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

Grayson hadn’t let go, and now he was leading Neville deeper into the garden, their joined hands swinging slightly between them.

The warmth from Grayson’s palm seeped into Neville’s skin, traveled up his arm, and settled somewhere in his chest where it had no business being. He tried not to think about it.

He tried not to focus on how natural it felt, how right—no, that wasn’t the word.

Convenient. It was convenient for some purpose. That was all there was to it.

"What kinds of ingredients do you want to buy?" Grayson asked, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut cleanly through Neville’s internal struggle.

The question caught him off guard.

He glanced up at his boss—no, at Grayson—who didn’t seem the least bit bothered that they were still holding hands. He wasn’t just not bothered—he looked completely comfortable, as if this level of proximity were a given. Maybe he was reading too much into it, but it was annoying that he seemed to be used to this kind of interaction.

"I..." Neville’s thoughts scattered like startled fish. They walked through the tunnel corridor, its walls lined with bioluminescent strips that pulsed in rhythm with their footsteps. "I don’t know yet."

"Hmm." He hummed as he squeezed Neville’s hand lightly.

It was impossible to tell if that meant approval, disappointment, or just a mere acknowledgment. Grayson’s emotional range typically fluctuated somewhere between focused on work and something related to work, so this trip into recreational activity felt like stepping into uncharted territory.

The corridor curved gently, revealing a massive door at its end. As they approached, Neville made out the label etched into its surface: ’Edible Leaves—Fruits Included.’

The door parted with a hiss, releasing a wave of humid air that carried the scent of earth—and something sweeter underneath. Neville stepped through and froze.

Is this really a cultivation facility or a forest?

The space before him defied logic. Towering shrubs rose toward the sky that could be seen through the dome’s ceiling. Their branches twisted into impossible shapes that suggested they had been guided by someone with an artistic eye and too much time.

Vines hung everywhere—thick ones that could support a person’s weight, delicate ones that dripped with moisture, flowering ones that perfumed the air. The entire arrangement created the illusion of a maze garden, one that belonged more to Earth’s Amazon than a sterile cultivation facility on Planet Xylos.

Flowering plants occupied every available surface, arranged with precision that somehow enhanced rather than diminished the wild atmosphere.

Colors flooded his vision—purple blooms the size of his head, tiny white flowers that clustered like snow, red petals glowing from within.

And there, just at eye level, hung clusters of berries that looked exactly like—

Was that raspberries?

Neville’s feet moved before his brain caught up. He remembered briefly seeing raspberries on the list Shelly gave him. There was a note there that it has high nutrient content and versatility in cooking. The real thing looked even better than the holographic display; each berry was perfectly round and glistening with condensation.

His hand was halfway extended when something yanked him backward.

The world spun, and Neville stumbled on his feet. Suddenly, he was falling—no, not falling, being pulled. His back hit something solid, warm, and very much alive.

"Oh—" The breath left his lungs in a sharp gasp.

He had landed against Grayson’s chest. The man had somehow caught him mid-stumble, one arm locked around his waist to keep him upright. Except ’upright’ was a generous description when Neville’s entire body was pressed flush against his chest, close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of breathing that wasn’t his own.

He was close enough to inhale Grayson’s pheromones.

Grayson’s pheromones were so concentrated that his face instantly flushed red. Blood rushed to his cheeks in a way that had to be visible even in the garden’s natural lighting.

"S-sorry, I didn’t mean—" Neville tried to push away, palms against Grayson’s chest, to regain his footing.

The arm on his waist tightened, just a little, enough to prevent him from escaping his clutches.

Grayson didn’t let him step away. Instead, he leaned down, bringing his lips close to Neville’s ear. Too close, his breath brushing against Neville’s sensitive ear.

He whispered, "Don’t come close to the plants in here."

Every nerve in Neville’s body burned at once. He froze, then tilted his head up automatically—instinctively—and found himself face-to-face with Grayson at a distance that could only be described as dangerous. He was staring wide-eyed, directly at Grayson’s eyes.

His heart stopped. Just—stopped.

Grayson’s silver eyes held his. From this distance, Neville could see everything—the faint ring of darker gray around the iris. He could count the individual lashes that framed them. He could notice how those eyes dipped briefly to his lips before returning to meet his gaze, holding him captive.

