Fired by My One-Night Stand

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Six years ago, fueled by the thunderstorm and way too much cheap liquor, I pinned Roman down on his cramped twin bed and took his virginity.

He wept for as long as the rain battered the windows.

At four in the morning, my muscles aching, I snatched up my clothes like a fleeing criminal and bolted into the freezing downpour. By dawn, I had ruthlessly blocked him on every single social media platform and scrubbed his contact info from my phone.

Six years later, he walked into the office as my new CEO.

His first order of business? Firing my ass.

"He actually fired me. This is a straight-up vendetta," I vented to my best friend, Blair, gripping my coffee cup so hard my knuckles turned white.

"What exactly did you do to my brother to make him hate you this much?" she asked, leaning across the table.

"I did him." I rubbed my temples, the memory tasting like ash in my mouth.

"Look, we go way back. Whatever you did can't be that bad," Blair waved a hand dismissively. "Just sweet-talk him a little. He's a softie at heart."

Right. She missed the point.

Chapter 1

The first day after getting fired, I spent the day horizontal on my couch. My fianc, Spencer, found out from my mother. He barged into my apartment, shoving a ridiculously overpriced gift basket into my hands and demanding I go apologize.

"Tessa, you know my uncle pulled a lot of strings to get you that position," Spencer said, his tone dripping with condescension. "If you lose this job, it makes me look terrible to my family."

A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes.

My mother called right after. "He's a billionaire controlling the industry now," she lectured, her voice shrill through the speaker. "Do you realize that if you just swallow your pride and beg him, the crumbs falling through his fingers would be enough to secure our place in this tax bracket!"

Between Spencer's guilt-tripping and my mother's relentless pressure, the air in my apartment grew so thick I could barely breathe. If I didn't get this job back, I'd be the villain of their perfectly curated lives.

In the end, I caved.

I drove to Roman's estate. Blair opened the massive double doors.

The moment I stepped into the foyer, my gaze hit the abstract paintings lining the gallery walls. Blair had casually mentioned once they cost millions.

I subconsciously tightened my grip on the worn leather of my cheap knock-off tote bag. Staring at the sweeping architecture of this ultra-exclusive neighborhood estate, the massive class barrier separating us slapped me awake.

Blair, Roman, and I grew up together. Back then, they lived with their grandparents right next door to my childhood home, and their mom would stay over for chunks of the summer. We spent our childhoods tearing up the neighborhood. Blair and I stayed attached at the hip, constantly FaceTiming even after we split up for college.

Roman, however, despised me from day one. In high school, every time I tried going out with guys from school, he actively sabotaged the dates, which usually resulted in my parents grounding me for weeks.

Resentment festered inside me for years. After graduation, during our first winter break of freshman year, I finally snapped. I decided to teach him a lesson he would never forget.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interfered with your dates or scared those guys off," I still remember him confessing, his eyes rimmed red as tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Too late for apologies." Trapped in that tiny bedroom, he clutched his blanket and cried until dawn.

I swear on my life I only meant to scare him, to give him a taste of his own bullying. But somehow, the lines blurred. Shoving turned into kissing, tearing off clothes the situation violently spiraled out of my control.

I had to admit, he was the most drop-dead gorgeous guy I had ever laid eyes on. My brain short-circuited, and I crossed a line there was no coming back from.

Maybe I pushed him too far. The next time I came home for break, he was gone.

We didn't cross paths again until two days ago, at the corporate reception welcoming our new executive overlord. When he walked past me, my stomach dropped. I recognized him instantly, but his cold gaze swept right over me.

I thought I was in the clear.

Instead, his very first executive decision was to burn my career to the ground.

He really held a grudge.

Stepping further into the estate, his mother spotted the heavy gift basket dragging down my arm. Her perfectly manicured face softened. "Tessa, you're practically family. You didn't need to bring anything," she chided gently.

"It's been a while, Mrs. Adler. I just picked up some things for your parents," I mumbled, staring hard at the marble floor.

"That's so sweet. They're actually touring Europe right now, but I'll FaceTime them tonight. They'll be thrilled to know you visited. It's been ages."

She was right. Once his grandparents moved out of the old neighborhood, I lost touch with them.

"Where is your brother?" she asked Blair. "Go tell him Tessa is here. You kids grew up together, I'm sure you have so much to catch up on!"

She gestured for me to sit in the sprawling living room, but Blair cut in. "They already caught up. Roman was a total jerk and fired her."

The air in the room instantly flash-froze.

His mother looked from Blair to me, the pieces clicking together in her head. "That boy has zero manners," she sighed, shaking her head. "Blair, tell him to get down here right now. I'm having a word with him."

