My CEO Prince Charming

Prologue

“I never meant to fall in love with your ex-boyfriend, Willa.”

That’s the first thing she says. No sorry. No warning.

Just that.

The wedding invitation is shaking in my hand. I don’t even know if it’s from anger, heartbreak, or just pure disbelief.

My sister.

And my ex-boyfriend.

Their names are printed together, as if it’s something beautiful, like it’s not a stab straight to my chest.

And she’s looking at me like I’m the one who ruined something.

Her betrayal sits in my throat like poison. I can taste it.

“Wilma, he cheated on me,” I say, slowly, trying not to break. “How sure are you he won’t do it to you?”

She laughs. That evil, ugly laugh I’ve never heard from her before.

“That’s on you, not on him.”

I stare at her. “Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

She’s defending him. A cheater. A liar.

And she’s doing it so proudly, like I deserved it.

My face heats up instantly. My whole body is shaking. I swear, if I don’t calm down, I might actually pull her hair out because she is making me lose every ounce of patience I have left.

“Fine,” she snaps. “Then don’t come. We don’t need you there. Do us all a favor and just get lost, Willa.”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re choosing to say right now?”

“Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean I should be. You’re a pathetic girl who can’t move on.”

Then she slams the door.

The sound rings in my ears, and somehow it feels worse than her words.

It’s not me being miserable.

It’s her.

She’s the one choosing a cheater over her own sister.

And now she’s acting like I’m the villain in her perfect little wedding story.

**

The smell of iron, steel, and fuel hits my nose the second I step onto the airport runway. It was a harsh, industrial scent that cut through the humid air. The plane waiting for me is massive—a private jet, sleek and impossibly black. The engine’s roar alone is enough to make my heart sprint, a loud, angry sound that vibrated deep in my chest.

I left home with just a backpack full of messy clothes, perfectly matching the current state of my life. The whole thing was a total disaster, wrapped in cheap fabric and anxiety. 

Losing the man, losing the ring, losing my mind—all in one spectacularly cruel month.

Winning a raffle for a free vacation felt like fate tapping my shoulder, not gently, but with a hard, desperate rap. A getaway. An escape. A break from my cruel reality where my only sister was about to marry the man who shredded my future. I wasn't just taking a vacation; I was running.

I board the plane quickly, nodding awkwardly at the impossibly perfect flight attendant. I sink into this first-class couch—too fancy for my taste, the leather soft and clean, smelling of new money and privilege. I tossed my pathetic backpack onto the seat beside me and stood to reach the overhead compartment to stuff it out of sight.

My hand slips, the strap twisting uselessly. My balance goes to hell, and I brace myself for impact, knowing I was about to hit the plush carpet in a humiliating sprawl. I shut my eyes tight, waiting for the painful thud of reality.

Instead of the floor, I hit something hard, warm, and decidedly male.

When I open my eyes, a pair of deep, ocean-midnight eyes is staring right into me. They were stunning, sharp, and currently filled with intense annoyance. 

He groans, a low, thick sound that felt like a vibration against my ear.

“Get off me,” he growls, voice deep, sultry, and arrogant enough to make me blink twice, processing the sheer rudeness of the command. The sound was like gravel scraped over velvet.

Get off me? Wow. Straight to the point, rude. I scrambles away instantly, pulling back as if I’d been burned, trying to regain whatever dignity I have left, which felt like none. I landed back on my own seat cushion, my face burning hot.

“I’m sorry, it was too high—” I started, trying to explain the physics of my clumsiness, but he cut me off mid-sentence.

“Don’t bore me with your excuse. Be careful next time.” His icy glare makes me want to pick a fight and give his handsome face a nice black-eye design, a perfect contrast to his pale skin. He looked utterly untouched by human emotion.

So rude yet so fine. His hair was dark and thick, swept back from a sharp hairline. His nose is aristocratic, perfectly straight. His eyes sharp, assessing. His lips were red and naturally pouty, a cruel irony given the permanent scowl that pulled them down.

He’s painfully drop-dead gorgeous—like a billboard model, the kind you saw selling expensive watches, but cursed with a permanent frown. He looked like he ate sunshine and exhaled bad manners.

What a waste of good genes.

He was wearing an impossibly crisp white shirt and a dark suit jacket that looked tailored to his broad shoulders. Everything about him was sharp, clean, and expensive.

Mr. Suit. The nickname stuck instantly.

“A flute of champagne, sir?” a blonde flight attendant asks, gliding up to him. She ignored me completely, her eyes glued to Mr. Suit’s face, her cleavage bouncing like jello right near his ear. Gross.

