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

The reinforced metal door exploded inward, tearing from its hinges like paper. The frame itself collapsed, and emergency lighting stuttered to life as the room’s systems short-circuited in a cascade of sparks.

Through the ominous smoke and settling debris, a figure emerged from the destruction—tall, imposing, and radiating barely controlled fury.

Grayson stepped into the room, and the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. His silver eyes swept the scene before him—the scattered glass, the cowering figures, and there, crumpled on the floor amid the wreckage, his employee.

Neville’s bloodshot ocean-blue eyes were glazed with pain, and blood trickled from where glass had sliced into his palms.

"I believe," Grayson said, his voice a quiet menace that had once made enemy commanders surrender without a fight. "Someone needs to explain to me why my employee is bleeding on the floor."

The words were a death sentence.

The alphas pinning Neville down scrambled backward, one tripping over himself in the rush. Others edged toward the exits, only to stop as more figures appeared behind Grayson.

Bryan’s expression was cold enough to stop their hearts from beating. Then, there were the members of Maxwell Corp’s security division who looked eager to prove exactly why they had been recruited from special forces.

Grayson’s shoe landed on the ribs of the alpha, who was too petrified to move away from Neville. The man flew sideways with a gasp. Bone cracked upon impact.

"No one leaves," Grayson ordered, as though stating a fact. "You’re under arrest for possession and distribution of banned substances."

The security team moved with ease, subduing the panicked alphas before they could react. The restraints were locked into place with a satisfying click.

Mick, watching his carefully orchestrated evening collapse, forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped forward, hands raised in a mock gesture of peace. "Mr. Maxwell, this is a private gathering. You have no authority here—"

Grayson tilted his head, studying him as though deciding whether to waste words.

"No authority?" His tone sharpened, quiet as a knife sliding from its sheath. "In a place where I hold majority shares of? At an event where my employee was dragged under false pretenses?"

His lips curved into something that could never be mistaken for a smile. "We can discuss authority now, if you like. Or you can save it for your lawyers."

Mick’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for water. "I-I wasn’t aware you had shares in our—"

"Yours?" Grayson cut him off. "You mean the establishment your father manages on behalf of my family? The one I signed full control as of three days ago—when I learned exactly what filth you were running around here?"

He turned to his chief secretary. "Bryan, did you get everything?"

"Every second, sir." Bryan’s reply carried disturbing cheerfulness, his light brain recording steadily. "The legal team will have a field day. If I recall, Section 47 of the Imperial Code—coercion with controlled substances—had a mandatory minimum of fifteen years in Vankila Planet."

Through the chaos of arrests and panicked guests, Neville struggled to push himself upright. Glass crunched under his palms, slicing new cuts into already bleeding hands.

The world suddenly tilted dangerously, colors running together like watercolors in the rain. Grayson appeared beside him in an instant. His large hands steadied Neville’s shoulders with surprising gentleness.

"Don’t move."

He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Neville’s trembling body. The gesture was instinctive, protective—and it lit an unexpected warmth in Neville’s chest.

"M-Mr. Mmm..." Neville’s tongue felt thick, his words slurred and broken. "Why... you here?"

"Saving your reckless ass, apparently." The words were harsh, but Grayson’s grip stayed steady, careful, as he pulled Neville to his feet. The clean, crisp scent of his fresh water pheromones pushed back against the suffocating mix of alphas and chemicals saturating the room. "What the hell were you thinking, coming here?"

"Mick said... bisss..." Neville’s voice cracked. Even forming simple words was a struggle. Whatever they had slipped into the drinks was seeping through his wounds, burning through his system, making his skin fever-hot, too sensitive to even the brush of air.

"Mick Hewitt will pay for his actions." The growl in Grayson’s voice sent an unexpected shiver down Neville’s spine. "But not tonight."

"Sir, should I call medical—" Bryan’s concern was obvious despite his earlier cold demeanor.

"Ye—" Grayson’s response died as he noticed the changes in Neville.

