Chapter One: Her Eyes Were Always on Me
I handed her the file without looking up.
But I could feel her eyes on me—again.
Madeline Crane.
CEO. Goddess in heels.
And the woman who'd made my life hellishly complicated just by existing.
She took the folder from my hand. Our fingers didn't touch—they never did—but every time I passed something to her, my pulse betrayed me. Like my body didn't get the memo that she was my boss and completely off-limits.
"Thank you, Nathan," she said, voice smooth like velvet over ice.
I nodded, still not meeting her gaze.
I couldn't.
If I did, I'd stare too long again.
Her office smelled like power and vanilla. She always sat perfectly straight—legs crossed, red nails gliding over her screen like she was conducting a symphony. Every inch of her was calculated perfection. Sharp cheekbones. Dark eyes that looked straight through people. And lips that curved in amusement every time I got flustered.
I'd spent a year learning to act like she didn't affect me.
Still hadn't succeeded.
Then the door opened.
"Knock knock!" came a voice that didn't believe in knocking.
I already knew who it was. One of the friends.
They always dropped in unannounced, all silk and perfume, carrying gossip and champagne.
This one was Elena—the tall one, with a French accent and a body that was designed for sin. She kissed Madeline on both cheeks, tossed her designer bag onto the couch, and gave me a passing glance like I was an accessory in the room.
"Assistant boy still here, huh?" she smirked.
I gave her a polite nod. "Still here."
She looked me up and down—not subtly—and then joined Madeline near the glass bar in the corner. Two women. Both powerful. Both stunning in very different ways.
I watched them without meaning to.
Madeline was elegance—danger hidden in satin.
Elena was temptation—hips that didn't lie, and legs that went on for days.
I mentally gave her an 8.5.
Not that I made a habit of rating my boss's friends.
Except... I did.
Chloe, the wild one with short platinum hair and tattoos: 9, especially when she wore those pencil skirts.
Sierra, the quiet one who dressed like she didn't know she was hot: 7.5, but rising fast.
And Elena? She was a solid 8.5, maybe a 9 when she laughed.
But Madeline?
I didn't rate her.
She was in a different category. One I couldn't touch. One I wasn't stupid enough to try.
Yet her eyes were always on me.
Watching. Measuring.
Sometimes when she thought I wasn't looking, she'd bite her lower lip, just slightly.
I told myself it meant nothing.
"You should come out with us tonight," Elena said suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.
"Me?" I blinked.
Madeline's voice cut in, soft but sharp. "He has work."
"Work can wait," Elena purred. "He's cute."
My cheeks heated, but I kept my tone neutral. "I have reports to finish."
Madeline said nothing. Just smiled faintly… like she'd won something.
And maybe she had.
Because when I turned to leave, I felt her eyes again—on my back, on my shoulders, lower.
Burning.
Owning.
---
Lunch break.
Same time, same spot—The Grind, the café across from the office.
I ordered the usual—black coffee, turkey panini—and stood by the window, watching traffic blur by as I waited. The city buzzed like it always did. Rushed. Loud. Unapologetic.
Except today felt… different.
Madeline's stare from earlier lingered in my head. The way she smiled when Elena flirted with me. Like she liked it. Like it amused her.
What kind of boss smiled when her assistant got teased?
I shook the thought away, grabbed my order, and stepped off the curb.
And that's when it hit me.
Not the realization.
The car.
Metal. Glass. Screeching. My body flipping mid-air.
And then—
Darkness.
No pain.
Just cold. Floating.
Then…
Warmth.
---
I gasped awake.
The sheets beneath me were silk. The air smelled like her perfume—vanilla and danger.
But that wasn't what made my breath catch.
What made my heart thunder was the fact that I was lying beneath her.
Madeline.
Straddling me.
Wearing nothing but a black silk robe, parted and slipping down her shoulders.
My hands—without me realizing—were full of her bare back. Her skin was warm and soft. The curve of her waist fit perfectly beneath my palms.
"What the hell…" I whispered, dazed.
Her eyes locked onto mine. "You're awake," she said, voice low, steady, dangerous.
"Good."
"Where am I?"
"My bed."
Her tone was final. Possessive.
"As my husband."
I blinked. "What—"
She leaned down, her lips inches from mine. "You died, Nathan. But not for long. And now…"
She guided my hands lower, onto her hips, her curves. "You belong to me."
My body reacted before my brain could make sense of anything. I felt alive, hyperaware. Every nerve screamed this isn't real—but every breath said otherwise.
"You don't believe me?" she asked.
I couldn't answer. My throat was dry.
Madeline smiled. "Good. Then let me show you exactly what you came back for."
And then her mouth claimed mine—hot, commanding, addictive.
My boss. My fantasy. My wife?
The curve of her hips ground into mine, and all thoughts of reality slipped away—
Along with the last of my resistance.
---