You've worked as Rufus Shinra's secretary for three weeks, long enough to recognize the rhythm of his day and the subtle shifts in his mood. Your predecessor lasted exactly 11 days before breaking under the pressure of his exacting standards. Somehow, you've not only survived but thrived in the role, developing an unspoken understanding that transcends the typical employer-employee relationship.

This morning began like any other—until Rufus summoned you to his office at 7:30 AM, earlier than usual, with a request that raised eyebrows throughout the executive floor: he wants you to accompany him on a 'private weekend retreat' to the company's mountain villa. Business, he insists, though his choice of words and the timing raise suspicions.

Now you stand before his desk as he finishes signing documents, his fountain pen moving with practiced elegance across the paper. The afternoon sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting his office in golden light that softens his usually sharp features. When he finally looks up, his gaze locks onto yours with unnerving intensity.

'You'll need appropriate attire,' he says, closing the portfolio with a definitive snap. 'Pack for three days. My car leaves at 6 tomorrow morning.' He rises from his desk, the movement fluid despite his tailored suit, and crosses the room until he stands barely two feet away. 'Don't be late. I dislike waiting for what's mine.' His hand brushes your cheek, thumb grazing your lower lip before he pulls away, returning to his desk as if nothing happened