DORIAN's POV

"How was the interview?" Ronan asked, drying a glass behind the bar. "You look like hell, but I'm hoping for good news."

I sat in front of the bar, rolling my eyes while dropping both my curriculum vitae and my phone onto the tiny slab.

"How do you think it went?" I muttered, dropping into the stool like dead weight. "Martini. Double." 

"Gin or vodka?" Ronan calmly asked, careful not to probe into the interview or my joblessness-and I couldn't have been more grateful.

"Gin." 

He nodded and began mixing the shots while I pressed my nails into my skin, hoping the sting could match what I felt inside.

All the savings I had left was what I used to get my mother's drugs earlier this morning. Again, I had gone in search of a job but... nothing as usual. Walking in the heat, being dismissed, or how the receptionist looked at my resume like it was trash.

Today makes it exactly five months since I had been marking tallies on a calendar or opening a folder filled with rejection emails.

Five months of unemployment! Five months of scouting for jobs and it just seems like some kind of god had decided to place a curse on me.

"I know you will find a job soon enough. I just feel it in my bones, but whatever you do, don't give up hope on trying." Ronan advised, passing me the shot and I scoffed.

My phone beeped and I reached into my pocket before retrieving it to stare at the text I got.

'Your mother just passed on. My condolences, Mr. Dorian. Our deepest condolences.'

My breath caught. Everything slowed-the noise in the bar, the flicker of lights, Ronan's voice calling my name. My heart pounded once, hard, and then went quiet. Like even it didn't want to go on.

"Dorian?" Ronan called but I could only hear him through a daze as tears slid down the corner of my eyes.

Cancer!

She was always in pain. I could remember how she kept on asking if the surgery would happen. But I couldn't even look her directly in the eye. 

If I had just gotten one goddamn job... one stable income. She could've had the surgery. The bills wouldn't have piled so high. She would still be breathing. Still calling me her boy.

I could only stare at my hands and see her blood on it-They were stained by it. 

I was already at the brink of losing my mind knowing that if I didn't pay rent by next week, I would be homeless and then my mum?

"Dorian, what's wrong with you man?" Ronan asked, jerking my hands a bit and that pulled me out of my ocean of thoughts saving me from drowning.

I shifted the phone over to him and his countenance fell as he stared at the contents on the screen.

"Dorian, I'm so sorry." 

I shrugged, taking slight deep breaths to level my heart rate. "Make it a double Martini, Ronan." I requested and Ronan shook his head in negativity.

"I know this hurts, Dorian. But I'm not about to let you drink yourself into the grave." Ronan stated in a firm voice and I just swallowed hard.

"Fine then. I'll just go and wallow in misery back at home." I seethed, standing up immediately but he grabbed my hands, pulling me back down.

"Dorian, you're my best friend and I probably know you better than you would ever know yourself. This isn't a good time for you to be alone, you'll spend the night at my place today." Ronan stated, matter of factly leaving no room for any kind of argument. "We will go pick her body up from the hospital tomorrow."

A disturbing thought always crept in whenever I was around Ronan.

He was my best friend. It had been for years. But would he still be... if he knew? I wasn't sure. And tonight, the thought of being that vulnerable, that exposed-it scared the hell out of me. 

I wasn't so sure about that and leaving I and Ronan in one enclosed room, at night, I'm quite unsure how that would go.

If he touches me... will I break? 

What if I want him too? 

That's not possible. Ronan and I are close buddies. 

There's nothing between us but I still feel something was off. Maybe because Ronan is not gay? At the same time, I haven't seen him with any lady lately. 

*****

An hour later, Ronan was done with his night shift. He clocked out, and we walked home in silence.

The walk back was cold and quiet. Ronan didn't say much, and I didn't have the strength to fill the silence. I just replayed her laugh in my head... the way it used to echo through our tiny living room.

Ronan turned to stare at me for a few seconds before patting my shoulders a bit.

When we got to his apartment, I just settled in on the couch lost in my own thoughts as Ronan presented dinner but I declined.