"Mrs. Adler, really, it was my fault," I interjected, heat rushing to my cheeks. "I messed up a data report, so"

The humiliation burned, but her immediate willingness to take my side only made the guilt twist sharper in my gut.

Chapter 2

Just then, a voice echoed from above. "If you know you're the problem, why are you even here?"

I jerked my head up. Roman descended the grand staircase, dressed in casual designer loungewear, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Watch your tone," his mother scolded.

My stomach churned. Begging for a job was the most degrading experience on earth.

"My empire doesn't need worthless trash." He reached the bottom step, stalking right past me without breaking stride. He tossed a sidelong, dismissive glance my way before dropping heavily onto the custom leather sofa.

"Roman, you're being a complete ass," Blair snapped, grabbing my arm to pull me closer. "She made one mistake on a data report. You don't fire Tessa over that. We practically grew up together!"

He slowly lifted his gaze to Blair, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "You spend your days maxing out credit cards on Birkins. What the hell do you know about running a business?"

Blair's face flushed crimson. She whirled toward her mother. "Mom, are you hearing this?"

"Both of you, enough," Mrs. Adler warned, shooting him a glare before reaching for my hand.

I stood frozen in the middle of a war zone I had detonated, my nails digging half-moons into my palms. The humiliation coated my throat like dust. I shouldn't have come. I'd rather scrub toilets or live out of a cardboard box than stand in this suffocating mansion for one more second.

"Mrs. Adler, I really just came to say hello. I just remembered I have an appointment. I need to go." I forced a plastic smile, desperately trying to scrape together the last shreds of my dignity.

"Take your trash with you. My grandparents don't eat cheap sweets," he ordered, his voice laced with ice.

The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind me. He had changed. He had morphed into someone I didn't recognize at all.

My luck was garbage. I went to beg for my job, got humiliated, and walked straight into a torrential downpour on the way back. I spent the next three days shivering under a mountain of blankets with a raging fever.

When I finally dragged myself back to the land of the living and checked my phone, I had dozens of missed calls. HR had left a cold, mechanical voicemail. Because of my data error, the company was facing a massive contract breach.

They weren't just withholding my severance; the legal department was slapping me with a lawsuit for a hundred thousand dollars in damages.

[People have made worse mistakes before, and they just got a slap on the wrist in a meeting. You walked right into the new CEO's line of fire,] a former coworker texted, offering useless pity.

The group chat was going off.

[The new boss seemed so charming and polite. I had no idea he was this ruthless. It's terrifying.]

[He smiles at everyone. When Sarah fainted last week, he personally gave her paid time off and had his assistant send a care package.]

[Right? His assistant spilled scalding coffee all over his custom suit, and he just laughed it off.]

[Why is he going out of his way to destroy you?]

I stared at the glowing screen, my fingers numb. The truth hit me like a physical blow. He wasn't a ruthless CEO.

He just hated me.

Losing my severance was one thing, but I didn't have a hundred grand sitting around. My direct deposit and every cent of my savings were tied up in a joint account with my fianc, Spencer. Under the guise of planning our future, he had taken full control over all my finances.

The second we got serious, he convinced me I was terrible with money and took the reins. Losing my job was bad enough; I dreaded facing him. If I told him I was getting sued, he would subject me to a soul-crushing lecture about my incompetence.

After tossing and turning all night, I swallowed the last of my pride and texted Blair for Roman's private number. I sent a connection request. He ignored it.

I had zero options left. I drove to his luxury high-rise condo downtown and planted myself right outside the underground garage entrance. After standing in the biting wind for hours, his sleek black Bentley finally rolled up to the gate. I stepped directly into the headlights, forcing the car to brake.

The tinted window of the Bentley slowly rolled down. I locked eyes on the interior and my breath hitched. A stunning, scantily-clad blonde supermodel was draped across his chest, glaring at me with territorial challenge.

So that was his type now.

Chapter 3

I averted my gaze, the heat creeping up my neck. "Step out of the car. We need to talk."

He didn't move a muscle. "Say it right here."

He wanted me to beg him to drop the lawsuit in front of his flavor of the week. He was deliberately humiliating me. My fingernails bit into my palms, and I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, refusing to speak.

The woman draped across him let out a razor-sharp laugh. "These low-class trash girls are so desperate nowadays. They'll throw away every ounce of self-respect just to climb the social ladder. How did security even let garbage like this past the gate?"

A wave of humiliation crashed over me, making my scalp prickle.

"Roman," I forced the words out. "I don't have the settlement money. Can you please talk to HR? Just based on our past."

"Oh?" He tilted his head back, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "What exactly is our past?"

