The CEO's Secret Obsession

Scrolling before bed, I hit a viral thread: "What’s your weirdest irrational fear?" The top comment belongs to my boss. "I’m terrified of my secretary’s high heels." The replies quickly blow up into a huge thread. "Is it the clickclack on the floor giving you PTSD?" "Aren't you corporate overlords the ones mandating heels in the office?

Stop playing the victim…" Amidst the roasting, he replies with a resigned confession. "It’s not the heels. The terrifying part is me.

I can’t stop fantasizing about her stepping on me. Pinning me down under those heels." Chapter 1 The username is a string of gibberish. The profile is completely blank.

The only breadcrumb is the avatar. It’s a photo of Max, his German Shepherd. I snapped that exact picture at his place during dinner a few weeks ago.

I’d shoved my phone in his face, buzzing with excitement. He just offered a cold glance and a stiff nod. A total buzzkill. It was classic Cassian, cold and impenetrable.

That post haunts me the next morning. I stand frozen before my wall of stilettos. My hand hovers, then drops. I grab a pair of leather flats instead.

Cassian stands silhouetted against the floortoceiling glass, firing off rapid French into his phone. Broad shoulders. Razorsharp tailoring. Not a single thread out of line.

The door clicks shut. He tilts his head. A dark gaze sweeps down, snagging on my flats for a fraction of a second. Must be my imagination.

The moment we’re alone, my professional facade crumbles. I sink deep into his leather sofa and snatch a Forbes off the glass table. Pages rustle beneath my fingertips.

My peripheral vision stays glued to him. The top button of his crisp shirt hangs undone. His throat works. His Adam’s apple bobs with every low, gravelly syllable.

The deep timbre vibrates straight to my chest. Then I see it. A stark, jagged flush of red biting into the tanned skin of his neck. A bug bite? Or… My eyes narrow.

I lean closer, hungry for a better look. But Cassian snatches his suit jacket from the chair. He shrugs it on, burying the damning mark under layers of wool and silk.

He kills the call. "Cassian," I say, keeping my tone light. "You're still Harrison's groomsman, right?" He offered nothing more than a curt nod.

I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my smirk. I push off the sofa and saunter to the door, dragging out my words. "Just checking.

Eleanor asked me to be her bridesmaid." In our circle, an unspoken rule dictates the wedding party.

Harrison's strict rule for the wedding party: only single guys get to be groomsmen. Once you're taken, you're out.

The burner account drops a cryptic update right around midnight. "She’s obsessed with looking perfect. Always said stilettos were her lifeblood. But she wore flats today.

Leather ones. I bought them for her after a gala a few weeks ago." "She stepped on me wearing those exact flats last time." The comment section blows up. "Wait, what?!

Your secretary already stepped on you in shoes you bought her? Delusion much?" "Bro is gaslighting himself.

Yesterday he claimed she’s a ‘childhood family friend’ and ‘the friend he grew up with.’ Like a billionaire CEO has time to shitpost online." "Wake up, man. This isn't fear.

You just found your kink." "Red flag yesterday. Today? You're just hopelessly, pathologically obsessed." The thread spirals into a huge meme.

Meanwhile, I stare down at the leather flats I specifically chose this morning. My pulse skips a beat. I own way too many shoes. I can’t even remember where these came from.

And given the strictly professional ice storm that is Cassian and my relationship, there is zero chance I ever had him pinned under my foot.

Yesterday, every single clue screamed my name. Today, the puzzle pieces don’t fit. A phantom image of that red scrape on his neck flashes in my mind.

The smirk wipes clean off my face. A knot of tension twists in my gut and follows me straight into the office the next morning. I text Morgan, my goto sales associate at Saks.

She confirms I bought these flats on a random Tuesday shopping spree with a girlfriend. Cassian had nothing to do with it. A cold, hollow ache carves out my chest.

I made it all up in my head. I sleepwalk through the entire workday. Total autopilot. Then, I pull up his calendar to run the afternoon block. A new, private entry glares at me.

A dinner reservation at The Reserve. Chapter 2 A few days ago, I casually dropped a hint. "I heard The Reserve hired a new head chef, Julia. Her cooking is incredible.

