All Chapters of MY CEO, MY OBSESSION : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

170 Chapters

THE GALA INVITATION

I didn't turn my phone back on until the next morning.When I did, seventeen messages from Damien waited—starting concerned, escalating to worried, finally landing on terse and professional. The last one, sent at midnight, simply read: My office. 8 AM.It was 7:45.I dressed carefully, deliberately—choosing a conservative navy dress that screamed assistant, not lover. Pulling my hair back severely. Minimal makeup. Armour did the best I could manage.The office buzzed with its usual morning energy—coffee brewing, keyboards clicking, the low murmur of people easing into their day. But when I stepped off the elevator, conversations stopped. Eyes followed me across the floor.Someone had talked. Or everyone had guessed. Either way, the whispcrystalto something more solid, mort my head high and my pace steady until I reached Damien's door.Sopr desk yet—unusual for her. I knocked once, heard his clipped "Enter," and stepped inside.He stood at the window, the morning light turning him into

SHOPPING FOR ARMOR

I said yes.Not because I wanted to—or maybe I did, and that was the problem. I said yes because saying no felt like a door closing on something I wasn't ready to walk away from, even though every rational part of my brain screamed that I should.Saturday morning arrived with unseasonable warmth, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment like an accusation. I'd barely slept, caught between Clara's unanswered texts and Melissa's cryptic message that I'd deleted three times before finally blocking the number.The stylist arrived at noon sharp.Her name was Margot—all sharp cheekbones and sharper observations, wearing black from head to toe like she was attending a funeral instead of preparing someone for a gala. Two assistants followed her, wheeling racks of dresses that probably cost more than my college tuition."Elena Torres." She circled me slowly, appraising. "Damien said you'd be resistant.""He talks about me to his stylist?""Darling, he talks about

GLITTERING LIES

The flash of cameras hit me like a physical wall.I'd seen red carpets on television—distant, glamorous things that happened to other people in other lives. But standing in the middle of one, Damien's hand warm and steady at the small of my back, was entirely different.The lights were blinding. The voices calling out questions blurred into incomprehensible noise. And everywhere—everywhere—eyes tracked our movement like predators watching prey.“Mr Voss! Who's your date?""Damien! Over here! Just one photo!"Miss! Miss, what's your name?Damien's hand pressed more firmly against my spine, guiding me forward with the kind of confidence that came from years of navigating spaces like this. Spaces where every smile was calculated, every word a potential weapon, every photograph evidence that could be used for or against you."Just keep walking," he murmured near my ear. "Smile if you want. Ignore them if you prefer. But don't stop.I kept moving, my heels clicking against the red carpet i

THE EX WIFE APPEARS

The song ended, but Damien's arms remained around me–a beat too long to be purely professional, short enough to maintain plausible deniability."We should mingle," he said, though his tone suggested he'd rather do anything else."Should we?" I stepped back reluctantly, already missing the warmth of his body. Or should we just leave before–"Leaving would be admitting defeat." His hand found the small of my back again, that possessive gesture I was starting to recognize. "And I don't admit defeat."He guided me through the crowd, stopping occasionally to exchange pleasantries with people whose names I immediately forgot. Everyone smiled. Everyone asked polite questions. And everyone's eyes held the same calculating assessment: who was I, and what was I worth?We were near the auction tables—ridiculous items on display with even more ridiculous starting bids—when I felt it. That prickling sensation of being watched by someone whose attention felt different from the ambient curiosity aro

POISONED WORDS

I stood on the terrace, Marcus Reed's business card heavy in my hand like a stone I couldn't drop.The smart thing would be to tear it up. Throw the pieces over the railing and watch them scatter into the night. Return to Damien and tell him everything–that his ex-wife had cornered me, that his business rival had followed, that the two of them were clearly working together to get inside my head.Instead, I slipped the card into my clutch.The door behind me opened again, and I tensed, expecting Reed to return with more poisoned offers. But it was Melissa who stepped onto the terrace, her gold dress shimmering under the strings of lights someone had hung between the columns."I thought I might find you here," she said, her voice softer now. Almost kind. Men like Damien have a way of driving women to seek solitude."I'm fine." I kept my back to her, gripping the railing. And I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone."I will. In a moment." She moved to stand beside me, far enough away t