My mind raced, hitting a brick wall. We didn't have a past. He despised me growing up.

If anything counted as "history," it was that one night of blurred lines and twisted sheets. But Blair had mentioned he burned through supermodels like cheap cigarettes now. A playboy.

That one night meant nothing to him. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat.

"You've been working for three years. Don't tell me you can't even scrape together a hundred grand?" His smile didn't reach his eyes. It was pure, unadulterated mockery.

Bile rose in the back of my throat. The wealth gap between us was a physical chasm. He went abroad to build an empire, pulling in millions, while I scraped by on minimum wage, not even allowed to touch my own paychecks.

Blocking him six years ago was the only smart thing I ever did. Reaching out to a billionaire CEO now was just begging to be crushed.

"My salary," I mumbled, the fight draining out of my body. "My fianc controls my bank accounts."

Roman's lazy gaze instantly froze over. He didn't even spare a glance at the woman leaning against him. His lips parted, dropping two frigid words into the silence: "Get out."

The supermodel stiffened, grabbing the door handle but hesitating, her eyes wide with shock.

"Out." This time, the freezing drop in his voice left no room for negotiation.

She didn't dare test him. She snatched her designer clutch and practically scrambled out of the car, stepping back onto the wet pavement on her stilettos.

Great. Now he was pissed. There was no way he was going to negotiate with me now. I turned on my heel to leave.

"Get in."

I froze, snapping my head back to stare at him in disbelief.

"Didn't you want to talk about our past?" he challenged, his eyes pinning me down.

My heart slammed against my ribs. A sudden, visceral spike of fear shot down my spine. But the crushing weight of that lawsuit pushed me forward. I slid into the leather seat and shut the heavy door.

The moment it clicked shut, the Bentley reversed and peeled out of the driveway. I had no idea where he was taking me. The heavy silence in the cabin was suffocating, thick with unspoken tension. I pressed my back hard against the leather, too terrified to breathe too loudly.

"Roman" I finally broke the silence, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm." He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, staring out the windshield. The lethal tension radiating from his body seemed to dial back a fraction.

"I know I messed up the data report. But other people have made similar mistakes, and they didn't get slapped with a massive lawsuit" I trailed off. His rigid jawline offered zero encouragement.

"Just because other people make the same mistake, does that erase the damage it causes?" he asked, his tone terrifyingly calm.

The words died in my throat.

"We grew up together. I even fought off the kids who bullied you back then. I know you left, and we lost touch, but you don't have to be so" My voice cracked.

The pathetic desperation in my own words made me sick to my stomach. I snapped my mouth shut. He didn't even blink, leaving me drowning in the humiliation of my own begging.

Minutes bled by. Out of nowhere, his voice cut through the darkness, raw and strangely hoarse. "Who exactly was the one who left?"

My brow furrowed. "What?"

He finally turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine for a long, unreadable second. He exhaled a sharp breath.

"The lawsuit amount can be reduced. Come back to work. I'm transferring your department."

My brain stalled. He was actually letting me off the hook? I wasn't in any position to negotiate terms. "Okay," I whispered, staring down at my lap.

"Your fianc," he suddenly asked, the question slicing through the quiet space. "Does he treat you well?"

The unexpected question hit me like a physical punch. My throat tightened, and for a terrifying second, my mind went blank. A heavy, complicated knot twisted in my chest, leaving me without a single word to say.

Chapter 4

Does he treat me well? He had a solid career portfolio, micromanaged every detail of my schedule, and my parents thought he walked on water.

"He's great. My parents love him," I said, forcing a light, breezy tone. The sudden interrogation made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"Are you marrying him?" The question sliced through the quiet car.

"We're finalizing the details now. I'll make sure to send you an invitation." Sensing the ice between us thawing a fraction, I took a calculated risk to bridge the gap.

"Get out." He didn't even acknowledge my olive branch. He dropped his head back against the leather headrest, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was completely drained.

My brow furrowed. I glanced out the tinted window, realizing the Bentley was already idling in front of my apartment building.

I pushed the heavy door open and stepped onto the curb. "Thank you for"

The Bentley's engine roared, the tires peeling out before I could even finish my sentence. Asshole.

I turned around and nearly crashed right into Spencer's chest.

"I just saw you climb out of a Bentley," he stated, his voice flat. He wore a smile, but my stomach instantly knotted up like a guilty teenager caught sneaking out.

"It's my CEO's car," I blurted out. Realizing how bad that sounded, I quickly backpedaled. "We know each other. Our families used to be neighbors growing up."

His smile faltered. Recovering, he reached out to grab my hand, but an involuntary flinch rippled through my shoulders, and I pulled back.

