Chapter Text
“Tell me again why you’re the best choice for this arrangement.”
Joss Wayar leaned back in the black leather executive chair, his broad shoulders straining the fine grey silk of his shirt. The office was quiet, a sleek, modern space on the top floor of his father’s business holdings, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Bangkok’s glittering sprawl. It felt more like a lawyer’s office than a mafia prince’s sanctuary, but that was exactly the point. Appearances.
The man sitting opposite him shifted, a nervous flicker in his honey brown eyes. His name was Gawin Caskey, and he was beautiful. It was an objective fact, not a subjective opinion. His features were soft, angelic, framed by deep, almost black hair that fell in gentle waves. His lips were lush, plump, and he had the kind of waist and hips that Joss’s gaze kept snagging on, even though he was trying to maintain a professional, detached air.
“Because I look like someone you’d actually date,” Gawin answered, his voice a soft, sweet murmur that seemed to melt into the sterile air. “And because I’m good at following a script.”
Joss’s fingers tapped once on the polished teak desk. He’d interviewed seven candidates over the last two days. Each one had been a disaster.
The first, a gym rat with a booming voice and zero subtlety, had asked if the job included “bedroom duties.” Joss had dismissed him within five minutes.
The second, a shy university student, had stammered so badly he couldn’t finish a sentence.
The third, a professional actor, had been too polished, too theatrical. His performative charm felt like a cheap suit.
The fourth had smelled of cheap cigarettes. The fifth had checked his phone constantly. The sixth had worn a garish, polyester shirt that made Joss’s eyes ache.
And the seventh… Gawin.
He was dressed in simple, elegant clothes: a soft, ivory cotton button-down that clung delicately to his lean, muscular frame, and dark, tailored trousers that accentuated the gorgeous curve of his hips and the long line of his legs. The fabric was light, almost sheer, and it moved with him like a second skin. He looked expensive. He looked real.
“A script,” Joss repeated, his tone low and measured. “This isn’t a play. It’s my life. My father controls everything. My schedule, my security, my… partners. He wants me ‘settled.’ He thinks a stable relationship will make me less… reckless.”
Gawin’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “And you want to be reckless?”
“I want to be free.” Joss’s voice broke slightly on the word, a rare crack in his usually composed façade. He exhaled, a slow, deliberate breath. “This is a transaction. You will be my publicly acknowledged boyfriend. You will attend family functions, social events. You will live in my apartment. You will look at me like you… like me. And in return, you will receive a very generous monthly payment, and all the privileges of my status.”
Gawin didn’t flinch. He simply nodded, his long lashes sweeping down for a moment. “I understand the terms.”
“Do you?” Joss leaned forward, the chair creaking softly. “My family is… intense. They’re supportive, but they’re also observant. My father sees everything. He’ll test you. He’ll poke at the seams of our story. If he finds a weak spot, the whole façade collapses, and I’m back in his cage. And you…” He let the implication hang. And you will be in danger.
“I’m not weak,” Gawin said, his soft voice gaining a thread of steel. He met Joss’s dark brown eyes directly. “I can handle pressure. I can look at you like I like you.” He paused, and a faint blush touched the high arches of his cheekbones. “It wouldn’t be a difficult performance, to look at you like that.”
The air in the room changed. It became warmer, thicker. Joss felt a strange, low pull in his chest. He was used to being handsome, used to the effect his 189 cm frame and sharp features had on people. But this… this was different. Gawin’s words weren’t flattery. They were an observation, delivered with a quiet honesty that felt more dangerous than any threat.
“Why are you doing this?” Joss asked, suddenly needing to know. “The money is good, but the risk is higher. You could find easier work.”
Gawin’s gaze drifted to the window, to the city lights shimmering like distant jewels. “I need the money,” he said simply. “And I’m good at… fitting in. At becoming what someone needs me to be.”
Something about the way he said it, the slight hollow note in his sweet tone, made Joss’s instincts prickle. But the practical part of his brain, the part desperate for a solution, overruled the suspicion. Gawin was perfect. He looked perfect. He sounded perfect. He was, on the surface, exactly the soft, beautiful, charming man Joss would be attracted to.
Attracted to.
The thought whispered through him, unbidden. He imagined Gawin in his apartment, wearing something loose and soft, smiling as he poured coffee. He imagined Gawin’s hand, with its long fingers and soft skin, brushing against his own during a family dinner. He imagined the weight of Gawin’s gaze, those honey eyes watching him with something warmer than mere performance.
The tension in the room wasn’t just professional anymore. It was personal. It was a slow, gathering heat in the silence between them.
“There will be rules,” Joss said, forcing his voice back to business. “No real… intimacy. The relationship is public only. Private life remains separate.”
Gawin’s eyes returned to him, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. “Of course.”
“We’ll need to establish a history,” Joss continued, mapping out the plan as if it were a battlefield strategy. “We met six months ago at a gallery opening. We’ve been dating discreetly, but now we’re ready to be open. You know my favorite whiskey. I know you hate loud crowds. We have a shared… appreciation for quiet jazz clubs.”
“I do like quiet jazz clubs,” Gawin murmured, a genuine smile touching his lush lips this time. It was a small, private thing, and it made Joss’s breath catch.
He stood up abruptly, needing to move, to break the spell of that smile. He walked to the window, his back to Gawin. “The first test will be tomorrow night. A family dinner at my father’s house. He’ll be watching. My mother will be asking you about your family. My brother will be trying to get you drunk to see what you’ll say.”
“I can handle a dinner,” Gawin said from behind him. The soft sound of his voice seemed to travel across the room and brush against Joss’s spine.
Joss turned. Gawin was still seated, looking up at him with an expression that was both obedient and profoundly unsettling. It was too calm. Too ready.
“You’ll need clothes,” Joss said, gesturing vaguely. “Something appropriate. Not too formal, but not casual. My father respects… presentation.”
Gawin stood up smoothly. He was 186 cm, just a few centimeters shorter than Joss, but his lean build made him seem more delicate. The ivory shirt shifted against his skin as he moved, hinting at the muscles beneath. “I have something.”
He walked closer, not too close, but enough that Joss could see the fine details, the soft curve of his jaw, the slight pout of his lower lip, the way his dark hair curled just behind his ear.
“I’ll need your address,” Gawin said, his voice dropping even softer. “And a time.”
Joss swallowed. The proximity was doing things to his concentration. “I’ll text you the details.”
Gawin nodded. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze sweeping over Joss’s face, lingering on his mouth, then his eyes. “I look forward to meeting your family, Joss.”
The way he said the name, with a gentle, almost intimate familiarity, sent a jolt through Joss. It was a preview. A taste of the performance. But it felt… real. It felt like a key sliding into a lock he hadn’t known was closed.
“Tomorrow at seven,” Joss managed, his own voice rougher than he intended.
Gawin gave one last, small smile, a promise, a threat, a beginning, and then he turned and walked out of the office. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Joss alone in the silent, gleaming room.
Joss stared at the empty space where Gawin had been. The interview was over. He had chosen his pretend boyfriend. The solution to his problem was in motion.
But as he stood there, the low, simmering heat still clinging to his skin, the faint scent of Gawin’s clean, subtle cologne still hanging in the air, Joss wondered, with a sharp, sudden clarity, if he had just invited a far more dangerous kind of cage into his life.
Little did he know, Gawin Caskey was not just a perfect actor. He was a perfect weapon, sent by a rival family, a honey eyed angel carrying a dagger in his soft, sweet smile. And the first dinner, the first test, was about to begin.