CBD complex during lunch. He ignored the standard racks, his fingers skimming over various patterns before selecting a silk tie that cost fifty times Julian’s original.

"Try this." Samuel took the tie from the display.

The salesperson reached out to help, but Samuel dismissed them with a sharp look. "I’ll do it."

Julian’s breath hitched. He had missed his window to refuse. Samuel stepped into his space, his scent—expensive soap and cold air—crowding Julian’s senses. Julian instinctively leaned back.

"Don't move." Samuel caught the silk and reeled him back in. Julian nearly collided with his chest.

Up close, Julian was trapped. His gaze landed on Samuel’s Adam’s apple; it was prominent, sliding heavily under the skin as Julian watched. Julian looked away, his lungs feeling tight.

Samuel finished the knot and retreated. "What do you think?"

Julian didn't look up. He was terrified that if he did, Samuel would see the heat crawling up his neck.

"This one," Samuel told the clerk. "And wrap another one exactly like it."

Julian returned to Apex Capital with the new tie, feeling like he’d forgotten something. He was too busy to dwell on it until he got home and unbuttoned his shirt. He searched his room, then his memory, before the realization hit: Samuel had performed a one-for-one swap. He’d "replaced" the tie, but he had kept Julian’s original.

The sense of friction reached a peak when Julian encountered Samuel at the ranch again.

Julian had told Jordan to move their lesson from Saturday to Sunday at the last minute, specifically to avoid Samuel. He knew Samuel had a board meeting scheduled for Sunday.

But when Julian stepped onto the training ground, Samuel was there, regal in a black tailcoat for dressage. He offered a curt nod and passed by without a word.

"Everyone’s been waiting for the demonstration with Archer, sir," a staff member said, trailing behind him.

"I hope the schedule change didn't inconvenience the members," Samuel replied.

As Samuel’s back receded, Julian turned to Jordan. "How do you... handle pursuers?"

Jordan nearly choked. "Someone’s chasing you?"

"No," Julian snapped. "I’m just curious."

"Why ask me?" Jordan laughed. "You’re the expert. Did you forget freshman year? The Legend of the Thirty-Six Rejections?".

Julian had been a quiet outlier in Boston, but his looks had drawn a constant swarm. In his first semester, he’d been an 'ice prince'—stunning, aloof, and utterly unapproachable.

Within weeks, people were begging for his Whatsapp. Julian was cold. He didn't give out his number, and if someone showed even a flicker of interest, he cut them off immediately. No replies. Blocked.

In sophomore year, a notorious rich kid had tried to hunt him down. The guy was a serial dater with a massive ego. He’d tried the "textbook borrow" trick to get Julian’s contact; Julian blocked him twenty-four hours later. The guy went into a frenzy—flowers, gifts, blocking Julian’s path to class.

When he learned Julian was on a scholarship and working part-time, the guy set up a candle-lit heart in the dorm courtyard and shouted through a megaphone: "Julian, I like you! Let me take care of you forever!"

Julian, terrified the spectacle would ruin his grant application, had leaned out the window and dumped a basin of water over the display.

"Are you sick?" he’d screamed. "I don't like you. I will never like you. You think this is romantic? It’s disgusting!".

Julian became a campus legend that day. The swarm thinned out, reduced to silent, secret crushes.

"You used to be so decisive," Jordan noted. "Why the hesitation now? Just reject them."

"He’s not like the others," Julian said, his voice tight with a frustration he couldn't name.

"How so?"

Julian didn't answer. He started to give up on the conversation and waved Jordan off. Jordan watched him, sensing the shift. He’d known about Samuel since the night Julian sent the emergency 'call the police' text a year ago.

A "kind boss" doesn't drag an analyst out of a club, fly to their graduation, or "coincidentally" appear at a ranch every time Julian changed his schedule.

After the lesson, as they watched Samuel perform a dressage set in his tailcoat, Jordan decided that a billionaire MD wasn't the worst prospect for a "brother-in-law." When Samuel actually allowed Jordan to pet Archer, Jordan was sold.

Samuel watched Jordan interact with the stallion, his internal monologue clinical and cold. Jordan is a poor match for Julian, Samuel thought.

The boy is chasing Julian, yet he has no competitive drive, no possessiveness. He’s asking his rival for permission to touch a horse. A man like that can't protect him.

The two men exchanged a look, both convinced they had the other figured out.

Only Julian remained in a state of restless, simmering irritation.