His jaw tightened. "You never mentioned him."

Guilt clawed at me. I forced myself to reach out and interlock my fingers with his.

"There was nothing to talk about. He's the executive who just parachuted in. He's the one who fired me."

Spencer froze, his grip on my hand slackening. "Did you cross him back then?"

"Not exactly he just never liked me, so" I watched his shoulders visibly drop in relief before his brow furrowed in calculation.

"So you went and begged for your job back?" he pressed.

"Yeah." The bitter taste of humiliation coated my tongue again.

"Did he agree?" a sudden spark of excitement lit up his eyes.

"Yeah."

He squeezed my fingers hard, exhaling a long breath. "Good girl. You did the smart thing. We all have to swallow our pride sometimes."

"Since you guys have history, you need to play nice and stroke his ego a bit. Men always respond well to a little flattery. Play your cards right, and you could easily leverage this into a massive promotion."

I stared at the gleam of satisfaction on his face, my stomach twisting. I couldn't tell if he was thrilled that I was connected to a billionaire or just banking on my potential paycheck bump. A suffocating weight pressed down on my chest.

Spencer didn't get it at all. I knew Roman. The man possessed exactly zero capacity for pity.

Spencer insisted on cooking dinner in my cramped apartment.

After we ate, I curled up on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. He slid in next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leaning in to press his mouth against mine.

He kissed me until he was out of breath, finally pulling back. "Tessa," he murmured, his voice rough. "I seriously can't wait for us to get married."

"Okay." The word slipped out, completely empty of any real emotion. "We can push the date up. Whatever you decide is fine."

"Work has been brutal lately, though," he backpedaled, his eyes avoiding mine. "Plus, the venue is already locked in, and changing the deposit would be a nightmare. Let's just stick to the winter timeline."

"Sure," I replied, barely registering his excuses.

He pressed one last lingering kiss to my neck before pulling away completely. He walked to the door, slipping on his shoes. "Make sure you lock the deadbolt and check the stove," he instructed, like a father talking to a child. "Call me if you need anything."

I nodded mechanically. He was meticulous. He was gentle. He micromanaged every detail so perfectly that being with him meant I didn't have to use a single brain cell to survive.

A bitter, mocking smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Why did it feel like a heavy weight lifted off my chest the second the door clicked shut behind him?

He was the definition of traditional. Sometimes I wondered if he would absolutely lose his mind if he ever found out he wasn't my first.

Outside, the sky broke open, and rain started lashing against the windows again. The noise from the TV blurred into static. My mind dragged me back to that night with Roman, completely against my will.

We were nineteen. He was technically younger than me by a few days.

"You seriously hate me, don't you?" I had pinned him against the wall, demanding an answer.

"I hate watching you throw yourself at every guy who looks your way," he shot back, his dark eyes burning into mine.

Chapter 5

"What, you think I'm a bad girl?" I pinned his weight down, my fists twisting into the collar of his shirt.

"Yeah" The word barely scraped past his lips. A dark, furious flush spread across his cheekbones and down his neck.

"Well, the bad girl is going to kiss you now. Does that scare you?" I wanted to break that untouchable, arrogant shell of his. I wanted to see him squirm.

The slight widening of his dark eyes gave him away. He was terrified.

So I leaned down and crashed my mouth against his. His skin was burning up, soft and smelling like expensive soap and cedar. A shockwave jolted down my spine, and I couldn't stop myself from pressing my lips to his jaw, then the corner of his mouth again. Is this what a first kiss was supposed to feel like?

When I finally pulled back, his eyes were bright red.

"Tessa" His voice was rough, trembling. "Get off me. I can't" A single tear slipped down his temple into his hair.

"Can't what?" My brow furrowed in confusion.

I backed him into the corner, his eyes blazing red as he gritted his teeth. "Tessa, do you know you're playing with fire?"

How we crossed the point of no return after that was out of my hands. It was gravity. It was hormones. It definitely wasn't my fault.

Hours later, staring at the ceiling with damp eyes, he asked, his voice raw, "What the hell does this mean to you?"

I looked down at him, my fingers brushing through his messy hair. "It means I taught you a lesson. Be a good boy from now on."

That ignited the powder keg. He shoved my hand away and pointed at the door, telling me to get the hell out.

So I grabbed my clothes and did exactly that.

I spent the next few days holed up in my room, letting the adrenaline crash. I typed out a dozen text messages trying to check on him, to do some kind of damage control.

But before I could hit send, Blair dropped a bomb. Roman was leaving the country. His flight was booked for the day after tomorrow.

"He transferred to a university in London. He's probably never coming back," Blair complained over the phone. "My parents already bought him a penthouse in Mayfair."