It tastes exactly like the meals Teresa used to make for us growing up." He’d kept flipping through his files. Didn't even glance up. I thought he hadn't heard me.

So this reservation… did he book it for me? The thought takes root. A sudden, giddy rush hits my bloodstream. I touch up my lipstick. Twice.

Even the air in the office suddenly tastes sweet. Five o'clock hits. The heavy oak door finally swings open. Cassian steps out.

He’s shucked his suit jacket for a tailored camel overcoat. He looked utterly out of reach standing there.

I shoot up from my desk and grab my handbag. "Ready when you—" Wayne steps out of the private elevator at the exact same second, slicing right over my sentence. "Sir, I just dropped Miss Sierra off at The Reserve." I freeze.

My fingers tighten around my bag strap. Sierra. The name alone was enough to twist my gut. Cassian shifts his gaze to me.

His voice drops into that familiar, icy professional register. "We're done for the day, Maeve. Go home." My breath catches in my throat. "Sierra is back?" A curt nod.

He clocks my deerintheheadlights stare and turns back to Wayne. "Drive Maeve home. I’ll take my own car." My lips part. Nothing comes out.

I stand completely paralyzed as the elevator doors slide shut, swallowing his broad shoulders whole. He has a major crossborder acquisition call tonight.

Yet he somehow cleared his schedule. Just to have dinner with Sierra.

In the backseat of the Maybach, I finally find my voice. "Has Sierra changed much, Wayne?" Wayne chuckles, his eyes crinkling in the rearview mirror. "She's not that roughandtumble tomboy anymore.

She grew up elegant. Turned into a beautiful young woman, just like you." I dig my nails into my palms. "Wayne, be honest.

Who's prettier?" He doesn't even hesitate. "You, of course. Always the sweetest girl. Everyone adores you." Not Cassian. The silent rebuttal screams in my head. He doesn't adore me.

He adores Sierra. Sierra is his first love. It never mattered that she went through an awkward phase. It never mattered that she had a toxic, abrasive personality.

Cassian fell for her blindly. Recklessly. When she moved abroad, he shattered. I watched him drink himself into a blackout, night after agonizing night. My phone buzzes.

The group chat is already blowing up. "The nerve of that bitch coming back.

We still haven't settled the score from when she framed you for cheating and got you kicked off the Science Olympiad team!" "Classic pickme behavior.

She barely lands on the tarmac and already has Cassian trailing after her like a lost puppy." "Maeve, listen to me. I don't care how rich or hot Cassian is.

The huge red flag that he actually LIKES Sierra means he doesn't deserve you!" The screen blurs with furious texts. A united front of pure venom directed at Sierra.

I toss my phone onto the rug. A thick leather photo album rests against my knee. Every single page revolves around the same three people. Me. Harrison. Cassian.

Three faces morphing from awkward kids to adults. Harrison always stood right in the middle. Cassian and I flanked him. The backdrops shift.

Harrison and I are always caught midlaugh. Cassian’s face remains a stoic, unreadable mask. Always. Yet I witnessed that iron control snap.

I watched him sob raw, broken tears into his scotch the night Sierra left. That jagged red mark on his neck today? Sierra probably bit him. The woman stepping on him in that thread?

Definitely Sierra. The realization twists like a blade between my ribs. The air thins out. A sharp, physical ache radiates through my chest.

Thirty minutes later, my doorbell blares. My girls storm into the apartment like a SWAT team. They take one look at me slumped on the carpet, radiating pure misery.

They haul me up by my arms. "Maeve, put on your hottest dress. We’re going out!" Chapter 3 Unfortunately, Julia, the new head chef at The Reserve, took the night off.

Word is someone recently offered a blank check to poach her as a private chef, and she turned it down flat. I down another halfglass of tequila. A sharp clap cuts through the room.

A parade of gorgeous guys files into the VIP booth, lining up in front of me with bright smiles. "Handpicked just for you!" my best friend shouts over the heavy bass. "Why hang yourself on one dead branch when you've got the whole damn forest right here?