“No, thank you,” Mr. Suit replies, checking his expensive watch—a thick, silver thing that probably cost more than my car.

A man obsessed with time. Of course he is. He probably schedules his breathing.

Cold. Busy. Arrogant. Meaning: boring. If he wasn't so aggressively attractive, I would have dismissed him entirely.

“Excuse me? Can I have a glass of water with ice?” I wave a hand to the attendant, trying to be polite, trying to establish my presence. The flight attendant scans me from head to toe—a slow, judgmental process—and decides to ignore my existence, turning her back to him, expecting him to order something more worthy of her attention.

I glanced at my outfit—tennis shoes that were slightly scuffed, an anime shirt I stole from my disloyal sister’s closet, black leggings with a small tear near the knee. Unpresentable, maybe, but definitely not ugly enough to warrant an immediate freeze-out.

“Sir, what about whiskey? Water? Anything you need, I’ll serve you,” she gushes to him, her voice melting into a saccharine whisper.

Serve you? What a hoe. Gross. I had never understood women who threw themselves at wealth with such blatant disregard for their own dignity.

“Attend to her.” Mr. Suit’s voice cuts through the sweet air, flat and sharp. He points at me like I’m an object, a piece of necessary luggage he needed sorted, not a breathing human being.

I felt my jaw clench. He didn't even look at me. He just ordered her to acknowledge me.

I close my eyes. Be Zen, Willa. Be centered. This is a relaxing getaway. Do not let anyone steal your joy. That was going to be hard, given the two rude human specimens currently occupying my space.

The flight attendant, stunned by the order, quickly brought me a glass of ice water, her movements stiff and resentful. I took a large, unnecessary gulp, refusing to look at either of them.

Mr. Suit had already pulled out a sleek phone and was talking, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “I don’t fucking care if you have to cancel the deal, Thomas. I didn’t pay you to fail.”

His nostrils flaring like he’s about to breathe fire, his face tight with pure, contained fury. He moved his free hand, dragging it through his dark hair, exposing the muscle in his forearm. The man was a bomb waiting to go off.

I force my attention out the window, watching buildings shrink like toys as the clouds swallow the sky. I focused on the receding world, the place I was desperate to leave behind.

My only sister is marrying the man I once loved. The thought was a familiar, sharp twist in my chest. The same man who broke his promises, who swore he'd wait, who gave me back my ring via text message. 

The same man who now thought he was better off with the blonde, compliant version of me.

My chest tightens, and I tilt my head back against the cushion, hoping my thoughts will slide out of my skull, out of the plane, and into the stratosphere where they belonged.

The aircraft suddenly and aggressively shakes. It wasn't a gentle vibration; it was a violent, upward jerk followed by a hard drop. My water glass rattled loudly on the tray table. Panic crawls under my skin, squeezing the air out of my lungs, immediate and hot.

Am I going to die? A virgin? Dear heavens, spare my poor, unfortunate soul. That was not how my escape was supposed to end.

The shaking gets worse, tilting the plane side to side, and my body sways helplessly with it, my seatbelt suddenly feeling inadequate. I gasp, gripping the armrests.

Firm hands yank me—out of my seat, across the small aisle, and right into his lap. The movement was fast and controlled, a purely instinctive reaction. I gasp, from fear and… something else, something hot and confusing that spiked my adrenaline even higher than the turbulence.

I landed hard on his thigh, the muscle solid as rock beneath my hips.

“Stay still, minx.” His angsty voice wraps around me like a command I never asked for, a low, rough rumble right next to my ear. His breath was warm.

Minx? I should argue, I should scream, I should use this precious moment of not-dying to point out the absurdity of his language, but I’m too busy not dying, my entire focus concentrated on the violent shuddering of the jet.

His touch is warm on my waist, his hands large and firm, clamping me in place against the leather. His scent—fresh wood and expensive sin—floods my nose and scrambles my brain, mixing with the smell of the cabin air and the fear.

Everything about him screams money. The kind of money I wouldn’t have even if I sold my organs on the dark web. He was a walking symbol of the world that rejects me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are experiencing severe turbulence. Please fasten your seatbelts. Do not panic.” The captain’s voice was too calm, which only made the panic worse.

“I should go back to my sea—” I started to pull away, but his grip was iron.

“Stay with me.” His growl vibrates against my neck, a low sound that seemed to settle the fear in my chest more effectively than any seatbelt. Then he whispers against my nape, the skin there tingling violently.

Shivers race down my spine, a chain reaction of fear and inappropriate desire.

Stay with me.

Holy smokes, this man is holy hot and I’m a sinner ready to kneel.