Hidden Love For Nine Years

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I was the pampered secret Norman Lancaster held in the palm of his hand.

When his obsession with me was at its peak, even the most arrogant old-money socialites in Manhattan had to treat me with respect.

That was until one day, at twenty-eight years old, I was personally decorating a private table at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the Hudson River for our ninth anniversary.

My phone buzzed with a text from him.

"I am getting engaged today... I was worried you might find out and cause a scene."

"Be a good girl. I will come home later and explain."

The silver fork in my hand clattered against the plate. I froze, paralyzed.

It felt like the floor had opened up, swallowing me into an endless abyss.

Tears spilled over my lashes before I could even blink.

"Then all these years... what was I to you?"

I hit send. The chat screen remained dead, met with an agonizing, suffocating silence.

The dawn sky was a stifling, cinematic gray, making the faint flush of warmth in the bedroom feel even more intense.

I had just rolled over.

My gaze collided straight into the dark, bottomless eyes of the man beside me.

They were heavy with sleep.

He had just woken up.

"You are up early," I whispered.

The arm wrapped around my waist suddenly tightened, locking me against his hard chest.

"Dom, stop..."

"Mhm."

He let out a low, gravelly hum that vibrated against my skin.

His hands, however, did not stop.

Warm fingers, heavy with familiar desire, smoothly slipped the strap of my silk nightgown down my shoulder, tracing lower.

Before I could even push him away, his powerful, overwhelming body pressed over mine.

...

Two hours later.

I dozed lightly against his chest until the bright morning sun pierced through the curtains, waking me up.

His hands were still brazenly wandering over my curves. His voice was lazy, completely satisfied.

"What is it? Cannot sleep?"

I shifted my aching hips and playfully punched his shoulder.

Pulling the heavy duvet over my flushed face, I mumbled my complaint.

"It is all your fault..."

He had been utterly insatiable last night, taking me again and again until I was entirely exhausted.

And the second he opened his eyes this morning, he was all over me again.

It always gave me this pathetic, delusional hope that he loved me down to the marrow of his bones.

Because of that, the tiny, suppressed hope in my heart started sprouting like weeds after the rain. I just could not keep it buried.

I crawled up, resting my chin on his chest. My index finger traced slow, teasing circles over his smooth skin, careful and deliberate.

"Norman... do you know what day it is today?"

The pale, elegant fingers holding his cigarette paused. It was as if he had hit an invisible wall. His hand froze in mid-air.

His thin lips parted slightly. "No. Why? Is something going on?"

Plumes of white smoke drifted upward in lonely, perfect rings.

The haze blurred his sharp, devastatingly handsome features, but it could not hide the sudden, icy shift in his demeanor.

I shivered, my heart dropping to my stomach.

I understood instantly. He had forgotten what today was. Again.

A heavy weight dragged my chest down.

For the past nine years, today had been our anniversary. Yet, he never actively remembered it.

It felt deliberate. Like he was erasing it on purpose.

He would go all out for Valentine's Day, Christmas, or my birthday, showering me in diamonds and attention. But never today.

It made me feel so incredibly cherished, yet utterly worthless all at once.

...

The silence in the bedroom grew deafening.

"Are you mad?"

Seeing my silence, he leaned over and pinched my chin, tilting my face up.

I snapped out of my daze.

His expression had returned to normal. He stared down at me, letting out a low chuckle.

"Let me guess what holiday you invented this time. A rose festival? A Cartier jewelry day?"

That lethal, sexy mouth curved upward. "I will have Assistant Wyatt handle it for you."

"But," he added, his tone dripping with lazy finality, "I really do have plans tonight."

He said it so casually, but there was an underlying, absolute authority in his voice that dared me to argue.

A massive wave of grievance hit me.

My eyes quickly filled with hot tears.

If it were any other day, I would have swallowed my pride and compromised like a good girl.

But not today. Today, I wanted to be selfish.

I forced my voice to stay steady, completely ignoring his warning as I blurted out the truth.

"What could possibly be so important that you cannot cancel it? I do not care. You have to have dinner with me tonight."

The relaxed lines between Norman's brows snapped together. He eyed me, his aura turning freezing cold, but he maintained a sliver of patience. "I cannot cancel it."

My chest physically ached. I raised my voice, fueled by pure hurt. "Norman, are you doing this on purpose? I said, you are having dinner with me."

"..."

When his sharp, perfectly sculpted brows furrowed deeply, a distinct look of offense crossed his face. Like a peasant had just insulted a king.

It was a look I had never seen directed at me.

His glacial eyes swept over me without an ounce of affection before looking away.

He coldly put out his cigarette, stood up, and fastened his luxury watch around his wrist.

"We will talk later."

He grabbed his crisp dress shirt and put it on.

It was not until he was fully dressed and standing by the bedroom door that he finally looked back at me.

His voice was laced with pure frost.

"Madeline, you are crossing a line with this tantrum. It is not a good look on you."

