[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

Neville sat stiffly on the sofa in Grayson’s office. The sofa was large enough to seat three comfortably, and the room was definitely spacious. Yet, somehow sitting there alone, he felt incredibly small. More than that—he felt like a child dangling his hands above his head the whole time, even though all he did was sit there.

<=

Earlier that day, when he returned from his rest, people immediately swarmed him with endless questions from all sides.

Then, Sarah had bulldozed her way through. "Alright, break it up, people! Show’s over! This one’s needed elsewhere, chop-chop!"

Then, she grabbed Neville by the arm and pulled him out of the crowd with the force of a tow truck.

"Where are we going?" Neville asked, his brows knitting together as he was stumbling to keep up.

Sarah glanced back at him with a puzzled look, but didn’t slow down. "I thought Bryan already told you?"

’Told me what?’ Neville tilted his head, frown deepening. ’Is this about the fight? Am I fired? God, what if they start asking questions—the kind I can’t answer without blowing everything up?’

[Host, don’t be too hard on yourself. Think positively. You’re stressing over nothing again,] Shelly comforted him gently as she hovered around his head.

’Stressing over nothing?’ Neville snapped back. ’Shelly, are you hearing yourself properly? If I lose this job, we’ll have no choice but to stalk Grayson from the shadows. And if it comes to that, do you honestly think that’s going to raise his favorability?’

Shelly’s googly eyes spun in circles. [Host, what are we going to do then?! ヽ(д｀ヽ彡ﾉ´д)ﾉ]

Neville let out a silent, weary sigh. ’We’ll deal with it when we get there. Talking with you isn’t going to save us right now.’

He barely had time to brace himself before Sarah stopped in front of Grayson’s office door. She swung the door open cheerfully, then shoved him inside without a second thought. Before he could say anything, the door clicked shut behind him.

Before he could even utter a single complaint, his eyes caught on the three people already waiting for him. Their grim expressions froze him in place.

At the center of it all was Grayson, who was sitting behind his massive desk like a monarch on his throne. His silver eyes locked onto Neville with that calm, unreadable weight that made Neville’s traitorous heart skip a beat.

Not now, you idiot. Definitely not the time.

But it wasn’t Grayson who made him freeze. It was the other two figures seated further inside.

Bryan stood near the window, arms folded, carrying the exact air of a disappointed father catching his kid sneaking out after curfew. Beside him was Iris—normally the model of a calm, composed, and stoic woman of the corporate world—paced like a tigress in a cage, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

"Sir?" Neville hovered in the doorway, uncertain if he should even breathe.

"Sit," Grayson said. Just one word, smooth and commanding. Neville’s body obeyed before his brain caught up, his legs carrying him to the sofa as if pulled by invisible strings.

The cushions dipped under him, threatening to swallow him whole.

"—absolutely reckless!" Iris snapped, her voice cutting through the silence like a whip. It had that particular pitch mothers used when their children had done something monumentally stupid. "Do you have any idea what could’ve happened? What were you thinking, confronting someone like that alone?"

"I wasn’t—" Neville started, his voice small, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself invisible. The sight might’ve been comical, if not for the distress written all over his face.

"Don’t you ’I—’ me, young man!" Iris snapped, cutting him off so sharply he flinched. "You could’ve been killed! Poisoned! Or worse—dragged off somewhere we would never find you!"

’If I really fell for that, I’d curse Shelly for not saving me out there somewhere with teleportation.’ Neville thought, his mind already looking for an escape.

[Host, please don’t say that. You don’t have enough points for another emergency escape. （＞人＜;）] Shelly cried out. [You already used the emergency system last time, remember? You need to buy a replacement first!]

’Thanks for that horrifying revelation, Shelly. But how much is it?’ Neville shot back.

The little shell looked away guiltily. [It’s... not unlocked yet, host. (╥ ω ╥)]

’Perfect. Just let me die next time. I promise not to hold a grudge. No resentment, no fuss. Just make it quick, please.’ Neville said blandly.

[Host!! ε＝ε＝ε＝(>д<)ﾉ]

"Are you even listening to me?!" Iris’s voice pitched up another decibel, making Neville flinch back to reality."What if you—"

"Iris." Bryan cleared his throat, moving to her side, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "You’re scaring him."

"Good! He should be scared!" she shot back, the anger in her eyes was still burning.

Bryan exhaled slowly, almost at his wits’ end, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What Iris is trying to say," he said, turning to Neville, "is that you took a massive, unnecessary risk."

"Is that what I was trying to say?" Iris turned her head to glare at Bryan. "Because it felt like I was trying to say I’m going to ground him for a month!"

"You can’t ground me," Neville muttered weakly, shrinking into the sofa. "I’m twenty."

"Watch me," Iris and Bryan said in perfect, deadpan unison. They exchanged a brief, annoyed glare, sparks flying as if even their teamwork annoyed them.

Bryan gave in first, his expression turning serious again. "Anyway, the point is—we’re concerned about your safety. This place might look secure, but there are gaps. And people slip through those gaps."

"I know," Neville whispered, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I’m sorry."

