Chapter 3 - The CEO

She felt alarmingly light in his arms. Too light.

When he carried her out of the shop, it struck him—how small she truly was beneath all that fear. Fragile. As if he held her just a little tighter than necessary, she might break.

She buried her face in his chest the entire walk toward the entrance, her chestnut brown hair spilling over him like a curtain, shielding her from the curious, prying eyes around them. He didn’t mind. If anything, he adjusted his hold—subtly, instinctively—to keep her hidden.

Protected.

He was careful with every step, every movement.

Only when they reached the car—his security already holding the door open—did he finally loosen his hold enough to help her inside.

The moment they were seated, she shrank into herself.

“My… my room is at Building Z, behind J Mall,” she murmured, her voice soft, uncertain.

Her eyes darted around the interior of the vehicle, taking in the polished leather, the quiet luxury. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers twisting together unconsciously—tight, restless.

“That’s a slum area,” he said, almost automatically. He regretted the bluntness the moment the words left him.

She looked at him—wide-eyed, caught off guard—before lowering her gaze again, retreating into silence.

“Ahm… you can just drop me at the mall,” she added hesitantly.

“I’ll walk from there. Thank you… for helping me.” She sounded like she was asking permission to exist.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at her for a long moment—before turning slightly.

“Drive to Building Z,” he instructed.

The car moved.

Silence settled between them, thick but not entirely uncomfortable. He leaned back, closing his eyes briefly as his thoughts began to pile up. Meetings. Contracts. Dinner plans with investors—all abandoned without a second thought the moment he saw her.

And now here he was. Because of her.

He opened his eyes slightly and glanced at her. She sat stiffly, almost rigid, like she didn’t belong where she was. When his hand shifted even slightly, she flinched.

That alone made something tighten in his chest.

“Relax,” he said quietly. “Lean back.”

Without waiting for her to comply, he reached out and gently guided her shoulders against the seat.

“I… I might dirty the seats,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her head still bowed.

The words hit him harder than they should have. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her closer instead—drawing her into his chest, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, holding her there.

“Rest,” he murmured softly against her hair.

For a moment, she stilled. Then… she didn’t pull away.

“Thank you… for helping me,” she said again after a while, her voice quieter now, more fragile.

He didn’t answer. He simply tightened his hold on her—just enough for her to feel it.

“I was so scared… I thought I’d sleep in jail tonight,” she whispered, her breath uneven.

His jaw clenched.

“That won’t happen,” he said, his voice low, firm—leaving no room for doubt. Not while he was there.

“Thank you…” she murmured again, softer this time.

He felt her inhale deeply against him, and despite everything, a faint smile tugged at his lips. She had no idea what she was doing to him.

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Quiet in a way that allowed her to slowly relax in his hold.

Almost twenty minutes later, the car came to a stop. He gently nudged her.

“We’re here,” he said softly.

She stirred, lifting her head from his chest, her eyes still slightly unfocused as she looked around.

“Mr. DeValle,” the driver spoke, “the car can’t go further.”

“I’ll just walk from here,” she said quickly, sitting up straighter.

“It’s close. Thank you… so much.”

She reached for the door—but before she could open it, his hand caught hers.

“Wait.”

She looked at him, startled.

He stepped out first when the door was opened, then turned and held out his hand, silently asking her to follow.

“It’s okay,” she said nervously as she stepped down.

“I can walk alone. It’s safe—they know me here.”

“Lead the way.” He didn’t even acknowledge her attempt to refuse.

Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“I… I can really go alone,” she insisted softly, her head lowering again.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you—”

“Lead the way,” he repeated, gentler this time—but final.

There was no arguing with that tone. He watched her carefully, waiting. She hesitated.

Then finally—she turned and began to walk. He followed. Quiet. Observant.

The deeper they went, the more the surroundings changed. The air grew heavier, carrying the faint scent of garbage left too long under the sun.

Clothes hung from lines stretched across narrow spaces. The buildings—old, worn—looked like they had survived more than they should have, their structures tired, almost fragile.

He took it all in. Every detail. Every flaw. And all he could think about was one thing—She lived here.

As an engineer, he didn’t need a second look to know the truth. The building was no longer safe for occupancy.

It should have been condemned—demolished long ago. And yet… people were still living in it.

He followed Belle up the narrow, grimy stairway, his jaw tightening with every step. The air was stale, heavy with the sour scent of spoiled food and damp concrete. Stray cats darted past their feet, disappearing into shadowed corners. Bits of trash clung stubbornly to the edges of the stairs.

He had seen construction sites in worse conditions. But never a place people called home.

They climbed higher—second floor, third, fourth—until they finally reached the top. Belle didn’t stop. She walked straight down the dim corridor, her steps quiet, almost hesitant, until she reached the last door.

He paused for a moment, glancing over the railing. Below, some of his men were already stationed discreetly around the area. Only his head of security and one other remained close behind him.

Belle pulled a key from her worn bag.

The door in front of them looked like it could fall apart if someone pushed it hard enough. The wood was splintered, the hinges rusted, the lock barely intact.

It wouldn’t keep anything out. Not danger. Not harm. And certainly not someone with bad intentions.

A flicker of irritation rose in his chest. This was where she lived? She pushed the door open.

It creaked loudly, the sound grating, as if protesting its own existence. For a brief second, he wondered if it would collapse entirely.

“I’m sorry… my place isn’t very pleasant,” Belle whispered, her voice small, unsure.