We're partying right next door to Cassian's private dining room! Let him eat his heart out!" He doesn't care about me.

It wouldn't matter if I walked out with the entire lineup—he wouldn't feel an ounce of regret. Whatever. I narrow my eyes, a lazy smile curving my lips.

I drag my finger through the air and stop, pointing directly at the guy with the most radiant, goldenretriever energy. His name is Theo. He's still in college.

He drops onto the leather sofa beside me, absolute pure joy radiating from his pores. The exact opposite of Cassian. "Try this, Maeve.

It's amazing!" Theo's eyes sparkle, bright and eager like a puppy begging for a pat on the head. I smile and take a bite from his fork. A sudden, violent crash shatters the vibe.

Yelling erupts in the hallway. "Eleanor and Sierra are throwing down in the corridor!" I bolt into the hall.

Both women are a mess of smeared makeup and scratches, but Sierra clearly took the brunt of the hit. Eleanor wipes the back of her hand.

She rakes her eyes over Sierra with pure disgust. "That first slap was for breaking your promise and sneaking back into the country behind the family's back.

The second slap was for framing Maeve and getting her disqualified from the Science Olympiad." Sierra is the illegitimate daughter of Nathaniel, conceived when the old man was well into his seventies.

A sixteenyearold Sierra crashing Nathaniel's ninetieth birthday gala, falling to her knees to claim her bloodline—it was the scandal of the decade in our social circle.

Her Cinderella story lasted barely two years before Nathaniel passed away. Dorothy, the matriarch, immediately exiled Sierra to Europe. Technically speaking, she’s Eleanor's aunt.

And Eleanor is engaged to Harrison. A completely toxic, tangled mess. A stark, angry red handprint burns across Sierra's cheek.

She lets out a harsh, breathless scoff. "Where I live is my damn business. You don't own me." Her gaze cuts through the crowd and locks onto me.

Pity and raw jealousy flash in her eyes. "Maeve. Long time no see. Still playing the highandmighty princess, letting everyone else fight your battles.

Should I call you lucky, or just a really good actress?" My eyes drift down. Sierra is wearing stilettos.

A sharp, cynical smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "All these years and you haven't changed a bit.

Still so…" I let the sentence hang in the heavy air, deliberately leaving the insult unspoken. Her imagination fills in the blanks.

The blood drains from her face, leaving her a mottled, furious red. Next door, the heavy mahogany door remains hermetically sealed.

Has he heard the chaos tearing through the corridor? He still hasn't shown his face. A hollow ache throbs in my chest. I don't know whether to feel relieved or utterly crushed.

If he knew his precious first love was getting backed into a corner, he’d probably tear the place apart. I swallow the acid burning my throat.

I pivot on my heel, addressing my crew. "Let's not let irrelevancies ruin the vibe.

We're leaving." The exact second the words leave my mouth, a heavy, rhythmic footfall echoes from the far end of the corridor. Pure, commanding authority. I freeze.

The air evaporates from my lungs. His dark gaze sweeps the wreckage. It rakes over Sierra's bruised face. It locks onto Theo, who is dutifully holding my designer bag.

Finally, it snaps to me. A deep, dangerous V forms between his brows. "What the hell is going on here?" His voice is low and cold. Chapter 4 He looks ready to execute someone.

Even though we’re the same age, Cassian has been running his family’s empire since college. He built his own tech firm right after, hitting billionaire status before thirty.

He radiates an overwhelming authority. My friends talk a big game in the group chat, but facetoface? They practically shrink against the wallpaper.

Sierra hurriedly tucks her hair behind her ear, desperately trying to hide the angry red welt on her cheek.

Her eyes glisten. "Cassian, you're here." I know that sickeningly sweet, adoring look. It prickles like needles down my spine.

I can't breathe the same air as them for another second.

I grab Eleanor’s wrist. "We're leaving." My shoulder brushes Cassian’s tailored coat as I push past. "Where's Clayton?" his voice cuts through the tension.

Sierra hesitates. "Clayton had an emergency. He took off." As we round the corner, her bright, breathless voice chases after us. "Have you eaten yet?