"He absolutely loves it over there. We have the same mother, so how is he building an empire while I'm just maxing out credit cards?"

The rest of Blair's complaining faded into static. My thumb hovered over the send button on our text thread for a solid ten minutes. Then, I backspaced the entire paragraph. On the day his flight took off, I sent him four words: "Have a safe flight."

Read. No reply.

The sting burned the back of my throat. I immediately blocked his number.

I didn't even know what to label that night. A chaotic, hormone-fueled glitch in the matrix. After that, any updates about him came strictly through Blair's rants.

I heard he cycled through supermodels like fast fashion. I heard he was top of his class. I heard he was ruthlessly taking over the financial district in London.

Eventually, I stopped listening. It had absolutely nothing to do with me. Thinking about it now made the air in my lungs feel uncomfortably heavy.

The next morning, HR emailed me to report back to the office.

They didn't just transfer me; they stripped my title. I plummeted from the Strategic Planning team to a glorified filing clerk in the depths of the Archives department. My new job description? Sorting massive stacks of paperwork, unjamming printers, fetching coffee, and basically doing janitorial work.

By Friday, my lower back was screaming in agony. Roman was ruthless. He wasn't bankrupting me anymore; he was going to physically work me into an early grave.

Drowning in unfamiliar file systems and mountains of backlog, I started arriving before dawn and leaving long after the cleaning crew. Because of my erratic hours, Spencer stopped dropping by my apartment altogether. My quality of life flatlined. I practically lived on stale takeout, chewing cold pizza over spreadsheets.

Trudging home in the pitch black after another brutal overtime shift, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Spencer flashed on the screen.

"Why did the automatic transfer to our joint account get blocked? You better not be moving assets behind my back."

A violent lump formed in my throat, threatening to cut off my air supply.

"I forgot," I typed back.

"What's going on?" he pressed.

A wave of suffocating exhaustion washed over me. I didn't have the energy to fight. I opened my banking app, authorized the transfer for every last dime I had left, and tossed my phone into my bag.

My phone buzzed again seconds later.

"Tessa, I already picked out the new house. Once we get married this winter, we can use our pooled money for the down payment. It'll be so much easier for me to take care of you then."

Staring at the glowing screen under the flickering streetlamp, my chest convulsed.

I couldn't tell if I was going to hyperventilate or scream.

"Whatever you decide," I replied. I refused to type another word.

My phone rang immediately. It was my mother.

"Why aren't you home yet? Is work really that demanding?"

"Just catching up on some overtime," I answered, my vocal cords straining to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Chapter 6

"Your health is what matters," my mom lectured through the phone. "Maybe I should talk to Roman's mother. Your old position wasn't this brutal. Why is he working you to the bone like this?"

"Mom" I rubbed my throbbing temples. "Don't do that."

She ignored me, launching into a tirade about how I needed to take care of my body so I could start popping out babies the second Spencer and I got married. A heavy sigh tore from my throat.

After hanging up, I collapsed onto the freezing concrete curb. I felt like a rat trapped in a pitch-black maze, suffocating under the crushing weight of a dead-end job and a marriage that felt more like a prison sentence. The walls were closing in, and there was no way out.

My vision blurred.

A hot tear slipped down my cheek, then another, until I was choking on silent sobs.

I didn't know how long I sat there shaking until the harsh blast of a car horn violently yanked me back to reality.

I jerked my head up. Through my blurred vision, the sleek, menacing silhouette of a black Bentley idled at the curb. Panic spiked in my chest. I frantically scrubbed the wetness from my face with the back of my sleeve.

The tinted window rolled down. "Just getting off work?" Roman's dark eyes raked over my disheveled state, making my skin prickle with hyper-awareness.

"Yeah." I forced a stiff, unnatural smile. "You just finished too?"

"Yeah." He didn't break eye contact. He tilted his head toward the passenger seat.

"Get in. I'll drop you off."

"No, thanks," I blurted, taking a step back. "I need to walk for a bit."

A sharp exhale escaped his lips. He shoved the driver's door open, stepping out into the chill night air to yank the passenger door wide open himself.

"It's late. You're not walking anywhere. Get in."

The absolute authority in his voice left no room for argument. Defeated, I slid onto the leather seat, keeping my gaze locked on my muddy sneakers.

"You hate the new position." It wasn't a question. He stared intently at my face, definitely clocking my bloodshot eyes. His tone was icy, but the lethal edge from the other day was gone.

I clamped my jaw shut. He was playing games. Nobody throws a party after getting brutally demoted to the basement.

I wasn't an idiot. A toddler could tell you the difference between a real salary and minimum wage.

