Mr. CEO, Leave Me Breathless

“Mr. Blake, congratulations on the surprise proposal. Ms. Ingrid was over the moon. She even cried from happiness,” I told him, forcing a bright smile that almost hurt to hold. “And she absolutely loved the diamond ring.”

Ethan’s lips curved into a smile, and for a brief moment, it was easy to pretend he was smiling at me instead of at the memory of her. If it weren’t for me, he might still be waiting for the perfect moment. I had orchestrated everything flawlessly. I picked the venue, coordinated with every person important to his fiancée, and made sure the night went exactly the way she deserved.

Everything fell into place, and in the end, he got that sweet, unforgettable “yes” from the woman he would marry.

“Don’t forget my bonus. I’m not satisfied with just a thank you,” I teased lightly, though my voice wavered more than I wanted.

He chuckled, that warm, deep laugh that always made my chest ache. Shaking his head, he replied, “Alright, Selina. I’ll wire it to your account. As a thank-you, you can head home early tonight. Get some rest.”

My smile widened instinctively, lighting up my face. “Really? No take-backs. Once you say it, it’s final.” I slung my bag over my shoulder, straightening the already tidy pile of papers on my desk just to give my hands something to do.

“If you need anything, just call. I’m heading out now,” I said softly, my gaze lingering on him longer than it should. He didn’t look up, his attention consumed by the glowing screen of his phone, only giving me a distracted nod.

The door closed behind me, and just like that, the smile crumbled. The rush of happiness I had faked drained out of me, leaving only the dull ache I’d been carrying for years. My chest tightened, and a sharp, twisting pain bloomed under my ribs. I pressed a hand against my heart as if that could hold it together.

“It’s fine, Selina. He’s happy. That’s what matters,” I whispered, the words falling flat in the quiet hallway.

But I knew better. I had loved him for so long, quietly, invisibly, in all the spaces where he never thought to look. And here I was, helping him create the perfect fairytale for someone else. What chance did I ever have against Ingrid, the stunning model who could stop hearts just by walking into a room? I was only his secretary. Useful. Reliable. Forgettable.

At home, I went through the motions: dropped my bag, showered quickly, crawled into bed without even touching dinner. I told myself I was tired, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t exhaustion that hollowed me out. It was heartbreak. And as I lay there in the dark, my mind betrayed me with a memory I could never erase—the first time I met him. I had been nervous and clumsy, arms full of files, when the elevator doors slid open and he stepped out, all confidence and quiet charm. He noticed me struggling, offered a smile, and asked if it was my first day. That small kindness, that warm chuckle, had marked me forever.

Now here I was, years later, still holding onto the same feeling, even while helping him build a future with someone else.

Sometime past midnight, my phone rang. My heart jumped when I saw his name on the screen. Ethan Blake.

I snatched the phone up, pulse racing. “Good evening, Mr. Blake,” I answered, trying to sound calm.

But it wasn’t his voice that came through.

“Hello? Is this Selina… Secretary Selina Prescott?” The voice was unfamiliar, male.

I blinked, double-checking the caller ID. His number.

“Yes, this is Selina Prescott, executive assistant to Mr. Ethan Blake. Who is this? Why do you have his phone? Where is he?”

“This is Miles. I bartend at Club 88. Mr. Blake’s unconscious, and I saw you listed as his emergency contact.”

The world tilted. My throat went dry. “Is he okay? Nothing serious?”

“He’s fine. Just drunk. Passed out face-first on the bar.”

Without a second thought, I grabbed my coat and rushed out.

When I finally reached the club, my heart broke all over again. He was slumped over the counter, vulnerable in a way I had never seen him.

“Ethan,” I whispered, touching his back carefully. “Wake up. What are you doing here alone?”

No response. His lashes barely fluttered as I slipped his phone from his hand and dialed Ingrid. Straight to voicemail.

“Pick up, please,” I begged under my breath, trying again. Nothing.

I sighed. Of course. She wasn’t here. She wasn’t the one he turned to. It was me. It was always me.

“Ethan, we’re going home,” I murmured, brushing my fingers lightly over his cheek. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

With help from the staff, I got him into a car. The city was quiet at this hour, but the silence inside me was deafening. By the time we reached his penthouse and I guided him to the couch, my arms trembled with exhaustion.

“You got way too drunk tonight,” I scolded softly, dabbing at his face with a towel. “This is probably the last time I’ll do this.” The words were stern, but my touch lingered.

He mumbled something incoherent and sank deeper into the cushions. I watched him for a long moment.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned down and brushed my lips against his. Just once. A whisper of a kiss. The faint taste of whiskey clung to him, sharp and intoxicating.

My heart pounded. My breath caught. I let the moment linger, eyes closed, memorizing the warmth I had no right to claim.

I love you, Ethan, I thought desperately. Even if it means nothing, I love you.

Tears welled up, spilling before I could stop them. I pulled away quickly, wiping at my face. But when I looked down, his eyes were open, piercing straight into mine.

“I-I’m sorry! This won’t happen again! You can fire me!” The words tumbled out as I scrambled backward, shame burning through me.

But he caught my wrist, his grip firm despite the haze of alcohol. His gaze was heavy, unreadable, and terrifying.

“You’re a bad girl, Secretary Selina,” he murmured, his voice rough, deliberate. His hand tilted my chin upward, forcing me to meet his eyes. Then his mouth crashed onto mine in a hard, consuming kiss.

“I didn’t know you fantasized about me, huh?”