Let's go—" Later, in the quiet confines of the car, Theo runs his hands over the leather dash of my Porsche.

At a red light, he turns to me, eyes wide. "Maeve, was that actually Cassian?" Cassian is a staple on the Forbes list. Ruthless in boardrooms, with a jawline that could slice glass.

I lean back in the driver's seat and murmur a quiet yes. "Holy shit! My roommate Wyatt practically worships the guy.

He’s obsessed with landing a job at his firm." Theo registers my deadeyed stare and quickly pivots. "When you walked away… his vibe shifted.

The way he looked at you was intense." Theo scratches his head, searching for the word. "He looked… pained." A harsh, bitter laugh scrapes up my throat.

Theo might be sober, but he’s utterly blind. Sierra was standing right there. Cassian wouldn’t waste a single brain cell on me. Pained? Try disgusted.

I just cornered his precious first love. He’s probably planning my funeral. I just didn't expect the executioner to show up this fast.

Theo, playing the overeager golden retriever, insists on walking me up to my floor. The elevator doors slide shut. Then, a heavy hand blocks the sensor. They glide open.

A large shadow steps inside, dragging the freezing night air with him. Cassian’s dark gaze drops to where Theo’s arm is wrapped securely around my waist.

The muscles in Cassian's jaw feather. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before stepping fully into the steel box. He turns his back to us. Indifferent. Aloof.

Beside me, Theo stiffens like he’s meeting a fourstar general. The enclosed space suddenly shrinks. The air turns suffocatingly thin. I drop my gaze and spot his hand.

His knuckles are white, gripping a sleek black takeout bag. It’s from The Reserve.

As if he has eyes in the back of his head, a low and cold voice vibrates through the steel walls. "Executive standup is at 9 AM sharp.

Are you planning to show up reeking of alcohol, Maeve?" Acid burns up my esophagus. A surge of unexplained anger ignites my bloodstream.

He rushed all the way back here just to punish me? He didn't even stay to finish dinner with his precious Sierra? And now he's flexing his CEO status to grind me down.

Liquid courage rips the filter right off my mouth. "It's none of your damn business what I drink!" I snap, my voice cracking with venom. "I'm handing in my resignation tomorrow anyway.

So don't worry about it, boss." I grab a completely paralyzed Theo by the jacket and drag him out of the elevator. I march to my apartment and slam the door shut behind us.

Cassian lives in the penthouse right across the hall. I paid a premium just to be his neighbor, desperate to bridge the gap between us. What a sick, pathetic joke.

The heavy door clicks shut. The adrenaline crashes. My stomach violently twists into a knot.

Theo opens his mouth to speak. "Maeve, are you—" I double over and throw up all over his shirt. Chapter 5 I stare deadeyed at the photo album on my lap. Pathetic.

I am absolutely pathetic. Letting a guy completely ruin me. Maybe I’ve just coasted through life, so the universe decided I needed to taste the bitterness of love.

But there are billions of men on this planet. Why am I suffocating over this one? I’m done. I am done waiting for Cassian to pick me. A weird, hollow relief washes over me.

I pull out my laptop. I open a blank document and start typing my resignation letter. Three sharp, frantic buzzes from the door cut through the silence. I yank it open.

A heavy hit of cedarwood body wash and damp heat floods the entryway. Cassian stands there. He’s wearing a plush, dark grey bathrobe. The lapels hang loose.

A single bead of water drips from the wet ends of his hair, tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

It slides down the column of his throat, slipping straight into the shadowed V of his exposed chest. My brain shortcircuits. Two seconds bleed by.

Then I slam my hand against the heavy wood, shoving the door shut. He catches it. A broad palm flattens against the frame. He forces his way inside.

His dark eyes sweep the living room, a rare, tightlycoiled awkwardness tightening his jaw. "My hair dryer shorted out," his voice is a low gravel. "Can I borrow yours?" I stretch my lips into a plastic, cynical smile. "No." His gaze drops.

It snags on the halfempty tequila bottle dangling from my grip. The muscle in his jaw feathers. "How much have you had?" I ignore him. I lift the bottle to my lips. He snaps.

