You Owe You

Three days into the silent treatment, Derrick—my fiancé and CEO—greenlit his assistant's pitch for a self-driving road trip. He expected me to flip, like always. I didn't. A month later, he came back and saw it—I wasn't the same. He backed Molly, stole my project, and thought I'd explode. I didn't. I just helped her draft the proposal. He trashed everything I built, just so she could snag her year-end bonus. I didn't fight back. Took the blame, took the hit. Molly was all smug. "See? Told you. You can't go at Yara head-on. Give her the silent treatment—she folds. She's scared of losing you. That's why she's playing nice." Derrick ate it up. Called her smart. Then he pulled me aside—offered a raise, a promotion, even a fancy wedding. First time he'd ever brought it up. But he missed one detail: he'd already signed off on my resignation while he was off playing road trip king. And I'd already dumped him. That was it. Clean cut. Nothing left.

It's been five years. Five years since we broke up and the last time I saw him. And yet I still can't get him out of my head. He returns to my thoughts and my dreams, completely uninvited and unwelcome. Even though I'm assigned now and I should think of my friend, not him. But he was the first. The first one that has captivated my heart and body and I still can't seem to forget somewhere inside. But I can pretend. Everything is fine because he moved out and we don't see each other anymore. My life goes on and I am happy. Happy. OLLIE F**king five years. Five years of suffering, loneliness and anger. I never wanted to break up with her. I should never have let her go. She took everything from me and I could never breathe fully after she left. There were others, but none like her. But I could still pretend that my life was not such hell. But now ... now I'm going back to the city where it all started. I'm going back to take what's mine. Because she always belonged only to me

The notice of my mother's layoff sat on the kitchen table. Rent was due in three days. My younger brother's tutoring fees were already two weeks late. And my little sister, Stephanie, clutched her acceptance letter to the local public arts high school like she'd done something wrong. None of this would be happening if it weren't for me. My illness had taken everything our family had saved. I stayed in my room, leaning against the door, wanting to tell them I'd drop out of treatment—but I couldn't bring myself to open it. "Why did he have to fall sick?" My mother was crying, her voice low and tight, like the words were being forced out of her. "If it were just you both, Stephanie and Jamie, we'd be fine by now." "Mom, please don't say that." My brother and sister held her, barely holding back their own tears. "He's a burden… but he's still my son." Her voice cracked. "I just… I can't do this anymore…" I stepped back and sank into my chair. It wasn't an accusation. It was a verdict.

Before the contract was even signed, the client's representative casually said he was craving pancakes with maple syrup. I didn't hesitate. I texted my fiancé, Nigel Cross, and asked him to stand in line and grab some. He came back with the box, all proud of himself. The client took one bite, and within seconds, his face went red. Hives bloomed across his neck. He shot to his feet, furious, and called the whole deal off on the spot. Then he turned around and handed the million-dollar order to Olivia Field, the intern who had rushed to grab him allergy meds. Three months of grinding work were gone just like that. I stood there, my throat tight, trying not to fall apart. Nigel squeezed my shoulder, his voice soft as he said, "It was just bad luck. Don't beat yourself up." I nodded weakly, drained of energy. But the second I stepped away, I heard him laughing in the break room with his friend. "That guy's seriously allergic to mango. Good thing I added mango syrup to the pancakes. Olivia's about to score a huge year-end bonus. Enough for a down payment on her new apartment." His friend hesitated. "Melissa hasn't slept in a month over that deal. She was working while she was sick. She needed that money for her mom's surgery—" Nigel waved him off, already annoyed. "She has me. Isn't that enough? Olivia earned this." My hands curled into fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Bad luck? Yeah, right. Nigel had planned every second of it. And now, he thought he could smooth it over by marrying me someday, toss me a few cheap words, and I would just swallow it. I was done with that disgusting man.

Celia Johnson, my boss's sister-in-law, joined the company as the finance director and announced that all reimbursements must strictly follow the standards. I spent an entire week running around for the company and finally closed a five-hundred-thousand-dollar deal. Because the client had used two extra packs of paper towels, the per-person amount for their meal ended up eight dollars over the limit. Celia folded her arms, glanced at the reimbursement form on my desk, and sneered. "Five hundred and eight dollars?" "Yes. Last night at The Peak Restaurant, where we closed Richard's deal. Zack was there too," I explained patiently. "Eight dollars over the per-person limit. Not reimbursable," Celia said coldly. I tried to reason with her. "This was a special case. The client is high-level, and the deal amount is large, and Zack personally said it would be fully reimbursed last night." She returned the reimbursement form to me. "I don't care who said that. Don't think closing a five-hundred-thousand-dollar contract lets you ignore company rules. Reimbursements must all follow policies. Everyone will follow them to the letter." I took a deep breath. I knew arguing with her head-on would get me nowhere, so I called Zack directly. Zack said, "I did say it would be reimbursed, but I never said company rules could be ignored. It's just five hundred. And you still get commission from closing the deal. You young people need to have perspective." I stopped arguing. I turned around and refused the delivery containing the hard copy of the five-hundred-thousand-dollar cooperation contract, smiling as I explained, "Company rules say all cash on delivery packages must be refused. "Also, today is my last day here. Starting tomorrow, I work for Richard's company. As the client, I will be setting the rules this time."

They swore to destroy each other. Then he whispered: "A deal is a deal. Tonight, you belong to me." Hockey captains Damian Volkov and Sebastian Montgomery have been locked in a brutal three‑year rivalry. On the ice, they try to break each other. Off the ice, they trade threats in darkened hallways. But when Sebastian finally wins the championship with a bone‑crushing hit, he collects a secret debt Damian doesn't remember making. That night, in the shadows of the locker room, Sebastian reveals a blood oath sworn on his father's grave: One day I'll own you. The price? One night of absolute surrender. No rules. No safe word. Damian expects cruelty. Instead, Sebastian drags him to the abandoned rink where Damian's father used to beat him. He forces Damian to skate until his feet bleed—then bandages the wounds with unexpected gentleness. Every command is a twisted therapy. Every touch blurs the line between hatred and obsession. But someone is watching. A blackmailer has a video of their most intimate moment. Damian's father is faking a stroke to manipulate him. And the journalist who shot them is just the beginning. As the league tries to ban them, as friends become enemies, as a bullet arrives with a note that says "Game seven. You're dead," Damian and Sebastian must decide: Is their bond a trap—or the only thing that can save them? When hatred bleeds into obsession, who will be the first to surrender?