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He fires warnings like six-figure bullets. I throw back coffee and sass. We're trapped in his glass lab with one rule-no mixing. His glare could freeze solvent. My smile could melt nickel. One accidental spark over the reactor and I'm pinned to steel, pulse boiling. He calls me reckless. I call him sir, only when breathless. Age gap? Fifteen years. Hierarchy? Partner and intern chemist. But the way he steadies my shaking test tube...makes me tremble more. His board wants results, my visa depends on them, and the drug clock is ticking. If I cross that yellow safety line I could cure cancer-or break my own heart. So why am I already slipping off the gloves?

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