"You're not really going to starve yourself, are you?" Ronan queried and I grabbed him by the shirt.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, Ronan." I blurted out and he threw his hands up in surrender while I went ahead to scroll through old pictures of my mom.

Just as I scrolled through her pictures, I saw a pop up of an incoming mail but it vanished almost immediately so I had to enter my mail to confirm what it was about.

And right there...

'JOB INTERVIEW FROM VALE ENTERPRISE.'

My phone fell from my hand almost immediately with a slight thud onto the table as I took deep breaths trying to stabilize my heart rate as I kept staring at it in disbelief.

"There must be a mistake. They must've clicked the wrong file and mail. My resume? It's nothing impressive. Two years in retail. A failed internship. A business degree gathering dust in a folder titled 'At Least You Tried.' No way!" 

I blurted out, dropping my phone onto the table with a slight thud as I stared at my friend's wide eyed.

"Umm, Dorian? What are you talking about?" Ronan asked and I gulped, unsure of what to say while staring at the mail long and hard like I was trying to see past some glamour and see the real message.

'There's no way they're actually accepting me right?'

"I think Vale Enterprise wants a job interview with me." I said quickly and he dropped the food he was holding whilst picking my phone up.

"Like The Vale Enterprise that we all know of? Are you sure?" He was equally stunned as I rubbed my wrists, wondering if this was all just a dream.

Speaking of dreams...

And now that I was halfway to my dream, the person I wanted to make proud was gone.

DORIAN's POV

My chances of getting the job were shrinking with every rushed step I took through the towering gates of Vale Enterprise. I paused for a second to check my watch-and instantly regretted it.

Who the hell shows up late to an interview for a job that sounds too good to be true?

Apparently, me. Of course, me. 

My palms were already clammy just thinking about it, each step closer to the front desk another inch closer to a no.

No company wants to hire someone who can't even be punctual. And just to make matters worse? My resume didn't exactly scream "CFO material."

"I'm here for the interview. The Chief Financial Officer position. I think..." I added the last part in a hushed mutter, hoping the receptionist wouldn't catch how uncertain I sounded. 

She gave me a tight smile and started tapping away at the landline in front of her.

"Well, Mr. Keene. You're late. I assume you already know that." Her voice had a bite to it, and I curled my fingers into fists inside my pockets, scrambling for something-anything-to say.

"I mean, yeah, I know... but I have a solid explanation. Traffic was a nightmare, and then, right outside the building, someone splashed mud all over me. I had to run home to change. I couldn't just show up smelling like..."

She cut me off by turning her attention completely to the call she was making. Not even a blink in my direction.

"Please," I added, desperate. "I know this looks bad, but... surely there's some room for..."

She slammed the receiver down with a sharp clack, rolling her eyes before meeting my gaze.

"Third floor. Hall six. You're already late, so I suggest you stop wasting more time. And between us? Even our janitor talks less than you do."

Her voice faded out as I bolted for the elevator.

Third floor. Hall six.

Or was it the sixth floor? Hall three?

My mind scrambled for clarity, the receptionist's voice looping in my head like a scratched record. I swallowed hard and settled on the third floor, hall six. 

That sounded right... right?

I punched the button and pulled out my phone, skimming through the notes Ronan had helped me prep last night. Every word, every possible question, drilled into me by that beautiful man's midnight lectures.

And talking of Vale Enterprise, the building smelled like money, power, and anxiety-all things I didn't bring with me.

The elevator dinged open and I stepped out, adjusting my tie and slicking back the stubborn curl in my hair. My palms were already a mess, so I wiped them discreetly on my pants. 

Gross, yeah. But necessary.

I reached Hall six, took a deep breath, and twisted the handle open with a small creak.

All eyes turned to me the second I stepped in.

A long table with a group of stern-looking people. A dimly lit projector flickering across serious faces. And there was silence so sharp that it cut through me.

"Who are you?" Asked the man at the end of the table, his voice was like steel wrapped in silk.