His large hand clamps around my wrist like a vice. He rips the glass from my fingers. "You're drunk," he growls, barely leashing his temper. Heat flashes behind my eyes.

My vision blurs. I slam my fists violently against his solid chest. "Give it back!" My voice cracks. "You are nothing to me!

You don't get to dictate what I do!" My mind spun into total chaos. Then, suddenly, the air is punched out of me. He pulls me hard against his chest. The impact is jarring.

His strong arms lock around me, trapping me against him. He holds me tight enough to paralyze my thrashing, but his broad palm strokes down my spine. Slow. Rhythmic.

Like he's trying to soothe a feral, cornered animal. My ear is pressed directly over his heart. The beat is erratic. A frantic, heavy thudding against his ribcage. I freeze.

The alcohol makes my tongue heavy. "Why aren't you with her?" I slur, my throat tight. "Why are you here?" His hand stops moving. A deep frown lines his forehead. "Who is she?

Why the hell would I be with anyone else?" "Bullshit!" I spit, pure venom dripping from the word. "I hope you two are perfectly miserable together.

I hope she traps you with a dozen kids, and you—" The pad of his thumb swipes across my cheekbone, catching a stray, hot tear.

The calloused skin grazes my sensitive flesh. "And I what, Maeve?" he murmurs, his tone raw and helpless. The bathroom door clicks open.

A cloud of steam rolls into the hallway. "Maeve?" Theo’s shy, muffled voice echoes through the apartment. "Do you have any clothes I can borrow?" The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

My eyes snap open. I am plastered against Cassian’s chest. The violent thrashing earlier completely ruined the knot of his robe.

The thick fabric is pushed wide open, exposing hard, tanned muscle and a dusting of dark hair. I violently shove him backward.

My heart practically kicks its way out of my ribs. "Yyes! I do!" I stammer, my voice an octave too high. I can't even look at Cassian.

The suffocating weight of his stare burns into my profile. I flee into the bedroom. I dig through Harrison's old duffel bag and pull out an oversized tshirt.

When I step back into the living room, the oxygen is completely gone. Cassian sits squarely in the middle of my sofa. His robe is flawlessly retied. Impervious.

But the dark, dangerous energy rolling off him is suffocating. Theo steps out, tugging the hem of the shirt. I suck in a sharp breath.

I look Cassian dead in the eye. "Leave." Cassian doesn't even blink. He completely ignores me. His sharp gaze locks onto Theo.

Theo stands rigidly straight, looking like a deer caught in highbeams.

Cassian is seated, yet the sheer, oppressive authority radiating off him makes Theo look ready to drop to his knees. "Sir," Theo stammers, letting out a dry, nervous laugh. "We met in the elevator earlier…" Cassian barely tilts his head.

He drags a glacial, indifferent look over the college kid. Cassian shares a fatal flaw with Harrison and the rest of the elite trustfund circle. Deepseated arrogance.

If you aren't in their tax bracket, you don't even register as human. They don't bother faking basic politeness. Usually, Cassian buries it under a slick, professional veneer.

But right now, staring down a terrified, halfdressed college kid in my apartment? He isn't even trying to hide it.

Chapter 6 "Still in college?" "Yeah, junior at Columbia," Theo scrambles to answer. Cassian loses interest instantly. "Too young. It's late. She needs to rest." I want Cassian out.

Cassian wants Theo out. Even goldenretriever Theo picks up on the intense hostility. "Since when does a boss dictate his employee's personal life?" he mutters under his breath.

Cassian shoots to his feet. An intense pressure floods the room. He towers over the college kid by a good four inches.

He tilts his head, eyes dropping to a dead, intense stare. "I'm not just her boss." A heavy beat of silence stretches out. "I'm her… family." The word drops like an anvil. Family.

Somewhere deep in my chest, the last fractured splinter of hope snaps. The hangover the next morning is brutal.

I march straight into the executive suite and slam my resignation letter onto Cassian's mahogany desk. He lifts his head from a mountain of legal briefings.

Dark, bruised shadows smudge the skin under his eyes. I kicked him out. I bruised his godcomplex. He probably spent the entire night tearing his penthouse apart.

