Sekretaris Jadi Istri Rahasia Sang Pewaris

*Prologue*

My life as I knew it ended the night Alexander walked into my office.

Not because I didn’t recognize the type.

I did.

I’d known men like him before. Fighters. Enforcers. Men who carried violence in their posture and discipline in their silence. Men who learned control not because they were gentle. But because they were dangerous without it.

I wasn’t inexperienced.

I wasn’t naïve.

I wasn’t curious.

And I certainly wasn’t looking for trouble. That’s what made this worse…or so I thought, because nothing could’ve prepared me for how he’d turn my world upside down.

I knew the moment I agreed to treat him that it would end badly. Because men like Alexander didn’t come to therapy to heal. They came because something was already breaking, and they needed someone to witness it.

I should’ve said no. Instead, I stayed. I listened. I told myself I was just doing my job.

Now there’s blood on the floor of my office.

My blood.

Bright against the pale wooden floor. Too much of it. Enough to make the room tilt, to make my breath come shallow as my brain scrambles for logic where instinct has already taken over.

Not because he hurt me.

He didn’t.

That’s the part no one believes. But being near him means inheriting everything that follows. My name is on a watch list now, though I don’t know when it happened. Only that it did.

The signs came quietly. Appointments canceled without explanation, unfamiliar numbers that stop ringing the moment I answer, the sense that my routines no longer belong solely to me.

My brother won’t meet my eyes.

And my family, my blood, has started to remember what it costs to stand too close to men like him.

The blood spilled fast. He was already on his feet when it happened. Too fast, too alert. He stood before me, fists clenched as if he feared what they’d do if he relaxed. His eyes are dark, fractured by a truth I was never meant to learn.

He didn’t touch me. Not until I nodded. Not until I said it was okay. His hands shook when he finally did, hovering like restraint was something he practiced even in emergencies.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I whisper.

Because old habits die hard.

He laughs.

Low. Broken. Terrified.

“You,” he said. “I’m feeling you.”

In that moment, I understood.

This was never a love story.

It was a warning.

***

Milena Dragovic

I stepped into the gym for the first time in a while. The smell of sweat, steel, leather, and a hint of blood hit me like an old memory I wasn’t sure I wanted.

I’ve been treating professional athletes since I graduated from university. My brother used to be a fighter, and I’ve seen firsthand what this life can do to someone mentally. I knew back then that I wanted to work closely with athletes to help them stay grounded, maintain a healthy mindset, and prevent them from spiraling.

However, after my brother had an accident, I swore to myself I would not get involved with any professional fighters again…that is, until Coach Jansen called me in for a favor.

The gym was still quiet and empty. Most of the fighters weren’t in yet. I heard the light thuds of punching bags and the snapping of jump ropes somewhere in the back, but I paid them no attention.

Then the office door flew open.

A young man stormed out. Black hoodie. Dark jeans. Calm, steady eyes. Asian. Tall. Built like someone trained to break bones, yet still elegant… and too composed to show off. His eyes flicked toward me in passing, calm and unreadable. For half a second, he gave me a glance of recognition, like we’d met before.

Then he rolled his eyes.

Seriously?

He looked at me like I was a unicorn stranded in the middle of the ocean. Out of place, irrelevant.

How rude.

Behind him, Coach Jansen stepped out, frustration heavy in his voice.

"Alexander, come back here! We are not done talking yet!”

But the man, whom I now know as Alexander, paid him no attention. He swiftly walked into the room at the end of the hallway and slammed the door behind him, as if his goal was to break it.

What’s his problem?

Without a second glance, I headed straight towards the coach's office at the end of the hallway.

“You’re early,” the coach said as he grabbed his coffee mug and took a sip. I haven’t seen him in a long time. He hasn’t changed much in the past 2 years… well, apart from gaining a few extra white hairs on his head. Who can blame him? Dealing with overconfident, testosterone-fueled fighters all day would do this to a person.

“What can I say? Busy schedule… I like being early! It gives me time to mentally prepare for whatever mess you’ve invited me into.” I gave him a side eye, and then I paused as Coach Jansen pulled on a big grin of recognition. “I’ve missed you, kid!” He said as he pulled me in for a big bear hug. Coach Jansen used to be one of my dad's closest friends. He was also working together with my brother back when he still had a professional fighting career. I used to hang out at the gym a lot, and Coach Jansen would secretly bring me ice cream from his freezer when my brother was doing drills. In a way, he became like an uncle to me. Like the kind who always knows how to pick you up when you’re down and lets you do the things your parents normally wouldn’t. Like eating candy before dinner.

“I’ve missed you, too, Coach,” I replied with a groan as he hugged me tighter and lifted me into the air, as if I were five again. I giggled as he put me down, and he gave me a look of pride.

“You know you can call me John.”

“So…John… what is it you so desperately needed me here for?” He sighed and walked behind his desk to grab a folder that was lying on top of a pile of folders. He motioned towards the chair with his hand, asking me to sit down.

“Take a seat.”

I knew this wouldn’t be a quick in-and-out meeting…

John sat down and opened the folder: “Take a look at this.” I grabbed the folder out of his hands and read:

Fighter: Alexander Li

Age: 28

Weight Class: Light Heavyweight

Record: 17–3 (pro)

The folder contained general notes written by John: Alexander's training camp behavior, law enforcement and discipline, temperament and authority issues, warnings, and some personality observations. I quickly glanced at the notations and knew why he called me in today.

- Storms out of training when being pushed.

- Gets aggressive when sparring.

- Rumors of underground fights.

- One arrest. Charges dropped.

- Moody. Reckless. Uncooperative.

My stomach tightened. His history was suspiciously similar to my brother's, except for the suspicions of involvement in illegal underground fighting.

“You know I vowed to myself to never treat fighters, right?” I tell John, and see him run a hand through his slightly graying hair in frustration as he sighs deeply.

“I know, Mila, but you know I wouldn’t have asked you to help if I had another choice…” He paused for a quick moment, and I could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think of what to say next.

“Look… He’s the most gifted fighter I’ve ever coached,” he said. “But also the most volatile. I’ve seen guys like this burn out, disappear, or worse. And I can’t just stand by and watch him destroy his life and career. He’s a good kid. Just … lost… He just needs some extra guidance. If he can’t get his head right, we’re not going to the top with him.”

I stared at the now closed folder in my lap. Coach really cares about this guy.

Alexander Li Chen.

The man with the stormy… and slightly judgmental eyes.

This was a storm.

And apparently I was supposed to walk straight into it.