That [Wanna put that theory to the test?] from Oliver completely ruined my state of mind for the entire night.

In my dream, Oliver dragged me back by the ankle and spent the whole night putting me through every possible variation imaginable.

If I didn't believe so firmly in science, I would've suspected Oliver was a literal incubus, specializing in draining people dry.

I showed up at work with dark circles under my eyes and barely made it to my desk before my boss dragged me into a meeting.

Two hours in, I was fighting for my life, trying to stay awake.

My manager, Alan Noble, rambled on passionately at the front of the room. When he noticed me nodding off every few seconds, he said sarcastically, "Claire, thank you so much for the enthusiastic support."

My brain short-circuited, and I answered automatically, "You're welcome. Keep up the good work."

Alan's face darkened instantly, but thankfully, he finally ended the meeting.

My work bestie, Tracy Parkinson, immediately slid over beside me, eyes sparkling with gossip.

"What insanely hot muscle guy kept you up all night this time? And you didn't even share?"

That video probably wouldn't survive workplace HR policies.

"Don't ask. I got haunted."

I collapsed across my desk, feeling emotionally and spiritually drained.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alan walking in with a group of people. The man leading them looked alarmingly familiar.

Oliver wore a perfectly tailored suit that screamed expensive. Every strand of hair looked carefully styled into place.

His gaze drifted lazily across the office, paused on my face for exactly one second, then moved on as if nothing had happened.

At least, it would've looked casual if not for the almost invisible smile at the corner of his mouth.

Damn it. Speak of the devil.

It was the middle of the day, and there he was.

Everything about Oliver radiated polished elite professionalism. He was courteous, restrained, and flawlessly mannered with everyone he spoke to.

And yet I still felt a terrible sense of danger creeping up my spine, enough to make me instinctively edge closer to Tracy.

After the introductions ended, he spoke, his voice low and smooth, while the words themselves nearly froze my blood solid.

"To improve communication efficiency, I'll need complete documentation for the Brookfield Enterprise acquisition case. I'd also appreciate a dedicated point of contact from your company...

"Claire. Long time no see."

Damn you, Oliver.

Alan's eyes lit up instantly as he waved me over.

"Right, of course! You and Claire went to school together, right? That makes things easy. Claire's more than capable of handling this."

Noticing I still hadn't moved, he pulled out his phone on the spot.

"Come on, Claire. Save Mr. Holden's number. From now on, if he needs anything, it goes straight to the top of your list."

I got shoved toward them and reluctantly opened the QR scanner on my phone.

Beep!

My screen instantly jumped straight into my old chat history with Oliver. My hand jerked violently, and I hurriedly flipped the phone facedown while forcing a polite smile.

Oliver lowered his eyes, catching every second of my reaction. A faint trace of amusement curved at the corner of his mouth.

"Looking forward to working with you again, Claire."

Once the crowd dispersed, Tracy jabbed me with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows dramatically.

"Judging by your face, there's definitely something going on between you and Mr. Holden. I've read enough romance novels to recognize that look. That man was staring at you like he wanted to eat you alive."

"You're imagining things. That's just the standard look rich people use when evaluating cheap labor," I shot back dryly, even though my thoughts were already a tangled mess.

Right then, my phone buzzed.

For the first time in five years, Oliver sent me a message. The tone was strictly professional.

[Ms. Frazier, please deliver the Brookfield acquisition files to my office at 3 p.m.]

Ms. Frazier?

One minute, he was calling me "Claire" like we were close again. The next, he switched straight into corporate robot mode.

Some habits never change. Oliver still knew how to play the perfect gentleman in public and an absolute menace behind closed doors.

My instincts screamed that he was up to something.

And now he wanted me to walk right into his office myself?

Absolutely not.

I was just about to sweet-talk one of the interns into saving my life when an overpoweringly sweet perfume drifted over.

At some point, Myra Burns had appeared behind me. She leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on my phone screen.

"Ms. Frazier? Please. I thought you two were supposed to know each other."

I instinctively flipped my phone facedown, instantly annoyed by her shameless snooping.

"Do you always read people's phones, or is this a hobby you picked up recently?"

