Chapter 24: The Unbelieving Secretary
The air in the apartment had gone quiet after Jensen left, the kind of quiet that settles into corners and makes itself comfortable. Leonid stood in the kitchen for a long moment, listening to the fading footsteps in the hallway, the distant ding of the elevator. The espresso cup sat abandoned on the counter, still warm, a ghost of Jensen's presence lingering in the curve of the ceramic.
He cleaned up slowly, methodically. The ironing board folded and returned to its closet. The iron unplugged and stored. The counter wiped down until it gleamed. The lunchbox—empty now, because Jensen had taken the food with him, because Jensen needed him—washed and dried and set on the drying rack.
The apartment was too quiet.
Leonid checked his phone. Nothing. He checked it again thirty seconds later. Still nothing. He knew Jensen was in a meeting—the Seo Group, important, the kind of meeting that could make or break a quarter—but knowing didn't stop the restlessness that hummed under his skin like a second heartbeat.
He paced. He picked up a book and set it down without reading a word. He opened the fridge, closed it, opened it again. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but he'd promised Jensen he'd cut back, and he was trying, really trying, even though the stress of being still made him want to climb out of his own skin.
He was about to start cleaning the bathroom—actually cleaning it, not just wiping down the sink—when he spotted it on the nightstand.
Jensen's phone.
Black, sleek, almost invisible against the dark wood of the nightstand. It must have slipped out of his pocket during the night, fallen between the sheets, gone unnoticed in the morning rush of kisses and button-ups and promises.
Leonid picked it up, the weight of it familiar in his hand. The screen lit up with Jensen's lock screen—a photo of the two of them from graduation. Jensen in his cap and gown, gold tassel swinging, his head thrown back in laughter. Leonid beside him, slightly taller, his arm wrapped around Jensen's waist, looking at Jensen like he held the sun.
Leonid's thumb hovered over the screen. He didn't have the passcode—Jensen had never given it to him, and he'd never asked. Trust was a funny thing. They trusted each other with their bodies, their hearts, their darkest secrets. But passcodes were private.
He pocketed the phone.
The walk to the Kim building was short—fifteen minutes on foot, cutting through a back alley that smelled of fried chicken and exhaust. He could have taken a taxi, but walking gave him time to think, to formulate what he'd say. You left your phone. I thought you might need it. I didn't look at anything. Simple. Clean.
But when he pushed through the glass doors of the Kim headquarters lobby, all his rehearsed lines evaporated.
The lobby was an architectural scream of wealth. Triple-height ceilings, polished marble that reflected the light in sharp geometric patterns, a reception desk that looked more like a sculpture than a piece of furniture. The air smelled of bergamot and clean linen, some expensive diffuser scent that made Leonid feel underdressed in his simple black jacket and worn jeans.
A woman in a severe charcoal suit looked up from behind the desk. Her hair was slicked back into a tight bun, her nails manicured to sharp red points, her smile professionally perfect.
"May I help you?" Her voice was silk wrapped around steel.
"I'm here to see Jensen Kim." Leonid kept his voice even. "I have something of his."
The woman's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. "Mr. Kim is in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but—"
"Then I'm afraid you can't see him." The smile didn't waver. "I can leave him a message if you'd like."
Leonid pulled Jensen's phone from his pocket, holding it up. "He left this at home. I thought he might need it."
The woman's eyes flickered to the phone, then back to his face. Something shifted in her expression—a calculation, a reassessment.
"You're... friends with Mr. Kim?"
"I'm his boyfriend."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
The woman's smile froze on her face. Her red-nailed fingers paused mid-tap on her keyboard. She blinked once, twice, as if processing information that refused to compute.
"I'm sorry," she said, the words clipped and cold. "His what?"
"His boyfriend." Leonid said it clearly, without hesitation. He was used to this reaction by now—the disbelief, the discomfort, the quick recalibration of expectations. "We live together. He left the apartment without this."
The woman laughed.
It was a short, brittle sound, like breaking glass. She composed herself quickly, but the damage was done—the mask of professionalism had slipped, revealing something uglier underneath.
"Mr. Kim," she said, emphasizing the name with sarcastic gravity, "is a very normal man. He's the CEO of a major company. He has a reputation to maintain." She tilted her head, studying Leonid like he was a bug on her windshield. "I'm sure you're very... close friends. But I don't think he would appreciate you spreading such rumors."
Leonid's jaw tightened. His hand clenched around the phone, the edges digging into his palm.
"Rumors."
"I'm only looking out for his best interests." The woman's smile was razor-thin. "He's a busy man. He doesn't have time for distractions. And frankly, this kind of claim could be very damaging to him if it got out." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "I'm sure you understand. These things are best kept in the bedroom—if they even happen at all."
The insult landed like a slap. Leonid felt his ears burn, felt the familiar surge of anger rising in his chest. But he forced himself to stay calm, to unclench his fists. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.
"Look," he said, his voice flat. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to give Jensen his phone back. Either you let me up, or I wait here until his meeting's over."
"I can't allow you to—"
"Let him up."
The voice came from behind Leonid, sharp as a blade and cold as winter. He didn't need to turn around to know who it belonged to—the sound of it sent a shiver down his spine, equal parts relief and anticipation.
Jensen Kim stood at the threshold of the private elevator, his white shirt immaculate, his hair swept back, his dark eyes burning with barely contained fury. He looked like a god who had deigned to descend to the mortal realm and didn't like what he saw.
The secretary's face went pale.
"Mr. Kim, I was just—"
"Interrogating my boyfriend?" Jensen's voice was silk over steel. "I heard everything. Every word." He walked toward them, his steps measured, deliberate. The subtle clicking of his leather shoes on the marble was the only sound in the lobby.