He didn’t answer. He simply gestured for her to go in. The light flickered on. And for a moment—He couldn’t breathe.

The room was… bare.

A small bed in one corner, thin and worn. A tiny table. A narrow door he assumed led to a bathroom. A small closet. A single desk fan.

Nothing more. No comfort. No warmth. It didn’t even feel like a room. It felt like a cell.

A tight, invisible grip wrapped around his chest. How could she live like this?

“Belle, are you home?” a voice called from outside.

“We have some leftovers—come get them. And bring the garbage down later, they’ll collect it at midnight!”

Belle turned to him, her eyes apologetic, her smile tinged with embarrassment.

“It’s Aunt Crizzy… she’s a friend,” she explained quickly.

“Who gives you leftovers and asks you to take out their garbage?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

She flinched slightly.

“I… I don’t always have food,” she admitted softly.

“She shares whatever they have. I just… help in return.”

The words were simple. But they hit hard.

He turned his face slightly, drawing in a slow breath, trying to ease the tightness building in his throat. If only he had known.

He met her a month ago—at the bar where she worked. Quiet. Reserved. Always polite. They had exchanged small conversations here and there. She mentioned studying medicine… wanting to become a doctor, just like her parents wished.

And somehow, without fully thinking it through, he had given her his black card.

She had refused. Of course she had. But he left it anyway—on the counter, forcing the choice into her hands.

He thought he was helping. He didn’t realize… how much she actually needed it.

“Pack what you need for school,” he said suddenly.

She looked at him, confused.

“I can’t let you live here,” he added, his tone firm. “You’re coming with me.”

Her eyes widened.

“I—I can’t afford a better place,” she said quickly, panic rising in her voice.

“I’m not asking you to pay.”

His voice softened—but only slightly.

She stared at him, as if trying to understand what he meant.

“I’ll… do errands for you instead,” she mumbled, almost instinctively. He nodded once.

“Pack your things.”

She turned slowly toward the closet. And when she opened it—He froze.

It was nearly empty. Two uniforms hung neatly inside. A few sets of clothes—no more than five. That was all she owned. His chest tightened painfully.

“Leave the clothes,” he said abruptly.

She looked at him, confused—but didn’t question him.

Instead, she gathered her uniforms, her books, her study materials—placing them carefully into her bag.

Nothing more. Nothing unnecessary.

When she turned back to him, her gaze lingered around the room for a moment—taking it all in.

“Leave everything,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

He reached for her bag, but she shook her head.

“I’ll carry it,” she said softly.

Before he could respond, a woman appeared at the doorway.

“Belle? Oh—” she paused, noticing him. “You have a visitor?”

“Aunt Crizzy,” Belle said nervously, “I—ahm—”

“I’ll be taking Belle with me,” he said, stepping forward.

“She’ll be safe. Ethan DeValle.”

The woman blinked—then her face lit up in recognition.

“DeValle? From DV Construction? My husband works for you!”

He gave a small nod.

“That’s right.”

Her smile widened, words spilling out one after another—gratitude, praise, stories of her husband’s work. He barely knew the man she spoke of. To him, it was just another name among many.

But to her—It meant stability. Survival.

“Uncle Ram is very hardworking,” Belle added, smiling softly.

“He even brings me snacks when he gets paid.”

It was the first genuine smile he had seen from her. And it struck him harder than anything else.

“Belle is like a daughter to us,” Aunt Crizzy said warmly.

“We wish we could help her more, but… things are hard.”

Belle nodded.

“They help me a lot already,” she said. “Even give me money sometimes…”

The woman smiled, eyes soft.

“As long as we have, we share. You’re a good child.”

“Thank you… I won’t forget you,” Belle said, her voice gentle, tinged with sadness.

“Visit us when you can,” the woman replied, already teary-eyed.

“And behave yourself. Don’t be stubborn.”

“Yes, Auntie,” Belle smiled faintly. “I promise.”

He watched the exchange quietly. Then gestured toward the door. It was time.

As they stepped into the hallway, he paused briefly.

“I’ll try to meet your husband,” he said.

The woman beamed.

“He’ll be very happy, sir!”

He nodded once before following Belle down the stairs. By the time they reached the ground, people had begun returning home—filling the space with noise, movement, life.

They entered the car in silence. Belle glanced back at the building.

Once. Twice. Like she was memorizing it. He didn’t interrupt. Because he understood.

To him, it was unbearable.To her—It was home.

“You can come back someday,” he said quietly.

“When you’ve finished medical school. When you’re strong enough to help them.”

She looked at him, surprised—then nodded.

“That’s what I was thinking,” she said softly.

“Thank you… for helping me.”

There was something different in her expression now. Something steadier. Determined.

He recognized it immediately. He had seen it in people who refused to give up.

“...How can I repay you?” she asked suddenly, her eyes lifting to meet his. Clear. Sincere.

He smiled faintly.

“I haven’t even started helping you yet.”

She shook her head gently.

“You have… since the day we met.”

Her smile was soft. Grateful. And it stirred something unfamiliar in him.

“Then…” he said lightly, though his gaze remained intent, “maybe you can take care of me when you become a doctor.”

She blinked—caught off guard. Then grew quiet. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Before she smiled. And nodded.

“My whole life wouldn’t be enough to repay you,” she whispered.

“But I’ll try… for as long as I live.”

He didn’t respond. But the way he looked at her said enough.

Because for the first time in a long while—He felt like he had just made a decision that would change everything.

****😊****