All Chapters of CEO'S WORSHIPED OBSESSION.: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Chapter Twenty-OneOlivia’s POVI was pacing Fabian’s penthouse like a stray cat, my bare feet slapping the polished hardwood, my heart thumping like it was trying to break free. The city skyline glittered through the floor to ceiling windows, all sharp and perfect, but it only made me feel like a smudge on its surface. I've been bouncing between my apartment, this too grand penthouse, and the office for weeks, like I was searching for a place to land, a place to stop hating myself for every broken promise I’d ever made. But every time I got close to him, to that feeling of solid ground, I felt like I was teetering on the edge of losing myself completely.Forgiving myself was like trying to catch smoke, and every day with Fabian made it harder, because he looked at me like I was worth something, and I didn’t know how to believe it. Tonight, I was here, in his space, surrounded by his scent, muskwood and something darker, like danger, and I couldn’t sit still. I was supposed to me

Chapter Twenty-ThreeOlivia’s POVI don’t know why I thought I could handle waking up this morning like a normal person.I mean, normal people don’t wake up with engagement rattling in their bones like an aftershock. Normal people don’t hear the words Marry me, Liv. Be mine. replay in their head like a broken record until their brain starts glitching.I stumbled to the kitchen, needing something normal to ground me, something to prove I could handle this. Toast. I could make toast, right? Normal people did that. But the bread was stale, and the toaster—a piece of junk I had since college—decided to betray me. Smoke curled up, the smell of charred bread filling the air, and I yanked the plug, cursing as the toast came out black and crumbling.“Fuck!” I shouted, tossing the burnt mess into the sink, because of course I couldn’t even do that right. My hands were trembling, my chest tight, and I felt like I was drowning in my own incompetence.Normal people also don’t burn their break

Chapter Twenty-FiveOlivia's POVI stood in the stark courthouse hallway, my heart was pounding, a wild thing trapped in my chest, because I was about to marry Fabian, fuck, I was terrified, my hands clutched the edge of my dress.The courthouse smells faintly of old paper and disinfectant. It’s not the kind of place I ever imagined getting married — no flowers, no music, no rows of smiling guests. Just beige walls, a clerk shuffling forms, and a ring box sitting on the counter like it’s waiting for someone else.I’m in a dress I found at a thrift store three days ago. Soft cream, my dress, cream lace, slightly frayed at the hem, clung to my skin like a secondhand promise. It’s not white exactly, but it’s enough. My palms are damp. My knees want to lock.Fabian stood beside me in a suit that looks like it costs more than my last year of rent combined. He didn’t fidget, he didn’t blink. If anything, the stillness in him makes me more aware of how much I’m shaking.The ceremony was quic

Chapter Twenty-SevenOlivia’s POVI was pacing Fabian’s penthouse, my sneakers squeaking on the polished hardwood, my heart hammering like I’d just robbed a bank. The place was a fucking museum—sleek furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, everything so perfect it made my skin crawl. This was different from when I shuffled between his penthouse and my apartment, then, I had time to myself, then I wasn't always surrounded by luxury, at least, in my own apartment, I wasn't, it screamed me, the definition of Olivia Wilde. But here, it was different. It was too much. Too clean. Too beautiful.Too his.I was living here now, like permanently as, Mrs. Fabian Stone, but it felt like a trap, like I was a smudge on this pristine world. But me? I was the opposite of perfect, a walking disaster who didn’t belong in this glossy cage. I was once this man's babysitter, I babysat him.Now, I was his wife, trying to rebuild some shred of self worth, but every step in this place made me feel like a

Chapter Twenty-NineOlivia's POVThe ballroom shimmered, chandeliers reflecting off gleaming glass and lacquered smiles. Laughter, the ring of crystal, the scrape of silver against porcelain—it was all background, a buzz that barely covered the dagger point of words already in the air.Elevator doors shutting, slick chrome reflecting a girl who doesn't belong. That was me.I heard the rumors first. They always talk, always had something to say.The nobody.Fabian Stone's new plaything, as transitory as a scarf, as a rumor.I knew the voice before the words fully registered. His ex. The hard lipped woman with a smile that broke like glass. She wasn't speaking to me, of course. She didn't have to. Words dropped hard enough, crumbs for the vultures flying overhead."She's what? A secretary? A rebound? A nobody trying on shoes that don't fit."The rest of the women that surrounded her laughed, sipping champagne that wasn't even great. They didn't even need great, they had cruelty to seaso