Chapter 37 Restroom harassment
As Lucas responded, Alex didn’t leave immediately. He lingered under the pretense of supervision, but his attention never strayed from Lucas for even a second. Every movement, every breath the younger man took pulled at him.
His hand itched and ached to reach out. To touch him, to pull him into his arms and never let go. To whisper how much he had missed him since the day Lucas saved him and walked out of that hospital. To beg him to stay by his side and never disappear for so long again.
His heart thudded wildly in his chest, a joyful, reckless rhythm that made it hard to breathe. He was in his reverie when his phone buzzed.
A message from his father: I’m done with my food.
That reality snapped him back into place. With visible effort, Alex tore his gaze away, turned, and finally left the kitchen to see his father off.
The moment he was gone, a collective breath escaped the room.
Lucas felt and heard it. Not just his own relief, but everyone else’s too. The air shifted, loosened. He frowned inwardly. Is he a wicked boss?
The thought lingered, unanswered, as heat crept up his neck. The kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too tight around him.
“Damn it, I needed a little break.” He whispered and immediately stepped toward the man closest to him. “Please, where’s the restroom?” he asked politely.
“Go into the locker room,” the man replied without hesitation. “Walk straight down. There’s a door on your left. That’s it.”
Lucas nodded, already moving, eager to escape the heat and the strange weight Alex had left behind, but paused.
“Do I just go, or do I need permission?” Lucas asked again, shifting his weight.
“Oh, we’ll just alert someone closer to your section,” the guy said easily. “They’ll keep an eye on your work if needed.”
Before Lucas could respond, a sharp voice rang across the kitchen. “Lizzy is stepping out for a few minutes—please, spaghetti is on fire!”
A ripple of laughter followed.
The guy chuckled. “Well, that’s how we do it.”
“Oh,” Lucas said, blinking. “That’s… new.” He laughed awkwardly, clearly unsure.
The guy tilted his head. “What’s your name?”
“Lucas. Lucas Westman—but just call me Lucas.”
To Lucas’s surprise, the guy immediately raised his voice. “Lucas is taking a few minutes to use the restroom!”
Heads snapped in their direction. Even Zenith looked over. A few staff members grinned, some chuckling as they pieced together what had happened. Heat crept up Lucas’s neck. He smiled sheepishly, muttered a quick thank-you, and hurried out of the kitchen.
As he walked, his thoughts spun uncontrollably.
That thing with Zenith… the vegetables…He frowned. Was that really a mistake, or was it intentional?
The question followed him all the way into the restroom, where he shut the door behind him and exhaled slowly.
After doing his business, he went straight to the mirror—another reason he had gone in there. He needed a moment. Just one. A breath to steady himself, to remind himself to be strong despite the chaos of his first day unraveling so fast.
He splashed water on his face, gripped the sink, and stared back at his reflection like it might offer answers.
The restroom door opened. Through the mirror, he saw him.
His heart skipped violently. Fear flickered—but anger surged stronger, hotter. His jaw tightened as he straightened, ready to confront him. Before he could turn, Zenith rushed to his side, crowding his space.
“Oh, Lucas, I’m so sorry for what I just did.”
It hit Lucas that it was intentional. He spun around, eyes blazing. “How could you do that to me?” he snapped, his voice sharp, cracking at the edges. “It’s my first day at work, and you made me look incompetent in front of the boss. What kind of head chef does that?” The words spilled out, raw and wounded.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, it’s—”
“I’m not your sweetheart,” Lucas cut in coldly. “Don’t ever call me that. My name is Lucas.” He turned to leave, hands shaking. “Go and tell the boss I wasn’t at fault. Tell him I followed your instructions.”
Zenith lunged forward and grabbed him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Please, Lucas, don’t walk away like this,” he pleaded, voice low and desperate. “I know I messed up. I know. But please calm down. I used you because I knew he would forgive more easily. After all, it’s your first day.”
Lucas struggled against him, fury blazing. “Let go of me,” he hissed. “You ruined my record on my first day, and now you’re trying to justify it? Let go of me. Right now.”
“No,” Zenith said firmly, tightening his hold. “Not until you forgive me. I’m sorry. I swear I won’t use you again. Please, Lucas. Just let it go.”
But Lucas wasn’t listening. The anger was too fresh, the betrayal too sharp and no amount of pleading was going to make it disappear.
“Alright. I’ll go report myself and accept whatever punishment he gives me,” Zenith said quietly.
Lucas froze mid-struggle. The sincerity in Zenith’s voice threw him off, but the word punishment tightened his chest with unease.
“Please don’t be angry again,” Zenith added softly. “Forgive me… my Lucas.”
Lucas snapped out of his thoughts. “Your who?” he shot back. “Come on, man. I’m not your Lucas. Stop saying rubbish.”
He twisted again, trying to break free, but Zenith’s grip only tightened. He was far stronger than Lucas expected. Frustration flared, then anger.
“Let go of me,” Lucas warned sharply. “If you don’t, I’ll report you for harassment.”
Zenith didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned closer, brushing his nose against Lucas’s neck and lowering his voice. “But I like you. And you smell so nice.” His breath was warm, deliberate. “I told you, I’ll report myself and take my punishment. Just tell me you’ve forgiven me. Please.”
Lucas clenched his jaw. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ve forgiven you and you don't have to report yourself. Happy now?”
Zenith pulled back slightly, searching his face. “You mean it? You’re not angry anymore?”
“Yes,” Lucas said quickly. “I’ve forgiven you. Just—don’t lie on me again. I really need this job.”
Zenith’s expression softened. “Alright, sweetheart. Don’t worry. Your job is safe. I promise.”
Before Lucas could react, Zenith brushed a quick kiss against his earlobe and finally released him. Lucas flinched and stepped back immediately.
“Damn it,” Lucas muttered, glaring at him. “Will you stop doing that? This is harassment.”
Zenith frowned, looking almost wounded, as he closed the distance again. “Come on, Lucas. I really like you. Don’t call my affection harassment.” His voice dropped. “That hurts.”
The air between them crackled—tight, uneasy, and far from resolved.
“What are you doing?”
Lucas lunged for the door.
Zenith moved faster.
Lucas reached it first, fingers brushing the handle—but Zenith slammed in behind him, one arm shooting past to brace the door shut, his body pinning Lucas in place. There was nowhere to move, nowhere to turn.
“Please, Mr. Zenith, stop doing this,” Lucas pleaded, his heart hammering wildly, confusion crashing into fear.
“Lucas,” Zenith murmured, voice low, insistent. “It’s just Zenith. And stop acting like I’m some kind of virus.”
He stepped closer, far too close, his chest pressing into Lucas’s back, his breath warm against his neck. “I really like you a lot.”
Lucas thrashed, trying to twist free, but Zenith held him there, relentless. A dry hand slid over his side, his waist—claiming, searching. Lips brushed his neck, lingering where they had no right to be.
“Zenith, stop it,” Lucas growled, anger cutting through the panic as he struggled harder, muscles burning.