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CLARA'S QUESTION

ผู้เขียน: Fana Palms
last update วันที่เผยแพร่: 2026-04-29 22:29:06

I didn't tell Damien about Melissa.

I should have. Should have marched straight back to his office and reported that his ex-wife had somehow gotten into the building, knew my name, and was clearly circling with intent. But something about the encounter felt too personal, too calculated to be a simple coincidence.

Besides, I had bigger problems.

My phone buzzed for the third time in an hour—Clara's name flashing across the screen with increasing urgency. I'd been ignoring her calls since lunch,
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  • MY CEO, MY OBSESSION    MAGGIE'S RETURN

    The text came through at nine p.m. on a Wednesday, just as I was packing my suitcase for the beach trip that was now less than forty-eight hours away.Hey stranger. Heard through the grapevine you're taking a vacation. Can we grab coffee tomorrow? I miss you.Maggie. I hadn't heard from her in weeks–my fault, really. I'd been so consumed with work and Damien and the constant negotiation of my own boundaries that I'd let the friendship slip to the background.We met at our old café, the one near the office where we used to spend lunch breaks complaining about Lawson and dreaming about better jobs. Maggie looked exactly the same–dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, vintage sweater that cost more than it appeared to, sharp eyes that saw everything.When she pulled me into a hug, I realized how much I'd missed her."Okay, we need to talk," she said once we were settled with our usual orders–cappuccino for her, green tea for me. "And I need you to actually listen instead of defending.""T

  • MY CEO, MY OBSESSION    THE FIRST " I WANT "

    The question came during a Monday morning meeting about third-quarter projections.Damien sat at the head of the conference table, presenting acquisition targets to a room full of executives who nodded along dutifully. I was there in my official capacity–assistant turned analyst, taking notes and preparing materials–when he paused mid-sentence and looked directly at me."Elena, what do you think about the Hensworth Group? Would you recommend we pursue it?"It was a test. Not a hostile one, but a test nonetheless. He was giving me space to contribute, to voice an opinion that might contradict his own. Showing me–and the room full of people watching–that he valued my perspective even when it differed from his.I scanned the preliminary financials I'd reviewed that morning. The Hensworth Group was solid, profitable, positioned well in their market. Everything suggested it was a good acquisition.But something didn't sit right."I wouldn't," I said, and felt the room's attention shift to

  • MY CEO, MY OBSESSION    JEALOUSY

    The Meridian renegotiation team consisted of fifteen people, and apparently, I'd become essential to all of them.In the two weeks since my presentation, I'd been pulled into every meeting, consulted on every decision, asked to validate every number. My analysis had become the foundation upon which the entire revised deal was built. It was validation I'd craved and work I genuinely enjoyed. It was also exhausting in ways I hadn't anticipated.Thursday evening, the team gathered for a celebration dinner at a high-end restaurant. The deal had officially closed that morning–renegotiated on terms that protected Voss Enterprises and gave us significant leverage moving forward. My work had saved the company from a forty-seven-million-dollar liability, and everyone wanted to acknowledge that fact.I'd dressed carefully–a deep burgundy dress that was professional but not stuffy, makeup that showed effort without looking desperate, hair down in waves that felt like a compromise between eleganc

  • MY CEO, MY OBSESSION    PROVING HERSELF

    Three weeks into my new apartment, I'd stopped expecting Damien to show up at my door.He'd kept his distance with almost surgical precision professional emails, scheduled meetings, the kind of courteous distance you maintain with someone who used to matter but doesn't anymore. It should have felt like relief. Instead, it felt like drowning in slow motion.The move had helped, though. My studio apartment in a regular neighborhood, furnished with secondhand pieces I'd chosen myself, felt like the first space that was authentically mine. No luxury, no Damien's subtle influence in every corner, just me and my choices. Clara had helped me paint the bedroom–a soft green that made me smile every time I walked in. Maggie had donated a bookshelf from her apartment. Small things that added up to feeling like myself again.But the work situation remained complicated.I'd kept my job, maintained professional boundaries, and thrown myself into projects with the kind of intensity that came from n

  • MY CEO, MY OBSESSION    THE CONTRACT QUESTION

    I woke up alone.Sunlight streamed through unfamiliar windows, and for a disorienting moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then the details came back–Damien's loft, his bed, the way his hands had felt on my skin, the promises we'd made in the dark that seemed shakier in the morning light.I sat up, pulling the sheet around myself, and listened. Water running in what must be the bathroom. The distant sound of a phone buzzing.My clothes were folded neatly on a chair–not how I'd left them last night when they'd been scattered in our urgency. Someone had picked them up. Organized them.Of course he had.I dressed quickly, my hands fumbling with my jeans. In the clear light of day, last night felt like a mistake I couldn't take back. We were supposed to be taking space. I was supposed to be finding myself. Instead, I'd fallen back into his orbit the moment he'd asked.Two people who want each other, I'd said. Nothing more, nothing less.But standing in his bedroom, surrounded by evide

  • MY CEO, MY OBSESSION    CROSSING LINES

    The apartment hunting took three days.Three days of viewing places that were either too expensive, too small, or too far from work. Three days of Damien maintaining professional distance in the office while his eyes followed me every time I moved. Three days of tension building like a storm waiting to break.Thursday evening, I finally found it—a one-bedroom in a decent neighborhood, affordable on my actual salary, with enough space to feel like mine. I signed the lease standing in the empty living room, my hand shaking slightly as I wrote my name.Elena Torres. Just mine. No one else's.I texted Sophia the address for the employment records, then stood in my new empty apartment, feeling simultaneously liberated and terrified.My phone rang. Damien."Sophia told me you found a place," he said without preamble. "Congratulations.""Thank you." I moved to the window, looking out at a view that was modest compared to what I'd had, but somehow felt more honest. "I move in Saturday.""Do y

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