Prince

Callum sat hunched over his desk, the papers scattered before him was a mess of contracts, proposals, and financial projections. His tie had been loosened hours ago, the top two buttons of his shirt undone as he poured over every detail, searching for a way—any way—to convince the board to reject the sale. His fingers traced the edges of a document as he leaned back in his chair, exhaustion tugging at every muscle in his body. 

Catalyst Games had been his life for years. Sure, he hadn't always loved being the CEO and, sure, his legacy felt tainted by his father's involvement in it. But he couldn't cut away the piece of it that made Pantheon; the piece that was inherently him. Losing it would be like losing his identity and he wasn't sure he could recover from a blow like that.

The soft knock on his office door barely registered at first, but when it creaked open, he looked up. 

Micah stood there, hesitant, one hand gripping the strap of his bag. The sight of him—alive, upright, breathing—was both a relief and a fresh wound. The burn scars on his face and arm made Callum feel like he was losing air. He'd come so close to losing him. Again.

"Micah," Callum said, straightening in his chair. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting." 

Micah walked into the office with careful and deliberate steps. "I handed in a letter to HR this morning," he said quietly.

Callum frowned. "A letter?" 

"A resignation letter," Micah clarified, and the words hit Callum harder than the explosion. 

"No," Callum said quickly, standing from his chair. "Micah, you don't have to do that. I understand what you've been through, and if you need time, I'll make sure you get it. I'll approve a leave of absence—paid leave." 

Micah's brown eyes hardened. "I don't want your charity, Mr. Pierce."

Callum flinched at the formal address. He'd gotten so used to Micah being more relaxed around him that he'd forgotten how much the formality made his stomach twist. "It's not charity," he said firmly. "You got hurt at a company event. You're entitled to compensation, and as an intern, taking leave is completely reasonable. You're still a student—you have classes, other priorities. You don't have to quit." 

Micah looked away, his jaw tightening. "I think I should, though," he said softly. "I don't feel like I should be here anymore. I need some time to figure things out." 

Callum's chest tightened. "You… don't like working at Catalyst?" 

"I love working here," Micah said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But…" He hesitated, his hands gripping the strap of his bag tightly. "I don't think I can focus around you." 

The words hit Callum harder than he expected, knocking the air from his lungs. He stared at Micah, trying to process what he'd just said. "You can't focus… around me?" 

Micah exhaled shakily, his eyes darting to the floor. "You're always so sweet, so kind. Always helping me, always… there. But now, knowing what I know…" He trailed off, his voice trembling. 

Callum swallowed hard. "Micah, if there's something I've done to make you uncomfortable—" 

"It's not that," Micah interrupted. "It's me. It's… it's knowing there are parts of me—parts of Ashur—that still feel things for you." He glanced up, his gaze meeting Callum's. "And I don't know how to handle that. I don't know how to handle any of this. Callum… I just need space." 

Callum's throat tightened, the words lodging there like broken glass. "Is that such a bad thing?" he asked quietly. 

Micah's eyes softened, but there was still an unshakable resolve in his expression. "I have to wrap my head around the fact that I had a past life. That I'm… Ashur. But knowing that my past love is here, that the man you blame for my death is my boyfriend—" He stopped, taking a shaky breath. "It's a lot. I need to think. And I can't do it around you and Damian. I just… can't." 

The silence that followed was deafening, and Callum felt like the ground beneath him had crumbled. Callum wanted to tell him to stay, to promise that they'd figure it out together. But looking at Micah—the exhaustion in his eyes, the tremble in his voice—he knew this wasn't a decision he could argue against. Callum coming to the realisation that he had a past life was just that; he had one and now he had a crush on Micah. But Micah wasn't him. He was younger and confused and he'd had a hard life, and now his life seemed to be slipping from his grasp.

It only made sense that he'd want to reclaim control of it.

Callum forced himself to nod. "I… I understand." 

Micah's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll still get to play my game, though," he said softly. 

Callum huffed a weak laugh, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Good. I'll hold you to that." 

Micah hesitated, his gaze drifting to the papers strewn across Callum's desk. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. 

Callum's heart clenched at the concern in his voice, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. Not after everything Micah had just said. "You can't ask me that after telling me you don't want to see me again," he said, his voice tinged with pain. 

Micah's face fell, his own pain mirrored in his expression. "I can't help but care about you, Cal." 

Callum closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to Ashur. He said things like that often:

'I can't help but care about you.' 

'All my love is yours.'

'Don't get married. Don't leave me.'

"And you can't say that if you don't want me to kiss you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Micah's breath hitched, but before he could respond, Callum stepped back, putting distance between them. "Go home, Micah Liu," he said softly. "And please… take care of yourself." 

Micah lingered for a moment, his gaze searching Callum's. But then he nodded, turned, and walked out the door. 

Callum stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty doorway. His chest ached, and he let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. He didn't have time to dwell on the pain, though, because Ryan burst into his office, his expression grim. 

"We've got an impromptu board meeting," Ryan said. 

Callum groaned, rubbing his temples. "Of course we do." 

He straightened his tie, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt, and followed Ryan down the hall. His mind was still swirling with thoughts of Micah, but the sight of Damian standing outside the meeting room yanked him back to reality. 

Damian was dressed in a sharp suit, a briefcase in hand, and a smug grin on his face. This was the first time Callum had ever seen him in formal wear and somehow it made him look even more like a nuisance.

"What are you doing here?" Callum growled, his voice low and menacing. 

Damian smirked, stepping closer. "I'm here for business," he said smoothly. "Here to convince the noble board of directors why selling Catalyst Games is in their best interest. Especially with all this explosive press surrounding the company." 

Callum's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. If he let Damian get under his skin now, he wasn't sure he would be able to keep himself from punching the man's lights out.

Damian turned to walk into the meeting room, stopped beside Callum and leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Micah's going to be so much happier once this company is mine. Unlike you, I actually know how to take care of what belongs to me. I'll make sure he can make all the games he wants." 

Callum's fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with restrained fury. "You're mad," he hissed. 

Damian smirked over his shoulder. "You're a prince through and through, Cael. You're just salty that I'm coming for your crown." 

With that, Damian strode into the meeting room, leaving Callum standing in the hallway, his chest heaving with rage.