Myra ignored my irritation completely. She looped an arm through mine affectionately while every word out of her mouth carried a hidden barb.

"Don't be so sensitive. I was just curious. I heard Oliver's one of the partners at Cole & Holden now. That's one of the top firms in the state. Since you two go way back, why didn't you join the firm after graduation?"

The entire department knew about the feud between me and Myra.

We started as interns at the same time, but there had only been one full-time position available.

She immediately decided I was her mortal enemy and spent months taking shots at me, both openly and behind my back.

Then my old manager fought management for an extra opening and kept me on, too.

After that, Myra started spreading rumors that I was sleeping with him.

The whole disaster finally ended after the two of us nearly tore each other apart in the office and got formally warned by corporate.

Watching the smug look on her face now, I suddenly had the urge to ruin her day.

"The truth is, Mr. Holden used to court me," I said calmly. "I turned him down."

Then I sighed dramatically.

"Who knew we'd run into each other again after all these years? Fate really works in mysterious ways..."

Myra stared at me for several seconds, her fake smile visibly cracking.

Then I casually added, "Actually, why don't you deliver the files for me? I'm worried Mr. Holden might still have feelings for me..."

Myra had clearly been waiting for exactly that.

She snatched the folder from my hands, spun around on her skyscraper heels, and marched straight to Oliver's office.

Five minutes later, Myra came storming back out with a dark expression and headed directly for the break room.

As she passed my desk, she shot me a vicious glare.

Watching Myra get shut down so thoroughly completely made my day.

When it came to pissing people off, Oliver truly never disappointed.

Oliver never contacted me again for the rest of the afternoon.

To eliminate every possible chance of a post-work run-in, I left the office the second the clock hit quitting time.

That night, I sat curled up on the couch in a face mask, fully relaxed.

Out of habit, I opened the "Daily Hot Men" videos Bridget had sent me for review.

[Only four abs? Hm. The definition's way too soft. Oliver's eight-pack looked carved out of stone...]

Skip.

[Too pretty. He doesn't have Oliver's whole cold, restrained, dangerously attractive vibe.]

Not interested.

[The atmosphere's decent, but his chest definitely isn't as nice as Oliver's.]

Skip.

[The fishnet outfit's kind of good, but if Oliver wore it with that icy expression and the mole on his collarbone...]

By the time I snapped out of it, I had already finished all 15 videos Bridget sent.

It would've been nice if Oliver were here instead...

Wait. What the hell?

"Claire! Seriously, get it together!" I muttered under my breath.

The man had been back in my life for less than a day, and I was already losing my mind over him again.

I still had to see him every single day for the next few months. At this rate, how was I supposed to survive?

Get a grip! Have some dignity!

Every internal alarm in my brain was screaming at full volume, but my fingers still ignored me and opened elaire's account.

Oliver hadn't posted many videos. Over the last two years, there were barely thirty uploads total, scattered on and off.

But every single one was top-tier.

There were millions of likes per video, and the comments section looked like a public wishing well.

Every glance, every perfectly timed movement, every flex and release of muscle, every prop he used… The man was custom-built for my taste.

Oliver hadn't lost his talent for seducing people.

The videos were all short, but somehow, the more I replayed them, the more addictive they became.

I hovered my finger over the "Follow" button, hesitating, when a notification banner suddenly popped up at the top of the screen.

A text...from Oliver.

My hand jerked so hard that I nearly threw my phone across the room.

Late at night, Oliver had sent me a video. Just the thumbnail alone was bolder than anything he had posted on TikTok.

In the video, he looked freshly out of the shower, heat and steam still clinging faintly to his skin...

A white towel hung low around his waist, barely covering the important parts. Water droplets slid slowly down the grooves of his chest, across his abs, before disappearing beneath the towel...

The overhead light cast a warm golden glow behind him, outlining the sharp V-shape of his broad shoulders and narrow waist...

The entire video practically screamed, "Come ruin me."

A few minutes later, Oliver wrote, [Sorry. Sent that to the wrong person. Can't unsend it now, so just pretend you never saw it.]

Could he make it any more obvious?

My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing furiously.

But in the end, cowardice won.

"Oliver, please just let me live," I said to myself.

I closed the chat without sending a thing.