"At midnight."

"Problems don’t sleep." Jordan kept typing, adding a line about Lila’s engagement metrics that he’d memorized from Brooke’s analysis. "GamerFuel. Gaming supplements. Their ambassador program looks solid and their contracts aren’t predatory."

Chloe made a small sound of acknowledgment against his shoulder. Her hand found his thigh, palm flat, fingers spread, a gesture that was possessive without being demanding. She read his draft email in silence, her breath warm against his neck, and Jordan felt the familiar tension of trying to focus on work while being acutely aware of the gorgeous woman pressed against his body.

"Change paragraph three," she said eventually. "Too much about audience size. They care about engagement quality, not raw numbers. Emphasize watch time and chat interaction."

Jordan changed paragraph three.

"Better." Chloe’s fingers traced a small pattern on his thigh, absent and automatic, the way she did when her brain was processing multiple threads simultaneously. "Brooke’s analytics document has specific numbers. Link it as an attachment."

"I was going to."

"You were going to forget."

"I was going to remember eventually."

"Mhm." She didn’t sound convinced, but she also didn’t push. That was the thing about Chloe. She delivered her corrections and then moved on, never dwelling, never nagging, just pointing out where he could improve and trusting him to actually do it.

Jordan saved the draft and leaned back into the couch, letting his arm settle around Chloe’s shoulders. She fit there perfectly, her body molding against his side, her warmth seeping through his shirt. Outside the massive factory windows, the Newport Beach night glittered with distant lights and sleeping potential.

"Lila’s in," he said.

"I know. Kumiko texted me seventeen times about it." A pause. "Did you actually charge her twenty-five dollars to carry her up the stairs?"

"Gas isn’t free."

Chloe laughed, a real laugh that vibrated against his chest. "You’re insane."

"I’m consistent. Different thing."

"Same result." She shifted, tilting her head back to look at his face. The blue contacts had been replaced with her natural dark brown eyes, which meant she’d stopped by her apartment to take them out before coming here. Softer, somehow. More vulnerable. The version of Chloe Kim that existed only behind closed doors.

Her hand moved from his thigh to his chest, palm flat over his heartbeat.

"Jordan."

"Yeah."

"Are you ready to meet my mom tomorrow?"

The words hung in the air.

Jordan’s brain experienced a complete system failure. All processes stopped. All background applications crashed. The sponsorship email, the GamerFuel metrics, the Nova Network expansion plans, the Eliza quest sitting silently in his notification tray, the onsen he refused to acknowledge, the golden app tracking percentages he didn’t want to think about, all of it vanished into a void of sudden and total panic.

Meet her mom.

Tomorrow.

He’d forgotten. He had completely, absolutely, categorically forgotten that Chloe had mentioned this two weeks ago, that she’d casually dropped the information during a study session like it was nothing, like meeting the mother of your secret OnlyFans creator girlfriend was just another calendar event to pencil in between boxing practice and sociology lectures.

"Uh," Jordan said.

Chloe’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. The business mask flickered at the edges, waiting to see which version of Jordan would emerge from this particular test.

"You forgot."

"I didn’t forget."

"Your face is doing the thing."

"What thing."

"The thing where your jaw goes tight and your eyes go blank because your brain is screaming but you’re trying very hard not to show it." She poked his chest with one finger. "That thing."

Jordan’s jaw was, in fact, tight. His eyes were, in fact, blank. His brain was, in fact, screaming at a frequency that could shatter glass.

"I didn’t forget," he said again, which was a lie, and Chloe knew it was a lie, and Jordan knew she knew, and the whole mutual knowing created a silence that felt like being trapped in an elevator with a bomb.

Chloe sat up. The warmth of her body left his side, and the absence felt like a punishment.

"My mom," she said slowly, "is driving up from Koreatown tomorrow afternoon. She’s taking us to dinner. She thinks I have a nice boyfriend from school who treats me well and has good prospects. She does not know about the OnlyFans. She does not know about Kumiko. She does not know about the hot springs or the business or any of the actual details of my life that might give her a heart attack."

Jordan processed this information.

"What does she know?"

"She knows your name is Jordan McKnight. She knows you’re a business economics major. She knows you drive a Honda Civic and wear nice clothes and that I talk about you in a way that makes her think you’re serious about me." Chloe’s hands folded in her lap, a gesture Jordan recognized as her containing herself. "She knows that you are the first boy I have ever introduced to her, and that means something in my family. It means everything in my family."

The weight of that statement settled over Jordan like a physical thing.

Chloe Kim had built an empire in secret. She’d constructed an entire persona to extract money from strangers while maintaining perfect grades and a flawless Instagram presence and a friendship with Pacific Crest’s social elite. She’d kept her double life hidden from everyone, including her own parents, because the alternative was losing everything she’d worked for.

And she was introducing Jordan to her mother.

Not because he’d asked. Not because it was expected. But because, despite everything, despite the System and the secrets and the impossible circumstances of their relationship, Chloe trusted him enough to bring him into the innermost circle of her real life.

"Okay," Jordan said.

Chloe blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay. Dinner with your mom. Tomorrow. What time?"

"You forgot."

"I’m not forgetting now." He reached for her, pulling her back against his side, and she came reluctantly, her body stiff with the residual tension of catching him off guard. "Tell me what I need to know. What does she like? What does she hate? What topics are off-limits? What questions will she ask and what answers should I give?"