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

When Neville’s head snapped to look, Ethan was already leaning against the door, holding it open. He had that infuriating not-quite-smile playing on his lips, his one eyebrow slightly cocked in amusement.

How long had he been standing there? How did he not hear him open the door? Didn’t he lock the door? How did he—

The questions short-circuited in his brain. Seeing him there, so calm and so utterly out of place, Neville knew with a sickening certainty that this was no coincidence.

His body moved before his mind caught up. Neville burst from the sink, crossing the space in two desperate strides and grabbing Ethan by the collar.

Ethan stumbled as Neville dragged him inside, and the door swung shut behind them. Neville’s hand shot out, locking it again with a decisive click.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there." Ethan’s hands rose in a gesture of mock surrender, though the smile never left his eyes. "You’re not going to eat me, are you? Hate to disappoint, but I’m not an alpha."

The casual tone, smirking even as he mocked, snapped something inside Neville. His hands shot up to Ethan’s throat, squeezing with what little strength his trembling body could muster. It wasn’t much—the omega’s natural disadvantage made worse by his susceptible period—but it was enough to leave a mark in his neck.

A murderous warning.

"It was you," The words tore from his throat, harsher than he intended. "Wasn’t it?!"

Ethan tilted his head, his eyes cool, dissecting him like a specimen under a microscope with detached interest. "What are you talking about?"

Even through the haze of hormones and fury, Neville recognized the game Ethan was cooking. Ethan wanted him to sound unhinged and unreliable—to make wild accusations and seem hysterical without providing concrete proof.

But Neville wasn’t going to go along with his game.

"That man," Neville gritted out, his knuckles white. "Marcus."

He gave Ethan’s throat a tiny, desperate shake. "You don’t need to play dumb. I saw you with him. That bottle... what was in that goddamn bottle?! Answer me!"

For a fraction of a second, something changed in Ethan’s expression—a flicker of genuine surprise. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that same maddening attitude.

Ethan’s hands came up, prying Neville’s weakened fingers from his throat with insulting ease. He stepped back, keeping a proper distance between them, and took a moment to meticulously smooth the wrinkles from his collar as if brushing away dust.

"Marcus, is it?" Ethan repeated the name thoughtfully, as if tasting it for the first time. "Hm. So that’s his name."

He met Neville’s furious glare, his voice dropping to a light, conversational tone that was more chilling than any shout.

"If you saw what you saw, then I suppose you saw it." His voice was light, almost conversational. "But what are you going to do about it?"

His smile curved, mocking, "Do you have any proof to prove it?"

The picture.

Neville’s mind raced to the photo evidence, then stuttered to a halt.

Iris had taken the photo.

Iris, who had just finished scolding him like an overprotective parent.

Iris, who worked directly under Bryan, who answered only to Grayson...

No. Neville forced the paranoid thoughts down. Iris wouldn’t. She’s on my side. She has to be.

"Well?" Ethan’s voice purred into the silence, taunting and expectant.

Neville met his gaze steadily, forcing himself through the fog of heat and suspicion.

"This entire building is being watched," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Every corridor has a camera. Every cleaning unit is a drone with a memory bank."

For the first time, Ethan’s smile faltered. Then he laughed—low, genuine. It wasn’t a smirk or a chuckle. It was a genuine, unrestrained laugh that echoed unnervingly in the small bathroom. It was a thousand times more disturbing than his usual fake pleasantries.

"Oh, Neville, you know," he said, shaking his head with what looked like sincere pity to a child who just said something amusing, "You really, really don’t get it, do you?"

"Don’t. Call me. By my name," Neville bit out, each word with every ounce of restraint stretched thin.

"My apologies. Mr. Hope," Ethan corrected himself, the formal address dripping with sarcasm. "Is that better?" There was a sharp, dangerous edge to his voice as he said that.

Neville could only glare; his mind was already filled with helplessness and anger. He could already see the narrative others would spin: without evidence, especially after this morning, no one would believe him. They would only smile with pity.

Poor thing. They would whisper. Too kind for his own good. The stress finally broke him—such a shame.

"Let me tell you what your problem is, Mr. Hope," Ethan continued, beginning to circle him slowly, a predator savoring the final moments of the hunt. "You think everyone plays by the same rules. You think that if you just keep your head down, follow the rules, and work hard, the world will pat you on the back. That effort and loyalty matter in this world."

"They do," Neville said, the words barely a whisper. Even to his own ears, the words trembled. He was trying to convince himself more than Ethan.

"For people like Grayson Maxwell? Maybe." Ethan stopped in front of him, his smile turning into a bitter sneer.

"But to the rest of us?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a low and deliberate hiss. "We’re just paving stones for people like you. The special ones. The chosen ones."

If only you knew, Neville thought, irony snapping him back to himself. I literally have a system called ’The Chosen One’. I was chosen by The Chosen One.

"You came from nothing," Ethan went on, his voice dropping into something dangerously intimate, as if confiding in him. He clearly thought Neville was still caught in his web of words. "No family, no connections, no money. And yet—here you are. A temporary hire in one of the most powerful corporations in the galaxy. Do you have any idea how many people would kill for your position? How many have bled their whole lives just for the chance to walk through Maxwell Corporation’s doors?"

"I—"

"You didn’t deserve it." The words cracked like a whip, sharp and sudden.

"Then take it up with HR," Neville shot back, his voice strained. He forced himself to be calm even though every nerve screamed at him to run. "File a complaint. Transfer departments. Do something useful instead of—"

For a split second, Ethan’s carefully maintained facade contorted. But it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that chillingly calm smile. The change was too clean, too theatrical, too—deliberate. It was like Ethan was only pretending to be broken at that moment, just to gauge his reaction.

"Here’s the thing about coincidences," Ethan murmured, stepping closer. He cornered Neville against the sink.

"The universe is full of coincidences. Sometimes..." He leaned in, his voice dropping so low it was barely audible, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture almost polite. The unwelcome warmth of his breath burned Neville’s ear. "There were just too many of them to really be coincidences."

"You don’t know if people like me just happen to be standing by with a pair of scissors." He paused, letting the word hang in the air between them. "Or I don’t hold anything at all. They can be random—terrible luck."

"The real trick is knowing which is which." His lips curled."The question is—can you tell the difference?"

The bathroom seemed to shrink around them, the air growing thick and suffocating with Neville’s heavy and unsteady pheromones.

This wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t office politics. There was something deeper, darker, and twisted. But what was it?

"Why?" The question escaped Neville’s lips, his voice cracking with desperation. "What did I ever do to you?"

Ethan pulled back and simply smiled. It was a cold, cynical smile, devoid of all warmth, that made Neville’s skin crawl.

And before Ethan could say anything—

[Host! The new patch, quick!] Shelly materialized right in front of his eyes, panic blazing in her animated expression. [We need to suppress this before—]

BAM!

The bathroom door slammed open, striking the wall with enough force to rattle the mirror.