My mouth went dry. My brain fogged.

"I... I'm Dorian. And a little confused," I muttered.

There were murmurs. Two security guys began making their way toward me.

'How did I get here?'

I tried to rewind the moment, piece together the steps-but it was like someone had scrubbed the memory clean.

"Dorian Keene? Applying for the CFO role?" The man asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes," I answered carefully, holding my file tighter, trying to seem composed when I absolutely wasn't. "I was told my interview was here."

"This is Hall three, Mr. Keene. Your interview is in Hall six."

My heart dropped.

And that's when it hit me-this wasn't the interview room.

I blinked at the plaque on the wall beside me.

Hall three.

Shit.

I barely held back the loud curse building in my throat. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I said, backing out quickly as the tension in the room crackled like static.

Get it together, Dorian.

I made it to the real Hall six this time, hesitating only slightly before opening the door.

Inside was a woman seated at a desk, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Keene?" She asked. I nodded, forcing a breath out. "You're late," she said bluntly.

I opened my mouth to explain but promptly shut it. I had already done enough damage for one morning.

"Let's begin," she said, flipping open a folder as the door behind me creaked open.

And then he walked in.

A man in every possible sense of the word.

Tall-easily 6'5. Blue eyes that could freeze time. Broad shoulders. Lips that looked like they belonged in a sin.

"Mr. Keene," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "You can consider me the second interviewer."

He extended a hand. I took it immediately, my smile automatic, my thoughts not so much.

His voice rang in my ears like déjà vu. Familiar. Too familiar.

Was he... the same man from the other hall? Or am I losing it?

"I'm sorry, have we met before?" I asked, my brows furrowed slightly.

He smiled, and the damn room lit up.

"Highly unlikely," he said, that calm tone not giving anything away. "But not totally impossible."

One look at those eyes again and-God help me-I already knew I would be completely ruined for the rest of this interview.

I remembered the time I went for my first interview. I once saw a Blue-Eyed man too and I stared into his eyes till the end of the job interview. 

And if you ask me what led to me not being able to get the job? 

The interviewer had seen me staring at him and that threw me out even though I knew from the start that my chance of getting the job was very slim. 

Now, would I repeat the same?

DORIAN's POV

And I got the damn job! 

It felt surreal-like I was standing outside myself watching it happen. But I got it.

Ronan had tried everything short of dragging me by the collar to the bar he worked at to celebrate last night, but I declined.

Partly because I was still mourning my mother, and partly because I knew how close I had come to blowing the interview. I might have gotten lucky once, but showing up late on my first day at work? 

That would've been the death knell. A level of recklessness even I couldn't afford.

"I see you're trying to break the habit of lateness, Mr. Keene," the receptionist noted dryly, her voice dripping with condescension. This time, I didn't look away. I let my eyes land on her badge, burning her name into memory.

Deborah.

"Trying and succeeding," I said smoothly. "Besides, you can't call it a habit if it happened once."

She blinked, clearly not expecting the comeback. Her lips tightened, but she swallowed the rest of whatever sarcasm was about to tumble out.

"Inquisitor will show you to your office, but the Boss needs you in his office first."

Her voice made my teeth itch. Karma must've been in a blackout spiral the day she was assigned personalities. Too damn bitter to be the face of any company.

I leaned a little closer, still smiling.

"Deborah," I said, letting her name drip like venom, "a little advice? You might want to save the sarcasm for the clients. I wonder who made you receptionist with a face like that. Though, I suppose it's one way to scare off unwanted visitors. Petty."

I know. Harsh. But she earned it.

I didn't stick around for her reaction-I didn't need to. Her expression already told me she was mentally writing a death wish in cursive.

I made my way to the Boss's office, my pulse thudding behind my ears. I had meditated, practiced yoga, even repeated affirmations in the mirror this morning just so my condition wouldn't come knocking mid-conversation.

"Good morning, Boss," I said from outside the door, my voice steady even as I felt something sharp and nameless clawing in my chest. He glanced up from his desk, cool and composed.