"You think it's too much grunt work? Too repetitive?" he pressed, his words slicing through the silence like a scalpel. "Compared to sitting in Strategic Planning, where everyone whispered that you were just a useless nepotism hire with zero actual skills? Which reality do you prefer?"

The breath slammed out of my lungs. I felt like a drowning animal, unable to gasp for air, because every brutal word he said was the truth.

I ducked my head, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip so hard I tasted copper. I refused to break down in front of him again. Dragging in a jagged breath, I finally looked at him. "Is that what you think of me, too?"

The muscles in his jaw flexed. When he spoke again, the ice had completely thawed. "There's nothing wrong with being a pretty face, if you can stomach the disrespect."

He shifted his gaze to the dashboard. "Start over. When I was studying in London, I spent three years doing nothing but organizing raw data and filing paperwork for my mentor. Those were the most valuable three years of my life."

My heart skipped an erratic beat. It was like a thick, suffocating fog had suddenly been violently ripped away from my brain.

He glanced sideways at me, a heavy sigh pushing past his lips. Reaching into the center console, he pulled out a small, foil-wrapped candy. "Want one?"

I hesitated before taking it from his palm. My fingers brushed his, sending a static shock up my arm. I looked down. It was a mint.

A jolt of surprise hit me. He absolutely loathed the smell of mint growing up.

Then again, six years was a lifetime. People changed.

As we approached my apartment complex, I pointed to the corner a block away. "Drop me off here." Getting caught climbing out of a billionaire's Bentley was a death sentence for my reputation.

He killed the engine, his dark brows pulling together as he stared down the dimly lit, sketchy street leading to my building. "You're okay walking that alone?"

I followed his gaze. The streetlights were completely busted, leaving the alley coated in thick, heavy shadows. I used to be terrified of the dark. "I'm used to it."

I flashed him a tight smile, grabbing my bag. "Thanks for the ride."

"Your fianc doesn't pick you up?" he demanded, a sudden, dark edge sharpening his voice.

"Oh we don't live together," I stammered. The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to bite my tongue off. Why the hell was I oversharing my domestic arrangements with him?

He froze. The rigid tension locking his shoulders evaporated, the hard lines of his face smoothing out.

"Bye," I muttered, giving a stiff wave before turning on my heel. He didn't reply.

But the Bentley didn't pull away. The blinding high beams stayed on, slicing through the darkness and illuminating the broken pavement the entire way to my security gate. The engine only roared to life after I was safely inside. A strange, unfamiliar flutter sparked in my chest, but I ruthlessly squashed it down.

I unlocked my front door, totally drained.

The moment the deadbolt clicked, panic seized my throat.

The living room lights were blazing.

I froze in the doorway. Spencer was standing in the middle of my apartment, rolling up his sleeves, a rag in his hand.

"What what are you doing here?" I choked out, my eyes darting to the wall clock. It was already ten o'clock at night.

Chapter 7

He usually left hours ago.

"Your mother mentioned you've been working insane overtime. I decided to move in to take care of you," he flashed an easy, unbothered smile.

He said it so casually, but a cold chill shot straight down my spine. My gaze darted around the living room. Boxes and suitcases that didn't belong to me were piled in the corner. My scalp prickled with alarm.

"Why didn't you discuss this with me first?"

"I'm your fianc. It's only natural that I move in and take charge of your life," he stated, his tone brooking no argument. "You need a man to make the hard decisions for you, instead of making a total mess of everything."

He paused, a condescending smirk on his lips. "What, is the surprise too much for you?"

I stood paralyzed. It wasn't a surprise; it was a home invasion.

A heavy, suffocating weight settled on my chest. I pushed past him and walked into my bedroom. His clothes were already hanging in my closet. My vanity table had been cleared off and reorganized to his liking.

I couldn't even find my own things. A violent pressure started building behind my ribs.

I bit my tongue hard, trying to swallow the panic. He thinks he's helping, I forced myself to rationalize. I grabbed a change of clothes and locked myself in the bathroom to shower. That's when I realized my period had started, and my tampons were completely gone from their usual drawer.

"Spencer, did you move my things?" I cracked the door open, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, your setup was a complete disaster," his voice drifted casually from the living room. "Now that we're living together, I'll organize exactly where everything needs to go."

"I have my own system" My fingers white-knuckled the doorframe. "You moved everything. I can't find what I need."

"Then just ask me. I'll find it for you."

I slammed the bathroom door shut. I showered in a furious daze, threw my clothes on, and marched back into the living room. The time for biting my tongue was over.

"Spencer, from now on, do not make major decisions about my life without asking me first."

