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

’Shut up, Shelly.’

Neville’s fingers gripped the edge of the sink behind him, trying to anchor himself as another wave of heat crashed through his body. His ocean-blue eyes had gone completely hazy and unfocused.

"What’s wrong, Hope?" Ethan leaned in closer, his voice low, making Neville’s stomach churn.

Not now, he thought desperately, legs shaking. Not here. Not with him.

He regretted not prioritizing the suppressants before anything else. He could’ve lasted the whole day. He could even face Ethan in close combat.

BAM!

The bathroom door slammed open, rattling the mirror above the sinks.

The scent hit Neville instantly—not a perfume, but something else. It was clean, sharp, like fresh mountain spring water. It cooled his feverish body enough to regain his senses. His eyes regained their focus, but his body was still trembling.

There was only one person he knew who had that scent.

Grayson.

Grayson stood in the doorway, silver eyes sweeping over the scene without missing anything.

Neville’s already failing strength gave out, and he slumped against the cold tile of the wall, his head hanging. His usually neat hazel hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His white dress shirt had translucent patches, clinging to his skin in a way that felt utterly humiliating.

Across from him, Ethan was frozen, his hand still extended as if he had been reaching for Neville moments before.

"What is going on here?" Grayson demanded, stepping fully into the bathroom and letting the door swing shut behind him. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp and cold.

The temperature in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees.

Ethan was the first to recover, dropping his hand and plastering a look of concern on his face. It was a masterful, sickeningly quick change.

"I found Mr. Hope here," Ethan reported, "It seemed that he was having a hard time, therefore I entered to be of help."

The lie slipped off his tongue like silk. Neville might’ve laughed if he had the strength.

[Oh, this bastard,] Shelly seethed, her pink shell trembling with outrage as she buzzed around Ethan’s head, unseen by anyone but Neville. [I’ve got the whole thing recorded. You’re not getting away with this!]

’Not... Now... Shelly...’ Neville weakly murmured.

Grayson didn’t even look at Ethan. His eyes were locked on Neville. He wasn’t buying Ethan’s performance—not for a second.

He saw the unnatural flush on Neville’s skin, the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breath hitched. He took another step forward, and Neville could smell his scent thicker than before.

"Look at me." Grayson’s tone changed, but it was still firm and sharp.

The heat was spreading faster, burning through his veins like liquid fire. The only thing keeping him sane was Grayson’s clean, sharp scent—but it wasn’t enough.

Neville forced his head up, his vision swimming. He met Grayson’s eyes. All he could manage was a weak and desperate shake of his head.

That was all Grayson needed.

Grayson’s silver eyes narrowed. He turned his head slightly, his eyes still on Neville, and addressed the other man in the room. "Get out."

"Sir, I was just—"

"Now."

The moment the door clicked shut, the last of Neville’s adrenaline vanished. The world tilted violently. An arm wrapped around him, preventing his fall. One hand supported his back while the other came up to cup the back of his neck, thumb pressing gently into the space just below his hairline.

Before Neville could process what was happening, he was scooped into strong arms—one under his knees, the other supporting his back—and lifted as if he weighed nothing at all.

"Mr. Maxwell—" Neville’s protest died on his lips as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

He should have protested and struggled to maintain some dignity. But Grayson’s scent completely surrounded him, making him feel safe cocooned against his broad chest.

His body betrayed him, and he completely limped in Grayson’s arms. His head drooped against Grayson’s shoulder.

Through the expensive fabric of his shirt, Neville could feel his steady, powerful heartbeat. It seemed to be beating faster than it should be.

[Oh my god, a princess carry! For real?!]Shelly squealed, landing dramatically on Grayson’s shoulder like some lovesick cupid. [Is the destined day finally here? Can I finally taste romance in this world?! ♡〜٩( ╹▿╹ )۶〜♡]

’Shelly, I swear to god, if you don’t shut up—’

Just as Grayson turned a corner, he found Ethan standing in the corner. It seemed that he didn’t go too far and waited for them there.