Panic instantly seized my throat.

I called out desperately, "Dom..."

But the only answer I got was the sound of the heavy bedroom door slamming shut.

The lock clicked, trapping my voice inside this massive, empty room.

Norman said this was not like me.

But did he know that this was not like him either?

When I first met him nine years ago, the image burned into my brain was of a man entirely composed, brutally disciplined, and untouchable.

It seemed like nothing in the world could ever make him lose his temper.

At least, that was how he had always been with me.

I still remember our very first encounter.

It was my college graduation.

As the valedictorian, I was supposed to receive my diploma and an award from him, our university's most prestigious billionaire donor.

When our hands met, the hand offering me the certificate paused. His voice, crisp and cool like a rushing stream, echoed through the microphone. "Excellent work. What is your next goal?"

In that exact moment, I looked up and got lost in his eyes.

I completely froze.

How could I even describe those eyes?

They were obsidian, mysterious, like a massive black hole threatening to swallow me whole.

I could hear my own heartbeat going absolutely chaotic in my ears.

"I, I..." In my panic, my fingers crushed the edge of my graduation gown. The words tumbled out of my mouth. "I want to be yours..."

"..."

The entire auditorium went dead silent.

A second later, a massive wave of laughter erupted from the crowd.

I stood there, paralyzed, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me.

My face drained of all color. I waved my hands frantically, desperate to fix it. "No, no, no! I meant... I want to be someone like you..."

Despite my absolute humiliation, the man standing before me remained perfectly composed. There was not a single ripple of shock in his eyes.

Those dark, narrow eyes gleamed slightly under the stage lights. His thin lips curved into a smile gentler than a spring breeze.

"A very creative opening statement. Miss Madeline truly earns her title as valedictorian. The rest of you should take notes."

He chuckled softly. "I will remember you."

"Keep up the good work," he said smoothly.

Norman did not get offended. Instead, in front of thousands of people, he handed me a graceful way out, rescuing my fragile, shattered pride.

His grace left me absolutely deeply shaken.

That day felt like I had been cleansed by a sudden, beautiful rainstorm.

I also knew, deep down, that he was a shore I could never reach, no matter how hard I swam.

After graduation, I found a decent corporate job in Boston. I mapped out a practical life, aiming for a modest, successful future that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

But just as my life was getting on track, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cervical cancer.

In just three months, we drained every single penny we owned, but we still could not save her.

My father broke under the grief. He turned to alcohol, cigarettes, and eventually, underground gambling. He mortgaged our house and took out massive loans from loan sharks.

He destroyed whatever was left of our family.

The next time I saw Norman, I was taking a shot of cheap tequila for a girl named Penny.

She was there to party. I was there as a bottle girl, desperate for cash.

Inside a loud, chaotic VIP booth, a sweaty, drunk man was dragging her by the wrist, trying to force liquor down her throat.

"I bought this, so you are going to drink it."

"I will not!" Penny thrashed wildly. "Let go of me! My uncle is Norman Lancaster! If you touch me, he will destroy you!"

That specific name made my hand freeze over the ice bucket.

The next second, right as the man was about to pour the liquor into her mouth, I reached out and snatched the glass.

"I will take this drink for her."

The man looked up, annoyed. His gaze landed on my face, tracing my pale skin, my features, and my long legs in the uniform skirt.

I knew exactly what my assets were.

His eyes lit up with disgusting hunger. "Alright, sweetheart. You drink it. Drink this, spend the night with me, and I will let the little brat go."

...

I lost count of how many glasses they shoved down my throat.

Suddenly, a glass bottle shattered against the fat man's head with a sickening crunch.

When I forced my heavy eyelids open, the disgusting man was already cowering on the floor. Standing over him was a tall, imposing figure.

Through my blurred, spinning vision, I only saw a man in a flawless tailored suit. His aura was entirely lethal yet aristocratic.

His hand, adorned with a million-dollar watch, grasped my arm with strict professional boundaries, pulling me up.

"Are you alright?"

My tongue felt numb. "I... I..."

I just gave up and shook my head.

I was practically dragged out of the club.

The wind outside was brutal.

The cold air mixing with the alcohol made the world spin violently.

I collapsed onto the soft mattress of a luxury hotel room without ever seeing the man's face clearly.

But my intuition screamed at me. I knew it was Norman Lancaster.

When I woke up the next morning, the suite was empty.

But on the nightstand, there was a crisp piece of hotel stationery.

"I remember you. Thank you for what you did last night. Here is my personal number. Keep it just in case."

The elegant handwriting perfectly matched his breathtaking profile.

His face instantly flashed in my mind.

My heart hammered against my ribs like an earthquake.

After that night, I kept my job at the club, constantly scanning the crowds, hoping Norman would walk through the doors again.

But my luck was terrible. I did not find the man I was waiting for. Instead, I ran straight into the drunk man from that night.

I learned his name was Director Marcus. He was a sleazy film director who had a few hit movies years ago and now used his fading influence to exploit desperate young actresses.

