All Chapters of A Summer's Coincidence With The Alpha CEO : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Jannah He's here. The same man I fell for in Mexico. The same man who kissed me like he meant forever... Then ghosted me like none of it ever happened. Only now, he's my boss. What the actual hell. This is either the cruelest prank, or I really have horrible fate. I'm too embarrassed to even make eye contact with Ethan—Aaron—or whatever his real name is. What else am I going to uncover? I should’ve known he was lying the moment he said he was in the Marines. Marines, my ass. The guy drives around in a five-figure Aston Martin. The fact that he gave me a fake name—Ethan fucking Hunt—makes me want to die from sheer embarrassment. And I liked him. I made out with him. I fell for a walking lie. Shit, shit, shit. Kaitlyn, my best friend and office buddy is still chattering excitedly about the hot CEO while I grit my teeth and stay silent. All I feel is resentment. I can’t take my eyes off him. He looks different—his hair’s shorter, his tan’s faded, and he’s leaner now. But that

Jannah The low sound of violins and other string instruments blending into a classical melody invites me as I flash my invitation and waltz in. Kaitlyn is supposed to be here, but she went on a date, so it looks like I'll have to improvise in the companionship department. The hotel, I learned, is the Steeles'. Its architecture is similar to something medieval yet modern, with very high ceilings—probably over thirty feet—impressive chandeliers glowing in a warm golden hue placed strategically. Food is lined up in buffet plates, and there's a lot of it. As much as my mission here is to hunt down Clinton, I know I'd love to savor everything on that table. My seat is somewhere in the middle of the hall, so I have a perfect view of everything going on. The lights dim when Aaron comes up on stage to make his speech, followed by a round of applause. His parents speak afterward, and then Clinton. His speech is a short one, but that’s not why my ears perk as I slide to the edge of my se

Jannah I should have known the day would be hell the moment my alarm refused to go off and I had to sprint out of my apartment with a half-buttoned shirt and my hair packed into the real definition of a messy bun."Damn you, universe," I curse under my breath, though a part of me is convinced my dead batteries are more likely at fault.By 8:03 AM, I've barely recovered from my disorganized state when the already out-of-control Slack messages greet me. Bugs. Crashes. Last-minute client feedback. You name it. And then- because the universe isn't done messing with me -an all-hands meeting with Aaron that's scheduled for tomorrow pops into my mail just as I'm about to stuff my second bagel into my mouth.A young visionary, the email says. I snort, chewing angrily. Of course, they're all always visionary.I continue to read the text: Innovative, driven, results-oriented.Corporate code for: He doesn't care how tired you are. Just deliver.I let out a groan and lean back against my chair,

Clinton's POV"You fucking bastard." The words hit me like trash hurled through the air.Perfect. Just what I need after a twelve-hour day and a migraine grinding behind my eyes.I stop. Not because I'm scared-though judging by the firestorm coming off her, maybe I should be-but because I feel that familiar snap down my spine. The fuck, not again kind.Her voice slices through the air, and when I turn, she's already charging. A one-woman army with light green eyes that cut like glass. Her chest heaves like she ran here powered by fury alone. Fists tight. Jaw clenched. Ready to throw down.And all I can think is: What the hell did Aaron do this time?Because I know this isn't about me. It never is.But I'm the one standing here.Always am.When she starts in, it's like a dam bursting. I brace for impact. Her words come fast and cracked, like they've been bottling up inside her for weeks-maybe months. Mexico. Dinner. Being ghosted. Lied to. Her voice trembles, but not from sadness. This

AaronI tug my tie loose, slide it off, and let it fall to the floor. My fingers move to the cuffs of my shirt-unbutton, unfold, roll. Turns out, being a hybrid doesn't make you immune to exhaustion. And right now, I'm dead on my feet.A few twists and stretches later, the familiar pop of joints echoes through the room. I let out a low grunt and finish stripping down, briefs the only thing left on me.There's a half-full bottle of scotch on the nightstand-one of several I keep around for nights like this. But tonight, even that doesn't appeal. And that says a lot.Funny how the things that used to help don't even register anymore. Then again, strange isn't exactly new to me.Take the missing funds, for instance. We still haven't traced the account siphoning money from both the pack treasury and the company. Every day, it's something new-small, easy to miss, but consistent enough to be intentional. Someone's playing the long game. Someone close.Then there's the girl. Seven years old.