DAMIEN'S COLDSIDE

I didn't go to work Monday morning.Or Tuesday.I called in sick–which wasn't entirely a lie. My stomach had been in knots since Saturday night, and I'd barely slept, replaying Melissa's words, Damien's admission, the look on his face as I'd driven away.I saw both. And I'm not going to apologize for recognizing an opportunity when I saw one.Wednesday morning, my phone rang at seven a.m. sharp. Not Damien–Sophia.He wants you in the office. Today. Nine o'clock. Her voice was professionally neutral, but I caught the undercurrent of warning."Sophia, I don't think–""Elena." She cut me off gently. Whatever happened at the gala, he's been impossible since. Fired two people yesterday for mistakes that normally wouldn't even register. You need to come in. Before he burns down everything around him.The line went dead.I stood in my bathroom–his bathroom, really, in his apartment,staring at my reflection. Dark circles shadowed my eyes. My skin looked pale, drawn. I looked exactly like some

TESTING BOUNDARIES

I lasted until three o'clock before the anger finally overrode the fear.Six hours of sitting at my desk, pretending to work while actually staring at spreadsheets that blurred together. Six hours of watching Damien through his glass walls–cold, distant, perfectly controlled. Six hours of feeling like a problem he'd already solved and filed away.End of business day, he'd said. Make your decision.But the more I thought about it, the more the ultimatum felt like another form of control. Stay on his terms or leave on his terms. Either way, he got to dictate the outcome.I was tired of being dictated to.At three-fifteen, I stood. Smoothed my skirt. Walked across the office floor toward his door with my spine straight and my resolve hardening with each step.Sophia looked up from her desk, alarm flickering across her face. "Elena, he's in a conference call–""Then he can put them on hold."I didn't knock. Just opened the door and walked in.Damien sat at his desk, phone to his ear, and

THE APOLOGY

I didn't expect to see Damien outside my apartment that night.But at nine-thirty, there he was–standing in the hallway outside my door, still in his work clothes but with his tie loosened and his expression raw in a way I'd never seen before."How did you–" I started.I own the building, he said quietly. But that's not why I'm here. Can we talk?Every instinct told me to say no. To maintain the boundaries I'd just fought so hard to establish. But something in his eyes–exhaustion mixed with determination–made me step aside."Five minutes," I said.He nodded and entered, looking around the apartment he'd arranged for me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You haven't packed anything.""I only decided this afternoon." I crossed my arms, maintaining distance. And I have until end of week, remember?"I know." He shoved his hands in his pockets, a gesture that made him look younger somehow. Less controlled. "But I couldn't wait until then. I needed to–" He stopped, jaw working. I ow

CROSSING LINES

The apartment hunting took three days.Three days of viewing places that were either too expensive, too small, or too far from work. Three days of Damien maintaining professional distance in the office while his eyes followed me every time I moved. Three days of tension building like a storm waiting to break.Thursday evening, I finally found it—a one-bedroom in a decent neighborhood, affordable on my actual salary, with enough space to feel like mine. I signed the lease standing in the empty living room, my hand shaking slightly as I wrote my name.Elena Torres. Just mine. No one else's.I texted Sophia the address for the employment records, then stood in my new empty apartment, feeling simultaneously liberated and terrified.My phone rang. Damien."Sophia told me you found a place," he said without preamble. "Congratulations.""Thank you." I moved to the window, looking out at a view that was modest compared to what I'd had, but somehow felt more honest. "I move in Saturday.""Do y

THE CONTRACT QUESTION

I woke up alone.Sunlight streamed through unfamiliar windows, and for a disorienting moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Then the details came back–Damien's loft, his bed, the way his hands had felt on my skin, the promises we'd made in the dark that seemed shakier in the morning light.I sat up, pulling the sheet around myself, and listened. Water running in what must be the bathroom. The distant sound of a phone buzzing.My clothes were folded neatly on a chair–not how I'd left them last night when they'd been scattered in our urgency. Someone had picked them up. Organized them.Of course he had.I dressed quickly, my hands fumbling with my jeans. In the clear light of day, last night felt like a mistake I couldn't take back. We were supposed to be taking space. I was supposed to be finding myself. Instead, I'd fallen back into his orbit the moment he'd asked.Two people who want each other, I'd said. Nothing more, nothing less.But standing in his bedroom, surrounded by evide

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