Penny, wanting to break into Hollywood without her family's help, had been tricked into coming to his booth.

I was holding a tray of drinks when I locked eyes with him. The stench of stale alcohol hit my nose immediately.

"You." He ground his teeth, his eyes turning vicious.

"You actually have the nerve to show your face around me?"

His sweaty, greasy hands shot out, wrapping around my throat like a vice. He leaned in, panting heavily.

"I am going to end you tonight, you little bitch."

My face drained of blood. I thrashed wildly, trying to break free.

The other men in the VIP room immediately understood the assignment. They stood up and walked out, clearing the room for him.

I screamed for help. "No! Let me go!"

But the heavy, soundproof door clicked shut right in front of my eyes.

My heart plummeted into absolute darkness.

He violently threw me onto the leather sofa. His hands ripped at my uniform shirt, tearing the fabric.

My hands scrambled blindly across the table, praying to find a glass bottle or a corkscrew. Anything.

Instead, my fingers brushed against the phone in my vest pocket. I pressed the emergency dial without looking.

BANG.

The heavy doors were kicked open.

Norman's massive frame stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights like a literal god.

That was the third time we met. Right in the middle of my ruined, miserable life.

I was exhausted, broken, and helpless.

He was the light cutting through the fog.

I found out later why my accidental emergency call got him there so fast.

He was already in the club that night for a meeting.

He had seen me when he walked in, but he had kept his distance.

Because of my own calculated move to set his private number as my emergency contact, I had miraculously saved my own life.

"Mr. Lancaster, thank you."

My throat was bruised. My voice came out cracked and hoarse.

Normans eyes swept over my torn clothes. With perfect gentlemanly grace, he shrugged off his expensive suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. He smiled faintly, polite and distant.

"Do not mention it, Miss Madeline. I owed you a favor anyway."

"Consider us even."

Just then, his assistant walked in, carrying a brand new dress.

I took it gratefully and went to the bathroom to change. When I stepped back out, I had regained whatever little dignity I had left.

"The dress is beautiful. It looks like I owe you a favor again, Mr. Lancaster."

"..."

As a way to repay him, or rather, using my gratitude as an excuse to cling to him.

For the next two weeks, I practically stalked him. I begged him to hire me as his personal secretary.

First, I genuinely wanted to pay him back.

Second, I had realized a brutal truth. In this world, the only way to survive and protect myself was to stand behind the most powerful man in the room.

Initially, Norman refused.

But by pure luck, his executive secretary of five years, Rachel, had to go on sudden maternity leave. Her absence threw his entire meticulous life into absolute chaos.

It was 11:00 PM. The icy winter wind slashed against my face, chilling me to the bone.

I stood right outside the glass doors of Lancaster Corp headquarters. I watched this pristine, flawless billionaire walk out of the lobby, heavily rubbing his temples in exhaustion.

His jaw was clenched tight, his expression masking deep frustration.

His right hand was pressed hard against his stomach, rubbing it as if he were in pain from skipping meals.

As his long strides carried him past me, I took a deep breath.

I told myself, This is it. It is time to let go.

But to my absolute shock, those expensive leather shoes stopped, turned around, and walked right back into my line of sight.

"It seems I really cannot function without a woman organizing my life."

The freezing wind messed up his perfectly styled hair.

His voice sounded like it was echoing from a deep, lonely cavern. Cold, detached, but yielding.

He said, "Want to give it a try?"

"..."

And just like that.

Our fourth encounter stopped time itself.

I never told him that night was my deadline. I had made a bet with myself. If he rejected me by midnight, I would disappear from his life forever.

Thank God.

I had taken ninety-nine steps toward him, and just as I was about to turn around, he took the final step toward me.

After becoming Norman's secretary, I became the busiest woman in New York.

I did not want him to think I was a burden, so I compressed months of training into weeks, learning every single detail of his personal and professional life.

My analytical brain, the one that made me valedictorian, allowed me to adapt instantly and navigate the corporate warzone with ease.

Norman was extremely satisfied with my performance.

Though he never praised me with words.

Instead, he doubled my base salary, gave me massive performance bonuses, and bought me a luxury condo in the center of Manhattan. It was a life I used to think was a fantasy.

Then came that night.

I was wearing a stunning, elegant off-the-shoulder gown, accompanying him to an exclusive high-society gala.

The old wolves of Wall Street kept coming over to toast him. As his secretary, I flawlessly stepped in, blocking the liquor and downing glass after glass with polite, charming smiles.

I drank too much, too fast. My head was spinning. I excused myself and stepped out onto the terrace to get some fresh air.

Suddenly, a warm, high-quality suit jacket was draped over my bare shoulders.

My heart fluttered. Thinking it was Norman, I turned around eagerly.

But the man standing there had a face I had never seen before.

He had striking features and radiated an easy, arrogant wealth.

I frowned immediately. "And you are?"