Semua Bab My CEO mate: Divorce made me his: Bab 31 - Bab 40

THEAThere should be a rule about facing your boss after maybe sleeping with him while maybe being drunk and definitely being an emotional catastrophe.Like a grace period. A trauma leave. An “I begged you to touch me and now I have to look you in the eye” buffer.But no.Here I am.Click-clacking down the corridor of polished shame with a venti coffee and phone in one hand, a resignation letter in the other, and my dignity somewhere on Ezra’s floor, probably folded neatly next to my missing underwear.I should’ve called in sick. Or dead. Or flown to Peru and started a new life as a potato farmer. Anything but this.But nooo, I’m mature. I’m composed. I’m That Girl—the one who can handle anything, even the horrifying possibility that she threw herself at her boss and liked it.This is fine.Everything is fine.Except I’ve reapplied my lipstick four times, changed my outfit twice, and my palms are so sweaty I’m one minor slip from tossing this coffee all over my white blouse and giving

THEAThe elevator doors slide shut behind me with a soft hiss, and the silence inside is suffocating.My pulse is still thrumming from Ezra’s touch, but it’s the name—his name—that echoes loudest now.Sebastian.My fingers tighten around my phone, knuckles white. I don’t even realize I’m clenching it until the corner digs into my palm.Why now?Why here?The elevator hums to life, gliding down, but my mind is racing in every direction but forward. Images flash behind my eyes like cruel, fragmented film reels:Sebastian, laughing with Finn in the living room.Sebastian, standing over me during another late-night argument when Finn was asleep.Sebastian, intertwined with the nanny on the couch.My stomach churns.I press my back to the mirrored wall, exhaling sharply.I should be past this. I am past this.But one name, one unexpected visit, and suddenly I’m twenty-seven and fractured all over again—only this time, the pieces are sharper. They cut.He cheated.He chose to cheat.And whe

THEAHe’s leaning against the vending machine when I find him, his attention on his phone, eyebrows scrunched. Like this is any ordinary day and not the one where he let our son bleed internally under his watch.My heels echo down the corridor as I approach him. He looks up—relieved for a second—until he sees my face.Then the color drains.Good.I didn't wait for him to spew any shit or for my anger to decrease as I ask, “What the hell is wrong with you, Sebastian?”He straightens, “Thea, listen—”“No.” I jab a finger at him. “You don’t get to ask for that. Not after what I just heard.”His jaw tightens. “I didn’t know it was that serious. The school called, they said it was a minor fall—”“Minor?!” I snap. “He passed out, Sebastian. He needed a transfusion. You had one job—to keep him safe—and you failed.”His nostrils flare. “I took him to urgent care. They said it was probably bruising—”“But you didn’t follow up, did you? You let him come home, bleeding inside, while you were too

THEAYou'll let me have you.The words fades into… nothing.I should run.Every cell in my body is screaming it. Run. Get away. Pretend he didn’t just say what he said. Pretend his eyes didn’t flash crimson in the sunlight like some devil stepped out of the shadows.But I don’t move.I can’t.Because my heart is louder than the voice of reason—and it’s pounding out his name.Ezra.His name used to taste like tension. Like bitterness coated in lust. Now it tastes like danger and desire—two poisons I’ve already overdosed on.I stare at him. At the man—no, thing—that I’ve kissed. Wanted. Almost trusted. Stupidly.“A vampire?” I whisper again, because saying it out loud makes it real. It solidifies the crack running down my carefully constructed world.He nods once. No denial. No apologies. Just calm, ruthless truth.And that... unnerves me the most. But everything starts to snap in place. The way his eyes flashed red at the gala. The way he always closes the distance between us in secon

THEAExactly thirty-seven minutes later, Ezra's car pulls up beside mine.It’s sleek, black, tinted windows, and arrogant—just like the man behind the wheel.He doesn’t step out right away. No, of course not. He waits a beat, like he knows I’m watching. Like he knows my nerves are already frayed and he wants to pull one more thread loose. Then the door opens, and he unfolds from the car like sin in a three-piece suit.I swear the air shifts.My pulse jumps as he walks toward me, each step slow and measured, like this is a goddamn runway and he’s modeling for the Devil’s own collection. His dark coat flares with the wind, his shirt perfectly pressed, tie loosened just enough to draw attention to the line of his throat. His hair’s pushed back, mouth set in that signature smirk I’ve come to recognize as both a warning and a promise.My thighs clench.Dammit.This is not the time.“You’re late,” I mutter as I press the button to lower the window, trying for annoyed and landing somewhere