He gestured me in.

And then it hit me-those eyes.

Steel-gray with a tinge of glacial blue.

The kind of eyes that could quiet a room.

Blue Eyes was the boss? Like... he was the boss. 

How could I have not realized this yesterday? 

The way he moved with authority, like the floor bent beneath him... I should've known.

If I was right-and I always was-he was the same man from Hall Three. He must think I'm incompetent. 

'That idiot who couldn't even read a damn room number.'

Life always knew how to throw your past back in your face like a drink laced with acid.

"Well, Mr. Keene, are you coming in or what?" His voice cut through the fog of my thoughts, sharp and amused. That single arched brow could crush a man's ego if it were any higher.

I snapped back to the present, practically stumbling forward. "Sorry, Boss."

I stood in front of his desk while he typed away like I wasn't even there. A deliberate power play. One I knew too well.

But there was something deeper than that-a familiarity that unsettled me. Like I had known this man before time itself took its toll.

The way he looked at me...

Some stares don't touch your skin-they sink into your soul.

He finally met my gaze, those eyes doing something dangerous to my insides.

"Mr. Vale," I said softly, my eyes flicking everywhere but his. I felt like a sinner in confession.

"Hello, Mr. Keene," he replied, motioning to the chair across from him. 

I sat down, the seat feeling suddenly too small for my body. "Thank you so much for this opportunity, sir. I promise I won't let you down."

He offered his hand. I took it without hesitation. And then... I saw it.

A crescent-shaped birthmark. Just under the knuckle.

And the world... paused.

Something thundered in my memory, something bitter and cracked and wrapped in adolescent cruelty.

~~~~~

"Yo, y'all check out Nerd of the Year. Got a tattoo to feel better about yourself?"

I twirled the basketball in my hand, staring down the kid who seemed to piss me off for no reason other than the fact that he existed.

He flinched. "It's not a tattoo."

As the school's golden boy-quarterback, prom king, all the clichés-I had power. And I abused it. No one stopped me. They laughed with me. That was worse.

"Sure it isn't," I smirked, and let the ball fly. 

It cracked his glasses clean in half. His books spilled. His body followed.

I grabbed his hand and sneered.

"It's a birthmark," he said, near tears.

I shoved him. "Whatever you say, Caspian."

~~~~~

The birthmark. That same damn smudge of skin.

And suddenly, I wasn't Dorian Keene anymore. I was seventeen, cruel, and venomous, lording my power over someone who never deserved it.

"Caspian," I whispered, still holding his hand in that handshake longer than necessary.

"You've got a strong grip, Mr. Keene," he said coolly. "Almost like you're trying to hold onto something."

My heart twisted violently. I dropped his hand like it burned.

His gaze was piercing now. Not curious. Not suspicious. Familiar. Like he was dissecting me layer by layer. Like he remembered.

Maybe he did.

Maybe he was just waiting for the perfect time to twist the knife in return.

How do you apologize for being the villain in someone else's story?

The truth is-you don't. You sit there. You smile. You pray they don't recognize you, or worse, that they do.

Because I was Caspian's villain. In high school. And now?

Now I had to work for him.

God, what poetic hell was this?

I swallowed the lump in my throat, keeping my face blank.

This job-this life I was trying to build-I couldn't afford to lose it.

If he remembered, he could destroy it. Destroy me.

And something told me... he knew.

"Welcome aboard, Dorian Keene," he said, his voice smooth like silk wrapping around a blade. "I have a feeling we're going to have... a lot of fun together."

And that was it.

The glint in his eye? That wasn't a professional interest. It was personal history-laced with power and the promise of reckoning.

"Around here, I don't believe in second chances, Dorian," he said, sitting back with relaxed menace. "You get one shot. You either make it count... or you don't."

I slid my hands into my pockets, clenching my fists so tight they trembled.

He smiled. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

I wasn't just stepping into a job-I was stepping into the Lion's den.

And the Lion remembered.