"Sorry doesn’t protect you from pheromone attacks," Iris shot back immediately, though her tone had obviously softened. "You are an omega. What if someone takes advantage of that? You have to be more mindful of that than anyone. Are you checking your patches? Do you have emergency suppressants at your desk? You need to review the basic safety protocols you should have learned—" The lessons every omega was supposed to learn at home.

She froze mid-sentence. Bryan saw the gears turning behind her eyes as realization struck. Neville didn’t have to look up to know why. His hands, hidden in his lap, clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned bone-white.

And through it all, Grayson hadn’t said a single word. He sat at his desk like a man watching a show, silver eyes fixed on Neville, taking in every change in his expression.

Finally, when the silence set in, he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him.

"Are you done?"

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

Iris faltered, her posture deflating.

Bryan straightened like a soldier.

And Neville—Neville tried to sink further into the sofa, wishing desperately to simply cease to exist.

"What would you do if Director Miller heard about this?"

The question seemed to have been asked casually without much thought. But the words dropped into the room like a stone into still water, rippling outward with weight that none of them could ignore.

Neville felt like he was punched in the gut. His heart dropped, his body froze, drained from his face, leaving him cold and suddenly lightheaded. Even Bryan could see his hands trembling.

Neville quickly forced himself to uncurl his fists, pretending to be calm, pressing his palms flat against his thighs as if he could physically stop the shaking.

"That’s... that’s playing dirty," Neville muttered in a strained whisper. "I was trying to handle the situation... professionally."

"Professionally?" The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at Grayson’s lips before vanishing again. "You call that brawl a professional way to resolve matters?"

Neville’s shoulders slumped in utter defeat. His mouth opened, closed—no excuses left.

From Bryan’s professional perspective, the kid looked seconds away from either crying or bolting. Maybe both. And it was clear that Grayson’s words cut deeper than all of Iris’s scolding combined.

"Come here," Grayson said, his voice flat yet commanding.

Bryan and Iris watched in silence as Neville rose on shaky legs and walked towards Grayson’s desk. Each step was heavy with reluctance, but still continued. They watched with unspoken understanding—this was no longer their place to interfere.

"Bryan told me," Grayson said with a tone deceptively casual, "that you tied that man to a chair."

"...Yes, sir." Neville breathed, keeping his eyes down.

"With a rope you just happened to have on you." It wasn’t a question.

Neville’s mouth went bone dry. "I... I like to be prepared, sir. There’s danger everywhere. Especially at night. Just for emergencies."

Grayson finally looked up and locked eyes with him, pinning him in place. Neville felt like he stopped breathing for a second.

"Hand."

Bryan privately thought it sounded more like training a dog. And yet—Neville lifted his hand without hesitation, as if ’happy’ to raise his hand over.

Grayson opened his drawer, retrieving a small dark glass jar. He placed it on the polished surface of the desk.

"Open."

Neville blinked in confusion but obediently uncurled his trembling fingers, offering his open palm. He braced himself, for what, he wasn’t sure either.

Unlike the horrible things he was expecting, Grayson’s hand gently enveloped his. His fingers closed around it with quiet certainty, the touch firm and warm yet unhurried. His thumb brushed across Neville’s palm, lingering over the faint rope burns that still hadn’t faded.

The world seemed to hold its breath. For one suspended moment, there was nothing but the weight of Grayson’s touch. All Neville could feel was the firm, steady warmth of Grayson’s skin against his and the quiet thud of his own heart.

Then—without warning—Grayson placed the small, cool glass jar into Neville’s hand and closed his fingers around it.

"Apply it twice a day," he said, his voice low. His gaze lingered on the faint bruise at the corner of Neville’s lips. "It works on bruises, too."

Neville swallowed hard. He didn’t know if he should even say anything or just shut up.

Then, Grayson leaned back into his chair as though nothing had happened. He glanced at Bryan.

Their eyes met briefly—something exchanged in that glance—and then Iris’s exasperated sigh filled the silence. "Alright, Hope. You can go for now. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We still have plenty to discuss."

Neville managed to do a jerky nod and walked out. He scrambled to his feet, legs unsteady, his mind still processing what happened. The cool sensation and weight of the small jar felt strange, making its presence known as time passed by.

[Host, what was—! o(≧v≦)o~~❤❤] Shelly said, itching for a good gossip, flying all over the place, desperate to dissect every second of what just happened.

’Not now, Shelly,’ he thought, his mind a total blank.

...

As soon as the door clicked shut, Iris planted her hands on her hips and spun on Grayson. "Okay, what was that?"

"What was what?" Grayson asked, his face of pure innocence as he glanced over.

Bryan walked over, shaking his head as he joined Iris’s side.

"He’s hopeless," Bryan muttered.

Grayson ignored them both, already scanning the fresh stack of files on his workload.

"I ran a background check on that man," Bryan reported, voice dropping, shifting back to business. "Still came out clean."

"Too clean," Iris scoffed, completely cracking her kind of ’stoic’ image. "No one’s that clean and perfect."

Grayson’s eyes lifted, cold and sharp enough to slice glass.

"Exactly."