He stopped wiping the counter and looked at me, a patronizing smile spreading across his face. "Are you really upset that I moved in? Your mother and I both agreed this was the best move. We're just doing what's best for you."

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. Something inside me snapped. "If you're going to plan my entire existence with my mother without giving a damn about my opinion, why don't you just marry her instead?"

He froze, the rag slipping from his hand. "Tessa, what is wrong with you tonight? You've never acted like this before."

A harsh, bitter laugh scraped against my throat. I've never acted like this?

"Did anyone ever actually care how I acted?" I fired back. "You and my mother constantly use 'what's best for you' as an excuse to dictate my entire life! I'm just supposed to shut up and fall in line because you're both supposedly so much older and wiser!"

"Tessa." He stepped forward, reaching out to grab my wrist. "We're getting married. It's your job to listen to me."

The suffocation of this relationship finally crystallized in my brain. From day one, this was nothing but a calculated march toward the altar. Every single choice was weighed against the marriage agenda. They factored in the finances, the stability, the optics.

The only thing they completely ignored was me.

"Then let's just cancel the damn wedding." I violently jerked my arm out of his grip.

I was done.

This suffocating control made my stomach violently churn. Staring at the man trying to cage me in the name of love, my mind completely derailed. Against my will, an image flashed behind my eyesRoman, sitting in the darkness of the Bentley, his gaze locked on me with freezing, absolute dominance.

"You're being completely irrational." His face darkened instantly, replacing the gentle mask with pure, harsh authority. "Don't tell me you're thinking about breaking up. Our families have officially met."

"The venue deposit is locked in. Every single one of our friends and relatives has the save-the-date. You can't just"

He was weaponizing the social pressure against me again. A bone-deep exhaustion crashed over me.

"We need a break. I need you to leave."

I refused to argue in circles anymore. I turned my back on him, walked straight into my bedroom, and slammed the deadbolt into place.

Collapsing onto the mattress, I stared at the ceiling, desperately trying to figure out how I ended up backed into this inescapable corner. He was right. Every time I felt suffocated, every time I gathered the courage to end things, he expertly slammed me with the brutal reality of the situation.

Blowing up an engagement that had already been paraded in front of our parents and our entire social circle came with a massive, catastrophic price tag. I couldn't even fathom the fallout. Destroying a perfectly "stable" marriage right before the finish line? They would crucify me.

They'd label me an idiot. A spoiled, unstable brat

I remembered the girl I used to befearless, doing exactly what she wanted without hesitation. But after getting violently ground down by corporate America and this toxic relationship, I didn't even recognize the stranger staring back at me in the mirror anymore.

Chapter 8

Early the next morning, Spencer packed his bags and walked out.

After tossing and turning all night, a sliver of guilt crept into my chest. I sent him a quick text. No reply. We were officially in a cold war.

I adjusted my mindset and buried myself in work. I shadowed the veteran archive clerks, dodging a minefield of corporate traps. I learned to flat-out refuse when other departments tried to treat me like a barista, and surprisingly, my productivity skyrocketed.

Working late, I bumped into Roman a few times near the executive elevators, but I never set foot in his Bentley again. I refused to fuel the office gossip. The rumor mill was already spinning out of controlword on the floor was that he had filled my old Strategic Planning spot with a brand-new female hire. The consensus?

She was his latest supermodel flavor of the week. That gave me exactly zero reasons to get anywhere near him.

But then my manager went on vacation and ordered me to hand-deliver a massive data report directly to Roman's penthouse suite. I had to bite the bullet. Waiting for his signature was actual torture. I stood in his massive office from eight o'clock until nine, my feet aching in my heels, before he finally flipped to the last page.

"In a rush to leave?" He didn't even look up from the file, but he somehow caught me checking my phone screen.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "No. Take your time."

The second the words left my mouth, my stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl. Absolute humiliation. His pen froze. He closed the folder and lifted his dark eyes to mine.

"You skipped dinner?"

"I haven't eaten," I admitted. I had been grinding on this report all day without a single break. "But I'm not hungry."

"Let's go." He tossed the file onto his desk and grabbed his custom suit jacket.

"Wait, the report" My manager had threatened me with termination if I didn't get his signature tonight. Roman was flying to Europe for a summit tomorrow morning.

"I'll review it when I get back. My assistant will bring it down to the basement tomorrow."

"Fine." I couldn't exactly argue with the CEO. I trailed behind him toward the private executive elevator.

The chrome doors slid shut, sealing us inside the confined space. My pulse kicked into a frantic rhythm against my throat as I racked my brain for an excuse to ditch him before this turned into a dinner date.

"Terrified of me?" his deep voice vibrated through the quiet cab.

"No."