He stopped beside the desk, close enough that Leonid could smell the sharp, intoxicating scent of his cologne. He didn't look at Leonid. His eyes were fixed on the secretary, and there was something dangerous in them—something that promised retribution.
"His name is Leonid Manoban," Jensen said, his voice low and steady. "He is my boyfriend. My partner. The love of my life." Each word was precise, deliberate, an executioner's swing. "He is not a rumor. He is not a distraction. He is everything, and you will treat him with respect."
The secretary's hands trembled. "Mr. Kim, I didn't mean—"
"You meant exactly what you said." Jensen smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "And I'm sure HR will be very interested to hear about your opinions. Along with the diversity training we'll be implementing next quarter."
"Please, I—"
"You're fired." Jensen's voice was calm, almost pleasant. "Security will escort you out."
The woman opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. But whatever protest she wanted to make died in her throat. Jensen's gaze was unwavering, and the sheer force of his presence left no room for argument.
She rose from her desk with jerky, robotic movements, her hands shaking at her sides. A security guard materialized from somewhere, touching her elbow, leading her toward the door. She didn't look back.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jensen turned to Leonid. The fury in his eyes softened, replaced by something else—something tender and fragile and terrifyingly vulnerable.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Leonid's jaw was still tight. But the anger drained from him slowly, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest like honey. "I'm fine. I didn't expect her to—"
"Doesn't matter." Jensen stepped closer, his hand finding Leonid's, their fingers interlocking. The phone was still clutched in Leonid's palm, cold and forgotten. "What matters is you're here. And she's gone."
"You fired her."
"She deserved it."
"You probably could have just reprimanded her." Leonid's voice was dry. "Gotten point across without the dramatic termination."
"I don't do things by half measures." Jensen's smile was wolfish. "Besides, I'd been thinking about letting her go anyway. Her attention to detail was slipping." His eyes glittered. "This just sped up the timeline."
Leonid shook his head, but he couldn't keep the smile from tugging at his lips. "You're impossible."
"And you're here." Jensen lifted Leonid's hand, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to Leonid's knuckles, soft and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Leonid's. "Why?"
Leonid held up the phone. "You left this."
Jensen blinked at it, then laughed. "I did. Which is so unlike you."
"You were distracted." Leonid's voice was soft. "But I wanted to make sure you had it. Case of a call. An email. Something important."
"Something more important than you standing in my lobby?" Jensen's thumb traced circles on the back of Leonid's hand. "I don't think that exists."
Leonid's heart swelled. But he forced himself to maintain his composure. "Isn't your meeting starting?"
"My meeting can wait."
"It's the Seo Group."
"The Seo Group can wait." Jensen leaned in, his lips brushing Leonid's ear. "They're not going anywhere. But I want to spend a minute more with you."
Leonid's breath caught. The warmth of Jensen's body, the scent of his cologne, the weight of his hand—it all combined into a drug stronger than anything he'd ever known.
"If you keep talking like that," Leonid murmured, "we're both going to be in trouble."
"Maybe I like trouble."
Leonid pulled back, but tenderly. With the pad of his thumb he smoothed the collar of Jensen's fresh white shirt, a gesture that was intimate in its own way. "Go to your meeting," he said. "I'll be home when you get back."
"You have my phone."
"I don't want your phone. I want you."
Jensen's face softened back into something private and unguarded. "You have me. You've always had me." He looked at his wristwatch with a sigh. "But you're right. I should go."
"I know."
Before he could pull away, Jensen stepped in and pressed a single, soft kiss to the corner of Leonid's mouth. It wasn't over-the-top. It wasn't possessive. It was simply and plainly his.
"Thank you," Jensen said, taking his phone. "For bringing this. For coming."
Leonid shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. "You'd do it for me."
"I'd do a lot more than that." Jensen's eyes were intense, hungry, as if he was remembering every time he'd done more. "I'll be home by seven. Promise."
"I'll have dinner waiting."
"You're the best boyfriend."
"I'm the only boyfriend."
"Best and only." Jensen grinned. "My favorite kind."
He was late for his meeting by exactly four minutes. He walked away with a calm that made everyone around him unclench their shoulders, already saying something effortless to his assistant about the scheduling.
Leonid stood in the lobby, watching him go, until the elevator doors slid shut and swallowed Jensen whole.
The lobby was quiet again. The security guard had returned to his post. The receptionist—a different woman now, younger, nervous—hovered behind the desk, watching Leonid with wide eyes.
Leonid straightened his jacket and turned toward the door. He hadn't taken more than three steps before the new receptionist called out.
"Sir?"
He paused, looking back.
The woman fidgeted with the collar of her blouse. "I know this is—I'm really sorry, but are you really his boyfriend? Because in three years I've never seen Mr. Kim act like that." She bit her lip, something like daring breaking through her professionalism.
Leonid thought about lying. Or deflecting. Or just shrugging it off. But the memory of Jensen's fists, of his quiet voice saying, He is my boyfriend. My partner. The love of my life was still lingering, still alive in his chest.
"Yeah. I am."
The receptionist's grin was like dawn breaking. "He always looks so... cold," she confided, lowering her voice to a whisper that was still too loud in the echoing lobby. "Like he doesn't know how to feel anything. But with you, he was warm. I've never seen him warm."
Leonid's lips curved into a hesitant smile. "He doesn't show it to many people."
"I could tell." She nodded, as if she understood something profound. "He doesn't show it to anyone. But he showed it to you."
"Because I'm his."
"Because he loves you," she said, simply and without artifice, as if she had never once doubted it. "It's nice to see. It's really nice to see."
Leonid walked away with that discovery blazing in his chest.