If he tiptoed even a little, their lips would—

The thought fried his brain. His mouth went dry. His hands, still pressed against Grayson’s chest, picked up the man’s heartbeat—steady, unhurried, completely at odds with his own.

"That one’s called Ilex Alder1," Grayson continued, his voice dropping low. It was hoarse and seductive. "If you touch it directly, the toxin reacts with your skin. Causes it to break like a honeycomb. Tiny holes, clustered together. Not pleasant."

It took a full three seconds for the meaning to register. Neville’s brain had split into two departments: one screaming about inappropriate workplace proximity, the other whispering I wonder what his lips taste like. Neither paid attention to the horrible consequences of touching that plant with bare hands.

"I-is that so." He managed to force the words out, then immediately moved his face away from Grayson’s.

Distance. He needed distance to breathe. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

His face felt like it was on fire, and he was fairly certain his pheromones had started leaking a little through his pheromone patch.

Not good. Definitely not good.

Grayson’s gaze lingered for another moment before finally letting go of his waist. His arm dropped, fingers slipping down—only to catch Neville’s hand again, intertwining their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Still holding hands.

"Come on," Grayson said, voice gentler now, leading him deeper into the garden. "That one over there is Abrus Bead1."

He gestured toward a vine laden with small black fruits. "The black skin looks poisonous, but the red fruit inside is edible once you peel it."

They stopped in front of the vine. Grayson reached out, plucked one of the black fruits. Then he turned, holding it out to Neville.

"You can touch this one," he said, tone soft but sure. "Its leaves are safe too."

Neville looked at the fruit. Then at Grayson. Then back to the fruit again.

Then back at Grayson, who waited with infinite patience with a faint expression of amusement glimmering in the depths of his eyes.

Neville sighed in defeat.

He gave up.

Whatever was happening, Neville decided to stop trying to make sense of it. His brain hurts. His face still felt warm. And Shelly was probably secretly recording every second of this moment for future embarrassing purposes.

Sure enough, a red bean-like fruit emerged, glossy and appetizing.

"What about that one?" Neville pointed toward a plant standing alone at the center of the garden.

It looked like a spider lily, but white—stark white, the kind that glowed faintly. The flower stood by itself in a circular patch of soil, separated from everything else by at least two meters of empty plot of land.

"That one’s rare." Grayson’s tone changed with genuine interest. "You’re lucky to find it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Sanicle Equinox1." Grayson started walking again. He had a firm grip on Neville’s hand as he gently pulled him along. "Everything from its flowers to its roots can be used as medicine. It’s considered a special herb."

Neville studied the plant as they passed by. The petals curved with effortless elegance, and the stamens seemed to breathe a soft light.

"Why did you say it’s rare?" he asked, curiosity winning over awe.

"It can only be found, not bred," Grayson explained. "This facility has more than most—maybe a dozen of Sanicle Equinox across different domes. Other facilities barely have one, if any. We still don’t know why it refuses to grow in the same place as its own kind. That’s what makes it rare."

"Are you going to buy it?"

"No." The answer came fast, almost reflexive, without hesitation. His silver gaze didn’t even flick toward the plant. "I don’t need it."

Neville blinked. "But it’s rare."

"All the more reason to leave it alone." Grayson countered, his voice flat.

Neville frowned, completely lost. "That makes no sense. If it’s rare and valuable, shouldn’t you—"

He cut himself off mid-sentence, eyes catching on something overhead.

Suspended above them, tangled in thick vines, were clusters of what looked like lychee. Except these lychees had hair—actual hair, long for a fruit and wispy, swaying softly in the artificial breeze.

Neville looked at it and failed to process what he was looking at.

"Wha—"

BAM!

Something huge dropped from the canopy with a force that rattled the ground. The reinforced flooring was dented inward by the impact. Neville jumped backward and stumbled straight into Grayson—Again.

Seriously? Again?

He stared, wide-eyed, at the thing that had nearly crushed them both.

"What—what was that?!" His voice jumped an octave before he could rein it in.

Grayson didn’t even flinch. He simply turned his head just enough to speak over Neville’s shoulder, his hands coming up to grip Neville’s waist and hold him steady effortlessly.

Then came the sigh—low and tired, almost theatrical weariness, like a teacher who watched a student ignore safety warnings for the third time.

"I told you," Grayson said, his voice dropping low, a deep resonance that vibrated right through Neville’s chest but edged with dry reproach, "not to touch things around here."