A twisted, venomous spike of satisfaction punches through my ribs. He's actually losing sleep over me. But the entire day bleeds away into silence. Not a single word.

By five o'clock, my patience completely snaps.

I shove his office door open. "If your eyesight is failing, boss, I can print a dozen more copies of my resignation." I reach for the paper. A heavy hand clamps down over mine.

He pins my fingers flat against the document. The heat of his palm sears through my skin. I jerk my arm, trying to rip free.

His grip turns to steel. "Maeve," he growls, stripping away the professional distance. "You want to leave this badly?" "Yes." I tilt my chin, locking onto his dark, furious eyes. "Give me a reason." "I don't need one." I rip my gaze away.

A hard V forms between his brows. He looks genuinely lost. "Was 'she' Sierra?" "Yes. And no." I swallow the acid in my throat. "You know exactly what this is.

I know exactly what this is. I'm not doing this. Just sign the damn paper." "I don't know." His fingers dig tighter into my skin.

He's searching my face, desperate to crack the code. "Look at me, Maeve. Is this about last night?

Because I kicked your little college boy out?" "This has nothing to do with Theo." The oxygen bleeds from the room. "Cassian, even when I'm gone… you're still like family to me.

We grew up together. I'll always respect you exactly the same way I respect Harrison." A subtle flash of pain and struggle crosses his eyes. The muscle in his jaw jumps.

Seconds bleed into agonizing silence. Slowly, his fingers go slack. He drops my hand.

The cold CEO mask snaps back into place. "Corporate policy mandates a standard two weeks' notice." His voice is dead, scraped hollow. "You'll stay and train the new hire." I nod once.

My chest tightens. As I pivot toward the door, my eyes catch on a sleek brown takeout bag from The Reserve. It's sitting squarely in the middle of his desk.

The same exact bag from yesterday. What the hell is inside that thing? He guards it like a loaded weapon, dragging it everywhere he goes. Stella is sharp.

The new hire catches on instantly. After shadowing me for barely three days, she has Cassian's ruthless demands and intense schedule perfectly mapped out. Until Tuesday.

We're grabbing salads in the breakroom when her phone screen lights up. It's a candid shot of Cassian delivering a keynote at a university. He’s standing right in the spotlight.

Razorsharp. Godlike. Pure, unapproachable arrogance. Stella flinches.

Panic floods her eyes as she frantically hits the power button, killing the screen. "Maeve… I just really look up to him.

He guestlectured at my campus last year and I was one of the student ambassadors hosting him." Her voice shakes. "I'll delete it right now!

Please, just don't tell him." Chapter 7 A complicated knot twists in my chest. Women throwing themselves at Cassian? It’s a tale as old as time.

I've watched it happen since we were kids. Besides, I literally took this secretary job harboring my own obsessive, hidden agenda. I have zero right to judge Stella.

I drop my gaze. "Your personal life is your business. Just keep it out of the office." Stella exhales a deep breath, nodding frantically. "Thank you, Maeve!

I swear it won't affect my work!" The words barely leave her mouth. An overwhelming, commanding presence drops into the empty chair beside me.

A lunch tray clatters against the table. Cassian. The noisy corporate dining room quiets down a bit.

Stella stammers a terrified greeting and practically buries her face in her salad bowl. I keep my eyes glued to my plate. I aggressively stab a cherry tomato.

Cassian never eats down here. He eats Michelinstarred catering in his penthouse suite. But lately? Every single time I step into this cafeteria, he miraculously appears.

He fires off a few sharp directives to Stella. Then, his dark gaze shifts.

It locks onto the pile of greens I deliberately shoved to the edge of my bowl. "Barely touching your food again?" His low rumble carries a sickeningly familiar, overbearing edge.

Like he's scolding a bratty kid. I ice my tone. "You have a billiondollar merger on your desk, and you're micromanaging my dietary intake?

Even Harrison stopped policing my plate years ago." I mutter that last part under my breath. Cassian completely ignores the venom.

His voice stays utterly level. "Harrison doesn't care. I do." The words detonate like a bomb