His Earthly Desire

‎Eight years later.‎‎The click of my heels echoed through the marble lobby like a steady drumbeat announcing my arrival. The air was cool and crisp, infused with the faint scent of freshly polished floors and expensive perfume. My dress—black, fitted, and sharp—hugged me in all the right places, and the soft rustle of fabric with each step made me feel powerful. Confident. Untouchable.‎‎Normally, mornings in the office began with polite greetings, the occasional fake smile, and the soothing hum of computers booting up. But today? The atmosphere was different. The entire floor buzzed like a beehive that had just been shaken. People clustered in corners, whispering in urgent tones. Heads popped out of cubicles like curious meerkats.‎‎I scanned the office and spotted Chloe leaning against her desk, her phone clutched to her chest, eyes alight with gossip. Perfect.‎‎“What’s going on?” I asked, setting my bag down and lowering my voice.‎‎She practically vibrated with excitement.

‎I stared at the necklace the next morning. It looked harmless enough under the bathroom light—thin silver chain, tiny diamond pendant—but I couldn’t shake the thought that someone had left it at my door.‎Still, curiosity won. I clasped it around my neck before work, half daring the world to react.‎‎By the time I reached the office, the chatter had already begun about a new contract Jayden was negotiating. I slipped into my seat, pretending to be calm while my heart thudded like it had its own agenda. Chloe noticed first.‎‎“New jewelry?” she asked, eyebrows wiggling.‎‎“Found it,” I said, too quickly.‎‎“Found it? Girl, if I ‘found’ something like that, I’d start checking for hidden cameras.”‎‎I laughed, but my fingers brushed the pendant again. It felt warm against my skin, like it had been waiting for me.‎‎The morning meeting came fast. Jayden was already there when I walked in—perfect suit, perfect posture, that air of authority that filled a room before he even spoke. I

‎The message came early that morning, short and commanding—just like him.‎‎> Jayden Roberts: Shareholders’ Ball. Tonight. Be ready by seven.‎Wear something formal but elegant. You’re coming with me.‎‎‎‎No greeting, no explanation. Just an order.‎‎I stared at my phone, half expecting a follow-up that never came. By the time I reached the office, the buzz had already spread. The annual shareholders’ ball was the company’s biggest event of the year. Only top executives and their plus ones attended.‎‎So why me?‎‎When Jayden finally arrived, I followed him into his office, shutting the door behind me. “Sir, about the message…”‎‎He didn’t even look up from his laptop. “You got it.”‎‎“Yes, but—why me? You could take anyone else from the board.”‎‎His eyes lifted, calm and unbothered. “You’re my secretary. You go where I go.”‎‎“That doesn’t include after-hours events.”‎‎“It does when I say it does.” His tone left no room for argument. “I need someone efficient, and you’r

‎I didn’t remember walking back to the office.‎‎One minute Andrew was placing the divorce papers in my hands like he was passing me a menu, and the next, I was pushing open the glass doors of Roberts Corporation—heart numb, eyes burning, hands trembling so badly I nearly dropped my phone.‎‎The receptionist greeted me, but I barely heard her. My heels clicked down the hallway, echoing louder than they should. Everything felt too bright, too loud, too cold.‎‎I slipped into my seat twenty minutes late.‎‎And of course, the moment I sat, the devil himself appeared.‎‎Jayden stepped out of his office with a folder in hand, his gaze sweeping the room like a command. He was mid-sentence—“We’ll continue the audit by—”‎Then he saw me.‎‎He stopped.‎‎Just… stopped.‎‎The entire office fell silent.‎‎His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but something far sharper. His voice dropped.‎‎“You’re late.”‎‎The reprimand should have stung, but I couldn’t muster a reaction. I tried to straig

‎The next morning, I walked into the office with a decision already made.‎‎I was going to avoid him.‎‎Avoid Jayden Roberts.‎Avoid whatever magnetic, dangerous pull he had on me.‎Avoid the memory of his voice whispering, “You have no idea how hard you are to stay away from.”‎‎Because I couldn’t afford to feel anything for him—not when my life was already falling apart.‎‎So I kept my head down.‎Answered him with short yes-or-no responses.‎Used email as much as I could.‎Didn’t look at him longer than necessary.‎‎It was survival.‎‎But the moment I handed him a report through the crack of his office door without stepping inside, his voice turned cold enough to frost glass.‎‎“You may enter the office, Ms. Sanders. I don’t bite.”‎‎His tone made it sound like he wanted to.‎‎I swallowed. “I’m trying to keep things professional.”‎‎“Professional,” he echoed, jaw tightening. “Interesting choice of word.”‎‎I didn’t reply.‎I couldn’t.‎‎Instead, I turned and walked back