Grayson looked at Neville’s outfit and instantly had the urge to turn his head to the side. However, Neville’s voice snapped him back.

Grayson cleared his throat, though his voice still came out slightly hoarse. "Were you... expecting someone else?"

"I wasn’t expecting anyone," Neville answered quickly, realizing he shouldn’t let his boss stand outside for a long time.

Wait—what the hell was he doing here anyway?

"Uh... did I miss an emergency meeting or something... sir?" Neville finally gathered his wits and addressed his superior properly.

"It’s a holiday—" Grayson began.

So you do know it’s a holiday. So what the hell are you here for? Neville thought, slightly annoyed.

"—I was wondering how you plan to procure your ingredients." Grayson continued calmly, as if showing up unannounced was perfectly reasonable. "So, I thought I’d show you."

"...Why?" Neville blurted out before he could stop himself, genuinely confused.

Grayson studied him for a moment, eyes unreadable. "You don’t even know where to buy ingredients, do you?"

Neville felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He had been planning to just wander around the commercial district until he found something. He was hoping to stumble upon a market or something through sheer luck and determination.

How did he even—

Neville’s cheeks heated slightly. His lips pressed together the moment he saw the faint twitch on Grayson’s mouth.

Seeing that he had been caught, Grayson’s expression softened into something almost like a smile, and he sincerely said, "I won’t ask where you’ve been getting your supplies. But if you’re serious about this job, you should know the right places."

"I... yeah," Neville mumbled, flustered, already backing into the foyer. "Just—let me grab my shoes."

When he looked back up, Grayson was frowning in disapproval. "You’re going to wear that?"

Neville blinked, looking at his home clothes again. He thought, There’s nothing wrong with his clothes.

He stared back at Grayson and cautiously asked, "Is there... something wrong?"

"Change your clothes." Grayson’s voice was flat but firm. "I’ll wait in the parking lot."

Before Neville could protest, Grayson was already striding off, leaving him staring after the man’s retreating figure.

Neville stood there, dumbfounded, pursing his lips into a tight line.

Just tell me directly if I look unsightly, he grumbled internally.

Then he sighed, a dramatic, audible sound, and retreated into his room to change.

Honestly, my home clothes weren’t that bad. Back on 21st-century Earth, people walked around in boxers and short shorts or even shirtless. Yet here, interstellar folks acted like seeing someone in casual wear was a crime.

Begrudgingly, he changed into a simple black shirt and jeans.

Whatever. He grabbed his light brain and key card, slinging the bag across his shoulder. It’s not like I’m trying to impress him anyway. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

When he reached the parking lot, Grayson was there leaning casually against a low-key, sleek black hover car, all composed elegance. The hover car wasn’t that different from the one he used for the company, only cleaner, somehow more expensive-looking. Under the right lighting, the man could’ve been a holo-ad for luxury vehicles.

Grayson’s eyes lifted as Neville approached, and his silver eyes did a quick once-over of the outfit. His expression instantly changed with a hint of disapproval.

"That’s all you’re wearing?" Grayson asked, his frown deepening.

Neville blinked and looked at himself.

Shirt, check.

Jeans, check.

Shoes, check.

What, did he expect a suit?

"Should I have worn a suit?" Neville asked, genuinely concerned there might be a dress code he missed.

Instead of answering, Grayson reached into the back seat, pulled out a long tailcoat, and—without warning—draped it over Neville’s shoulders.

The movement was smooth, practiced—and before Neville could even protest, he found himself enveloped by the expensive fabric and Grayson’s pheromones.

Grayson was close, close enough that Neville could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. His pheromones—clean, crisp, like fresh water flowing through a mountain stream—lingered in the coat, curled around him, clinging to his skin.

Even after Grayson stepped back, the pheromones clung stubbornly to him, rich and concentrated, tempting the instincts Neville had long learned to bury.

His suppressants were good—but not that good. Still, Neville grit his teeth and forced the instinct down, refusing to let it show. He adjusted the expensive coat, suddenly feeling less annoyed and more hopelessly flustered.

"Why?" Neville managed to ask, proud that his voice came out steady despite the chaos in his heart.

Grayson’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before saying, "You’ll see."

He opened the passenger door. "Get in."

Left with no choice and absolutely no explanation, Neville slipped into the passenger seat. The interior was all black leather and subtle, understated luxury. The chair adjusted automatically, molding to his smaller frame.

Grayson rounded the hood, sliding into the driver’s seat with practiced ease. His hands fit perfectly over the manual controls. Of course, he would drive himself. Someone like Grayson wouldn’t trust autopilot, not when he could take the reins himself.

As they lifted off from the parking lot, Grayson kept the altitude lower than usual, showing Neville a spectacular, dizzying view of Xylos spread out below them. Vast stretches of super high-rise buildings were connected by bridges that sparkled like spider silk in the morning sun.

"It’s beautiful," Neville exclaimed, leaning closer to the window.

Outside, traffic shimmered—hover cars drifting like schools of fish over glimmering waves. They crossed a stretch of ocean, then swept past floating districts he had never set foot in.

Watching the world race by, he curiously asked, "It looks like this hover car is different from your company car, sir."

Grayson glanced his way, eyes flicking back to the path ahead. "I have a few vehicles for different purposes. The company car isn’t ideal for leisure drives."

