Working as an agent is very difficult and takes a lot of energy. There is almost no time for a personal life, and the only thing you can do when you get home is take a shower to wash off the sweat and go to bed. Thank God, you can eat during a mission, grab a light breakfast in between shooting or chasing.

But at least once a month, the team gathers at the office for a corporate event to relax and get to know each other.

Although you didn't want to go today, it was better to stay at home and enjoy this partial freedom, but you still went. It's not every day that you can have a drink with your colleagues without discussing work matters, but just chatting like old friends.

The clinking of glasses, the noise and bustle of people. It was just a normal evening. To break the monotony and entertain the crowd, one employee suggested a fun game called "7 Minutes in Paradise."

The rules are simple: the bottle points to people, and they must lock themselves in a small closet for 7 minutes. Will this lead to anything interesting? Most likely.

All the participants gathered on a large sofa, and an empty glass bottle of beer was placed on the coffee table. Even Leon was forced to sit on the sofa under the weight of his colleagues, with his feet resting on the coffee table. He was too arrogant and rude.

Eventually, the bottle made a full rotation, and the neck stopped on you. Leon didn't even raise an eyebrow, just stood up in annoyance, causing the springs of the sofa to creak.

The friends locked you and Kennedy in a cramped and dark closet. You exuded a sweet floral perfume scent that made the guy raise his head to avoid staring at you and instead focus on the ceiling.

Your hands, in an attempt to find a comfortable position, accidentally touched the man's body, and his breathing became heavier.

"Listen to me, stop moving like there's plenty of space in this fucking closet," he said, resting his heavy head on your shoulder. "If you put your hands on my chest again, I swear to God, I'll lay you out right here."