The flush on Neville’s skin had deepened in color, almost in a fever rush. His normally controlled pheromones were spilling around. The sea salt clashed with his fresh water like a tidal wave.

His eyes widened with a dawning realization and something else, something dangerous that he immediately suppressed.

"Tell them to open my room here," he ordered sharply, already moving toward the anti-grav lift with Neville cradled in his arms. "Handle everything, Bryan. I’ll take care of Neville’s... situation."

Bryan raised an eyebrow and murmured in confusion, "Neville?" But his boss had already vanished into the lift.

...

The ride up was as quick as the deterioration of Neville’s condition. Soft groans slipped past his lips despite his effort to hold them back. His clothes clung to his overheated skin, and he shifted restlessly in Grayson’s hold.

"Haaat..." The word was barely a whimper.

"Don’t—" Grayson adjusted his grip, moving Neville over his shoulder to keep him from scratching at himself. The position was far from dignified, yet somehow Neville managed to look graceful even at a time like this.

"Where...?" feeling like burning, Neville’s mind struggled for clarity.

"I’m taking you to a room."

The word ’room’ triggered fear in Neville. He panicked and thrashed with surprising strength. "No! No rooms... can’t—"

Grayson paused in understanding. His voice softened, low enough to ground him. "My room."

The change was instant. Neville deflated against him, whispering, "Ooohh... okay..."

Grayson’s brows drew together as he glanced at his figure. What kind of reaction was that?

After a while, Neville poked Grayson’s back and asked, "Hoooww...uuu?"

"Iris." Grayson continued, "She told Bryan and informed me."

"Bryan’s a snitch," Neville declared with drunken certainty.

"Bryan and Iris are getting a raise." Grayson’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on Neville’s ankles, probably not even aware he was doing it. "And you’re getting a lecture on personal safety when you’re coherent enough to remember it."

With how large this place was, it really took a long time before Grayson and Neville arrived at their room.

"Almost there," Grayson whispered, more to himself than to Neville, who responded with another restless shift against his shoulder.

After what felt like an eternity navigating corridors, they reached the private room. The door automatically slid open upon recognizing its owner and then sealed shut behind them—

—And everything changed.

Neville’s ocean pheromones exploded, flooding the room with overwhelming intensity. Saltwater pheromones filled every corner, crashing into Grayson’s lungs with every breath.

In response, for the first time since he was born, Grayson’s own tightly controlled pheromones slipped out of their leash. Spreading around the room, matching the same intensity as the ocean pheromones.

Fresh water to the sea, rivers pulled to the tide.

"Nnn...Uncomfortable..." Neville’s voice cracked, fingers digging into Grayson’s shoulders.

Grayson gently lowered him onto the bed with utmost care. But the sight that greeted him nearly shattered his legendary composure.

His perfect and capable employee—always so calm and composed, ever so professional—was completely undone.

Sweat dampened his hair, plastering it to his forehead in messy waves that begged for a hand to smooth them back. His shirt gaped half-open from the earlier struggle, revealing the shallow rise and fall of his chest, skin fevered and flushed.

And his eyes—without the shield of glasses, those ocean depths were fully visible. Hazy, desperate, shimmering with unshed tears that caught the light and turned them into liquid sapphire.

Dangerous. Tempting.

—and Grayson felt an inexplicable hunger he didn’t know he had.

"I’ll get water—" Grayson forced himself to step back, to create distance before he did something unforgivable.

But the grip on his wrist was fast and fierce, stronger than someone in Neville’s state should have been. Before Grayson could react, he was pulled back down and got lost in those mesmerising ocean eyes.

"Don’t," Neville whispered, and the single word was laced with such need that Grayson’s guard immediately dropped.

Fingers slid into the back of his head, gently tangling his hair, guiding him slowly, down, closer, until—

Their lips met.

And Grayson’s world turned upside down.

He was stunned in place, with all sorts of thoughts running through his mind.

This was not how Grayson had imagined his first kiss—not that he had spent much time on such thoughts. But he had always pictured it to happen deliberately, in a place he had carefully chosen and planned—not to mention, it should be consensual.