Leisure drives? Neville scoffed internally. Does dragging an employee out under the premise of scouting supplies count as leisure? Still sounds like work to me.

Neville stopped himself from complaining too much and pressed closer to the window, mentally noting a few locations. That area with the artistic architecture would be worth exploring. That park with the bioluminescent trees looked incredible. That shopping district seemed to have interesting stores—

"See something you like?" Grayson’s voice was low, cutting through Neville’s thoughts.

Neville jumped slightly, forgetting for a moment that Grayson was right there. "Just... taking notes. For future reference."

"Mm. For your vacation days?"

"That’s the idea," he said, trying not to sound too defensive.

Grayson nodded, approvingly—just a faint tilt of his head, but enough to send a ripple through Neville’s chest.

"Good. You should explore whenever you can. Wasting a day is a waste of time."

Are you criticizing my attempt to sprawl around my bed all day long on a holiday? Even Shelly didn’t sniff that out.

They flew longer than Neville expected, leaving behind the gleaming skyline of the main city. The buildings thinned out, replaced by stretches of metallic terrain—the kind he usually associated with industrial zones.

But as they descended, he realized this place wasn’t industrial at all.

Below them sprawled a massive complex—a mosaic of strange, unfamiliar flora sculpted into perfect geometric layouts. The entire area, easily the size of several city blocks, was enclosed in a shimmering semi-transparent dome. Light refracted off its surface, rippling faintly like water.

Inside, Neville could make out layers of dense greenery, ordered rows of plants, and flashes of sleek machinery tucked between them.

"What is this place?" he gasped as Grayson landed the hover car in a small landing zone.

"A private cultivation facility. Medea’s Garden," Grayson said, stepping out with ease. "It’s one of the best sources of edible ingredients on Planet Xylos. They grow and procure ingredients that most people can’t access or afford—ingredients that actually taste a bit more doable than the garbage most restaurants serve."

Neville blinked, a little stunned. Of course, he would know about a place like this.

He followed Grayson toward the dome’s entrance. The moment they crossed through the airlock, a sharp chill sank into his skin.

Ah. So that’s why Grayson made him wear the coat.

The temperature must’ve dropped twenty degrees, cold enough that his breath misted. The smart fabric adjusted instantly, releasing a wave of gentle warmth. Still, the sudden contrast left him instinctively tugging the coat tighter—trying not to sniff too much of the pheromone still stuck to it.

Grayson glanced back once, eyes flicking briefly toward him. Maybe he noticed, but still said nothing in the end.

"The different domes maintain different climates," he said, voice low and steady as he led the way toward a side passage marked Private Access.

"This seems..." Neville hesitated, searching for the word. "A bit excessive?"

Grayson chuckled at the unexpected comment.

"That’s one way to put it. The noble families funding this call it ’the real standards.’" His lips curled up a little. "I just call it convenient."

They reached a pair of sliding doors, which scanned both of them before parting with a soft hiss.

Beyond, the facility opened up into something that defied every image Neville had of an agricultural zone. It was vast and glowing, a blend of science and wilderness, so alive and breathtaking.

What they stepped into wasn’t a market—or a greenhouse.

It was a garden. A massive high-tech garden

A genuine, sprawling garden, its paths winding through sections of precisely cultivated flora. High-tech drones drifted between them like mechanical butterflies, their sensors scanning soil composition and air quality. However, there was not a single human worker in sight.

"This is insane," Neville muttered before he could stop himself.

"This is standard," Grayson corrected. "Come on. You need to register for access."

Then he reached out—and grabbed Neville’s hand.

The contact was so unexpected that Neville froze, instinctively glancing down. Grayson’s hand was larger, steady, the faint brush of calluses warm against his skin.

"There’s hardly anyone here," Neville said quickly, desperately trying to redirect his attention away from their joined hands.

"That’s because most people don’t come in person."

Grayson guided him through the winding paths toward a central console. There was a sleek, chrome station manned by a larger, more advanced unit. But even after placing Neville’s hand on the scanner, he didn’t let go.

[Mr. Maxwell,] the robot greeted, voice smooth and modulated. [Welcome back. How may I assist you today?]

"Full procurement privileges for Neville Hope," Grayson said, inclining his head toward him.

[Certainly.] The robot replied. [Mr. Hope, please allow me to scan your biometric data.]

"Palm print, pheromone signature, and DNA," Grayson explained, tone steady beside him.

Neville hesitantly extended his hand fully, watching nervously as a blue light played over his palm and fingers. The hum of the machine was a quiet backdrop to the warmth still circling his hand.

The robot’s optical sensors flickered, slightly glitching from something before—[Success. Success. Success.]

Neville exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

"Now you can access the private shipping service," Grayson said.

"Shipping service?" Neville was honestly impressed that he could still string words together after Grayson’s grip became tighter, making its presence known.

"Once registered, you can order directly through their app downloaded in the light brain. Delivery within hours. The physical visit is just for registration and special occasions."

"That... makes sense."

It did. More than that, it also solved Neville’s problem of explaining his mysterious ingredient sources. He could just order from here, get official receipts, and nobody would ever question it.

Still, as the scanner’s light faded and silence settled between them.

Just how long is he planning to hold my hand?