The CEO

Alexander Sterling's pov

The penthouse was quiet. It always is.

High above the chaos of Manhattan, the glass walls of my living room offered a view of the city that never slept, but I often wished it would. I stood at the window, black coffee in one hand, phone in the other, watching the morning light filter through the skyline like blades.

My apartment was clean. Spotless, in fact. Tastefully modern. Slate walls, dark hardwood floors, steel fixtures, and cold lighting. No clutter, no color. Everything had its place. Everything had its purpose.

Except the photo on the console table near the wall.

It was small silver-framed, subtle. A little girl with dark curls and light in her eyes. Frozen in time with a grin that made my throat tighten every time I looked at it.

I turned away from it.

Routine was the only thing that steadied me. Wake up at five. Cardio at six. Shower at six-forty-five. Out the door by seven-thirty. No distractions, no exceptions.

At exactly 7:30, I stepped into the private elevator that led to my driver, nodded once to Eli, and got into the back of the car. He didn’t speak. They were trained not to. I wanted it that way. 

The drive downtown was silent, just the way I liked it. My calendar had back-to-back meetings. My inbox had 143 unread emails, and my new assistant was scheduled to start today, some girl HR had sent over after a recommendation. I hadn’t bothered to check her name.

I didn’t want to be impressed. Or disappointed. I just wanted her efficient and quiet.

I walked through the lobby without returning any of the greetings aimed my way. Not that I didn’t see them. I just didn’t care. The only thing worse than incompetence was false familiarity.

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped out, and stopped.

Her.

It hit me like a punch to the ribs.

She stood near my office door, talking to Mrs. Angela, wearing a blouse tucked into a black skirt that hugged her hips like they belonged in a goddamn painting. Hair pulled back. Mouth slightly parted like she’d seen a ghost.

The woman I’d spent one unforgettable night with.

I didn’t believe in fate. But I believed in accidents that came back to bite.

The way she looked at me, wide-eyed, breath catching, face draining of color, I knew she’d thought the same thing I had, this wasn’t supposed to happen. How on earth did it possibly happen.

And yet… here we were.

I didn’t pause. I brushed past her, our arms touching for a split second. Her skin was warm. Soft. She smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla.

Something low in my chest clenched.

I walked into my office without a word, but I didn’t sit. I stood there for a long minute, hand clenched into a fist against the desk, waiting for the burn in my throat to pass.

She was supposed to be a mistake I could forget. I broke up with my Sloane, my ex 2 months ago and I couldn't get over what she had done to me, I made the call to try to forget her

But nothing about that night had been forgettable. Not the way she moaned. Not the way she shook when I touched her. Not the way she looked at me like she wanted to tear me apart and let me ruin her at the same time.

The only other woman who had ever made me feel remotely unmoored was Sloane.

But even Sloane hadn’t made me lose control like this girl had.

And now she was outside my office. My assistant.

After some time, I pressed the intercom.

“Coffee.”

My voice came out cold. Distant.

A few minutes later, she walked in with a black cup in her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed it down. She didn’t meet my eyes.

Good. I didn’t want her to see what I was thinking.

I took a sip. Too bitter. Too hot. Too fast.

I looked up at her.

“What on earth is this, take this out of my sight this minute" I said flatly, setting the cup down.

Her brows knit.

“Again.”

Her jaw tightened, but she nodded and left.

She came back. Again. Still wrong.

And again. Still too watery.

And again. Too strong.

Each time, the coffee tasted worse than the last. She’d clench her jaw and walk out, each step tenser than the last.

By the fifth time, the coffee was finally perfect.

I took a long sip and looked at her without expression. “You're dismissed"

Her shoulders sagged. I almost felt something twist inside me, but I buried it quickly.

She turned to leave, and I watched her walk away, the sway of her hips even more dangerous than the first time. My body responded, sharply, suddenly. A tightness stirred in my pants. I looked away, jaw locked.

The day dragged on, but my focus didn’t improve.

Meetings blurred. Proposals floated past. I caught her in my periphery more times than I should’ve.

Every time she walked by, it was like a test I couldn’t fail and couldn’t win. Her perfume lingered after she left. Her eyes, when they met mine, spoke volumes. Nervous, conflicted, intrigued.

I didn’t smile at anyone the entire day.

Not when we closed the equity deal.

Not when my CFO announced a 5% rise in the quarter.

Not when Angela praised Zara’s efficiency.

But when I overheard her laugh faintly with someone in the break room, a soft, private laugh, it stuck with me.

At 7:00 p.m., the floor emptied out. The office grew quiet.

I stayed at my desk, pretending to answer emails.

She was still there, typing. I knew, because I could see her screen’s glow reflected faintly on the glass wall between us.

Eventually, she gathered her bag and left without a word.

I waited a minute, stood, gathered my coat, and headed home.

The penthouse welcomed me with cold elegance. Manhattan glimmered beyond the windows, indifferent as ever.

I shed my jacket, unbuttoned the top of my shirt, and poured a glass of scotch.

The photo frame sat silently on the console.

The little girl’s grin pierced through the wall I’d built all day.

I looked at it for a long moment, then turned it face-down.

My phone buzzed.

Mom.

I answered. “Hey.”

“Alex,” she said, her voice warm and slow. “Still surviving the wolves?”

“Barely,” I replied, rubbing the back of my neck.

“You sound tired.”

“Long day.”

“You always say that,” she chided softly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Come for dinner this weekend? I’ll make your favorite.”

I paused. “Lasagna?”

She laughed. “Of course. But only if you stay longer than fifteen minutes this time.”

I smiled, a small, genuine one.

“I’ll stay,” I said. “I promise.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

After we hung up, I stood alone in the silence, the city watching me through the glass.

And I realized something unsettling.

Zara Harper wasn’t just a mistake that wouldn’t go away.

She was the one thing I didn’t plan for.

She'd crawled her way into my empire and for the first time,  I felt out of control.