"Then why are you pressed against the wall?" he challenged, a dark gleam in his eyes.

I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat and forced my legs to close a fraction of the distance between us.

He didn't let me retreat. He took a predatory step forward, his massive frame instantly eating up the remaining oxygen in the cab and trapping me flush against the cold metal corner. He stared down at me, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

"You weren't keeping this much distance in my bed six years ago. What? You know how to be scared now?"

My brain completely short-circuited. A violent rush of heat scorched my neck, leaving me entirely speechless. I desperately scrambled for a deflection.

"No, I just I have food at home. Eating out is a waste of money," I stammered with a painful, awkward laugh.

"Oh?" His gaze dropped to my mouth. "Are you inviting me to your place?"

"No. It's not convenient," I shot back instantly.

"Is your fianc home?" he asked, his tone completely flat.

I froze. "No."

"Then what exactly is inconvenient about it?" The smirk returned to his face.

I clamped my jaw shut. Six years ago, he was the one blushing and terrified. I never expected the day would come when he'd be the one ruthlessly mocking my panic.

"Or" He leaned in a fraction closer, his dark, heavy gaze pinning me against the steel panel. "Do you actually think, after all this time, I'd still be interested in you?"

"I'm way out of your tax bracket, sir." A sharp, pathetic sting flared in my chest. "I only have frozen dumplings. If you're willing to lower your standards."

He stared at me for a long, heavy beat. He didn't snap back. Instead, a rough sigh escaped his chest as the elevator dinged open at the parking garage.

He unlocked the Bentley. "Let's go."

I had no choice but to follow him.

The drive to my apartment was thick with an unsettling tension. I couldn't wrap my head around why a billionaire executive was slumming it for frozen food in my tiny kitchen. My mind kept looping back to his brutal reminderhe wasn't interested. A dull weight settled in my stomach, but surprisingly, it didn't crush me.

It felt like walking past an expensive diamond necklace in a storefront window. You knew years ago you could never afford it, and years later, your bank account still looks the same. Once you finally accept reality, you stop wasting energy wishing for it.

Chapter 9

He drove in silence. Every so often, my gaze would drift, catching the sharp, unforgiving lines of his profile illuminated by the passing streetlights.

Six years ago, right after his flight took off, I couldn't stop myself from pacing around the wrought-iron gates of his grandparents' old estate. I was too damn proud to ask anyone for updates, so I just swallowed the suffocating weight in my chest, letting the days bleed into one another.

Sometimes, my brain would play stupid tricks on me. I'd wonder if, beneath all that aggressive, untouchable hostility, he actually felt something for me.

After all, that night his voice was broken, completely raw as he choked back tears against my ear. "Tessa, isn't this going to hurt you?" he had whispered, his touch so incredibly gentle.

The second I breathed a 'yes,' the tears spilled faster.

"Then we need to stop."

"Are you even a man?" The absolute mortification of that moment still made my skin crawl.

"I am. But I want to be one when the time is right" The second those words left his mouth, reality slapped me awake. He didn't like me.

He just didn't want to be my man.

But in the end, we still crossed that line.

I was a total coward. That's why I bolted into the rain and never had the guts to face him again.

"Are you done staring?" The freezing, sarcastic drawl violently yanked me back to the present.

I blinked, realizing the Bentley was already parked. Roman was slouched in the driver's seat, resting his arm on the steering wheel, watching me with a dangerous amount of amusement.

"We're here?" I fumbled blindly for the seatbelt release.

Without warning, he unbuckled his own belt and leaned entirely across the console. He stopped a fraction of an inch from my face. My lungs seized. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, and every muscle in my body paralyzed under the crushing weight of his proximity.

I braced myself, fully expecting his mouth to crash against mine.

Instead, he reached past my shoulder, popped open the glovebox, and pulled out a tissue. He tossed it into my lap. "Wipe your mouth. You're drooling."

He popped his door open and stepped out into the night without a backward glance.

I sat frozen in the passenger seat, my fingers crushing the tissue. The humiliation burned so intensely I wanted the leather seat to swallow me whole.

By the time I scraped my shattered dignity together and climbed out, he was standing completely still in front of the lobby elevator.

"It reeks in there." He pointed a long finger at a suspicious puddle staining the elevator floor.

My nose wrinkled. One of the neighbors had a really old golden retriever that couldn't hold its bladder anymore.

"We can take the stairs," I offered, bracing myself for the complaint. "I'm only on the fifth floor. It's not a bad climb."

"I'm exhausted." Absolute disgust rolled off his frame.

"Then what do you want me to do? I can't exactly carry you up," I shot back, totally exasperated.

I always knew Roman was a complete germaphobe with insanely high standards