Instead, he had it in the middle of chaos and desperate need.

Not that he was complaining, after all, the taste of the sea on Neville’s soft lips was irresistible.

But then, his very being and instinct screamed propriety, restraint, stop.

But the reality was, Neville was already deepening the kiss, clumsy and desperate. Prying his barely responsive lips, nipping lightly to tease, slipping his small tongue inside the gaps, taking all the control in this act.

Then Neville made a sound—small, needy, provoking—and his rationality was gone again.

His hands gripped Neville’s waist, pulling him in, even as the last thread of his sanity shouted warnings. But how could he stop when Neville arched against him like this? When those slender hands traced over his shoulders, his chest, as if memorizing every angle by touch alone?

The kiss deepened, wild and consuming. Neville’s inexperience showed in his ragged rhythm, in a way he forgot to breathe until his lungs gasped hard. He broke away only long enough to gasp before diving back in, relentless, unstoppable.

"Good," Neville murmured against his mouth, words slurred. "Give me more..."

The urging encouraged Grayson’s rogue behavior. His own pheromones, mixed and matched to Neville’s. Together, the waters merged as if they were never meant to part.

When Neville tore back again, panting. Grayson almost thanked whatever god existed, relieved since he was running out of his remaining sanity. But then he met Neville’s eyes, confusing and drowning him all over again.

They were intensely making out to the point that Grayson found himself shivering in excitement.

"Please," Neville whispered. The word was both plea and pain. "I need... Ahnn... nah... I—"

Feeling like Grayson was still a little too far away from him, Neville pulled back down again. This time, Grayson caught the ghost of a smile against his lips—victorious, almost playful. Neville’s hands roamed recklessly, mapping Grayson’s broad back, tracing his tough muscles beneath tailored fabric.

"So pretty," Neville murmured, his fingers brushing reverently over Grayson’s face.

"Neville," Grayson groaned, the name torn from him rough and helpless. "You don’t know what you’re doin—"

"I don’t?" For a flicker, clarity flashed in those ocean eyes.

"Been wanting this... wanting you..." The words stumbled, blurred by fever, by pheromone intoxication.

Neville kissed him again, and this time Grayson broke away.

In annoyance at the resistance, Neville dragged him close like he could fuse them together by sheer force of will. He kept giving Grayson butterfly kisses, waiting for the other to willingly press his lips back.

Of course, it was unbearable.

Every kiss felt like he was getting electrocuted. Every shared breath was fanning the fire to burn some more...

The bed creaked as they continued their struggle. Neville tugged him down while Grayson clung to the last threads of control. But control had been slipping since he first breathed in Neville’s ocean pheromones.

Then Neville whimpered—sharp, pained.

The sound was a bucket of ice water.

Grayson decisively tore himself away. Even though Neville looked at him with those alluring eyes—pleading, reaching—he nearly cracked his resolve for a second.

"No," Grayson firmly said despite the tremor running through it. "Not like this."

Before Neville could grab him by the wrist, Grayson seized the sheets and rolled him up, trapping him in a cocoon with military precision.

A beautiful, furious burrito.

"Wa!" Neville cried, wriggling against the restraint, throwing a tantrum. "No fair! Come back! I need you, I need—"

Grayson spotted Neville’s discarded tie and grabbed it, knotting the sheet-wrap tightly locked. His hands shook as he tied him up. Every soft whimper, every glimpse of those watery-ocean eyes glaring at him.

"Shh." He leaned close, releasing a concentrated wave of pheromones meant to soothe. "Sleep, Neville. I’ll be here when you wake."

The fresh water pheromones enveloped him. Neville’s struggles gradually weakened. His lashes began to flutter as exhaustion, intoxication, and blood loss dragged him to the darkness.

His last word was a broken murmur. "...unfair...nnn..."

Grayson stayed there until Neville’s breathing steadied, until the ocean pheromones receded. Only then did he slump against the side of the bed.

"Haaah..." he sighed, covering his eyes with one arm. "What the fuck just happened?"