When Ethan opened his mouth to say something, Grayson silenced him with a single, piercing glare. Grayson turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Ethan behind.

Ethan stood frozen in place, one hand pressed over his lips. He stared at them until they were out of sight. His expression was unreadable.

Slowly, the hand covering his lips lowered, and a cold, thin smile stretched his mouth.

...

The world became a smear of motion and muted sound for Neville. The harsh lights of the hallway seemed to blur into long streaks of light.

"Mr. Maxwell—" someone seemed to have greeted Grayson along the way.

Grayson didn’t slow his pace, ignoring that person. His gaze fixed forward, utterly ignoring the stunned faces of his employees.

The anti-grav lifts opened, and Sarah nearly stumbled back, eyes wide at the sight. They almost collided in the hallway leading to the executive offices.

[Host, everyone is staring!] Shelly whispered excitedly in his mind, doing a little loop-the-loop. [The entire department! Oh, look at Sarah’s face! She looks like she just saw a ghost! This is going to be the scandal of the century! More drama, please!]

He was vaguely aware of the office chatter dying down, replaced by a sudden hushing. It was followed by a wave of sharp gasps and frantic whispers.

"Mr. Maxwell, is everything—" Iris, who was standing next to Sarah, immediately rushed to catch up.

"Clear my schedule for the next two hours," Grayson cut her off, without stopping. "No interruptions."

Other employees scattered like schools of fish before a shark, flattening against the walls to give their CEO a clear path.

Bryan already heard the commotion and was on his feet when Grayson entered, his usual poker face cracked slightly. His gaze flicked to Neville, then back to Grayson, sharp with concern.

Grayson kept moving, carrying Neville straight inside.

Bryan’s fingers were already moving across his light brain, pulling up medical protocols. Iris rushed over to assist him, whispering urgently.

"Sir, I’ve contacted the medical team," Bryan announced, his voice tight with urgency. "ETA is five minutes."

"No."

The word was flat and absolute. Bryan’s fingers froze mid-air. "Sir?"

Grayson didn’t turn around. "One doctor. No official report. Seal the floor. No one comes in or out until I say so. Handle it, Bryan."

He heard Bryan’s sharp intake of breath, followed by a quiet, "Understood, sir." The office door clicked shut, plunging the room into a heavy, insulated silence.

Through it all, Neville hovered on the edge of consciousness—burning hot, skin slick with sweat, vision blurred. Even so, he caught the crease forming between Grayson’s brows, the one that only appeared when he was faced with something he couldn’t control.

’Don’t you dare get used to this,’ Neville warned himself, even as his body relaxed against that steady heartbeat. ’This is a medical emergency. Not a romantic scene.’

[If you ask me, host, there’s not much difference.] Shelly chimed, now wearing tiny reading glasses and scribbling furiously in a notebook. [Statistical analysis shows a 92.7% correlation between ’medical emergencies’ and ’major romantic plot progression’ in popular stories. "Alpha saves Omega in distress"—This is a must-trend event! Perfect premium material! How about kissing him ’accidentally’ later?]

’Just kill me now,’ Neville muttered in his head, too annoyed to argue further.

In an instant, Grayson was kneeling beside the sofa. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand against Neville’s forehead. Grayson’s brows knitted together even more tightly.

Sensing that Neville was still conscious, Grayson asked. "Hope, can you hear me?"

Neville tried to nod, but his head felt too heavy.

"You’re burning up," he stated, his voice a low, rough murmur. "This isn’t a normal fever. Did you take your suppressants today?"

"Y-yes..." his voice was raspy.

"Did someone give you anything? A drink? Food?" Grayson’s questions were sharp, precise. He was already piecing it together.

A wave of nausea rolled through Neville. He shook his head weakly, the movement making the room spin.

"P-patch..." he breathed out, the word barely audible. "He... the patch..."

Before Grayson could ask any further, Neville sank into darkness. He was in too much pain to ’wake up’. Grayson checked Neville’s breathing before distancing himself from the sleeping man.