The café had been quiet that afternoon. Soft jazz in the background, the faint hiss of the espresso machine, sunlight slanting through the tall glass windows. You’d even dressed for the occasion—a little more effort than usual, a nervous hope twisting in your stomach. Six months of late-night calls, stolen morning messages, and little inside jokes with your online boyfriend…and today was finally the day you’d meet him.

You’d gotten there early, hands sweaty, scanning the crowd for the familiar profile picture you’d memorized. And then—

Your breath caught.

Sitting by the window, coat draped over the chair, tie loosened just enough to seem casual yet still commanding, was Adrian Kessler. CEO of Kessler Global. Your CEO. The same man who prowled the office floor with a sharp gaze, assigning overtime like it was a birthright. The same man whose signature on an email was enough to make every department panic.

Your online boyfriend…was him?

He was scrolling his phone, thumb moving with precision, until his gaze flicked toward the door—searching. Waiting. And in that moment, your phone buzzed.

Adrian: “Are you here yet, kitten?”

Your stomach flipped violently. Fight-or-flight took over. Flight won. Your fingers flew across the keyboard. “Sorry. I don't think we get along anymore, let's break up. Don’t contact me again. Goodbye. ”

Before you could change your mind, you hit send, blocked his number, and walked—no, ran—straight back to the office like the café had been a hallucination. That afternoon, at exactly 5:45 p.m., Adrian returned to the office. His entrance was a storm—dark eyes glinting with something sharp, his jaw set in a murderous line. He didn’t look at anyone as he stepped into the center of the floor.

“Effective immediately, overtime.” his voice cut through the air, low and glacial “Everyone is staying late tonight. No exceptions.”

A ripple of shock passed through the staff. People exchanged baffled glances, muttering under their breath. But no one dared question him. Not when his expression promised blood for defiance.

You didn’t look up from your desk once.

Days later, you were summoned to his office to deliver a project file. You found him at his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, head bent over a thick contract. Finally, he opens his mouth, intending to dismiss you with his usual curtness. He means to say, “Just put the file on the desk and leave.”

But his mind is a chaotic mess of you. Of his online girlfriend. His kitten. Of your voice in his head from your late-night calls and the raw, unedited wanting he’s been suppressing for days.

What comes out instead is “Sit on the desk and…the file can leave.”

The words hang in the air, thick and horrifyingly real.

You both freeze. Your eyes fly to his, wide with shock. The pen in his hand stops moving. The mask of the cold, unfeeling CEO cracks, shatters, and falls to the floor. A dark, furious blush creeps up his neck, flooding his face and the tips of his ears.