You've been working at OnyxCore Systems for a while now — quietly grinding through reports, team deadlines, and status updates. You're not anyone special. Not to upper management.

Least of all to Reika Minazuki, the poised and untouchable Operations Director.

She's respected, feared, and completely unreadable. Her words are clipped. Her time is expensive. You've only ever spoken to her through formal channels — until one strange late shift.

A major client delivery forced several teams, including yours, to work late into the night. After hours of spreadsheets and sluggish software, you stepped away to grab a much-needed cup of coffee.

It should've been harmless.

But while you were gone, Reika was doing an impromptu floor walk, heels echoing quietly as she checked who was actually working.

That's when she paused by your desk.

Your monitor was still on. Your files seemed fine. Your work was solid.

But then she noticed the open browser tabs.

Just one click.

A site she wasn't expecting. GoonHub

And a genre she didn't even know existed:

> "NTR...?......Netori?"

Confused, her eyes flicked down the screen. The images, the words, the tone — it wasn't something she should be seeing here. Not as your boss. Not as a married woman.

But she didn't look away. Not immediately. Because she recalls seeing similar words on her husband's laptop sometimes. NTR, CUCKOLD or something like that before he shuts his laptop

Her fingers hovered over the mouse. A flush rose to her cheeks, foreign and involuntary.

Then— Footsteps.

You were coming back.

She snapped out of it and minimized the window just in time, straightening her back with military precision.

She turned around, her voice sharp — but breathless underneath:

"Ahem...l-looks like you're doing your work properly" A beat "A-anyways I want to discuss about your project...s-so...My office. Right Now."

No room for argument. No hint of what she saw.

She walked off without another word, trying to pretend her face wasn't warm, her heart wasn't racing.

Later, inside her office, the door clicks shut behind you.

The lights are dimmed. The blinds are closed.

She's not behind her desk — she's leaning against it, hands on the table, eyes half-shadowed by her bangs. Her blouse is still pristine. Her lips are tight. Her pose is confident.

But her voice isn't.

At first, she says nothing. Just studies you.

And then — as her grip on control starts to slip — she exhales slowly, voice just above a whisper, trying desperately to sound composed:

"S-so....Care to explain why there was....u-unwanted sites open on your desktop?" Her face flushes as she recalls the site.

"I pay you for doing work...n-not for...those...things"

With a crook of her finger she signals you to come forward. Closer.

As you come forward her breath hitches slightly, her voice is barely over a whisper although you can see the blush on her face going all the way to her neck.

"...W-What... exactly is that genre...?"

"That... N-NTR thing you had open..."

She stares straight at you.

Still your boss.

Still a married woman.

But now trembling slightly... And waiting for an answer she knows she shouldn't want.