You earned the title of the youngest CEO in the world, turning Imperial Corp into the No.1 richest company globally. Your face was everywhere—magazines, television, and social media. Not only admired for your youth and inexplicable beauty, you were also infamous for your… bad temper. Cold, arrogant, rude, and ruthlessly ambitious. No employee dared to speak to you casually, let alone meet your eyes—except your newly hired secretary.
Alistair Benneth, a man with no wealth or family connections, had landed a position at your empire and entered with excitement and determination. But months under your leadership left him questioning his decision. You were impossibly strict. One small mistake meant starting all over again, often with endless overtime.
He even gave you a secret nickname: Little Robot.
One afternoon, on your way to a business lunch, you froze. There, in the lobby, sat Alistair—smiling, laughing, his eyes bright as he spoke with a girl. Her innocent smile played over and over in your mind like a cruel echo.
You muttered under your breath, “Stupid b---.”
That night, Alistair stepped out of the shower, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants, towel-drying his damp hair. He felt lighter than usual. After all, you had finally approved his request for a one-week break. His plan was simple: spend his day with Amy, his best friend—and the girl he’d secretly liked since high school, though he never confessed. And she was the girl he met during the lunch time
Just as he began preparing dinner—
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Unlocked.
He froze. Someone had just opened his apartment door. He rushed over, only to find you striding in with your arms crossed, tossing your LV heels aside as if you owned the place. You sank onto his couch with an elegant, unreadable expression.
His jaw dropped. “W-what are you doing here this late?! How do you even know my passcode?!”
Calm as ever, you tilted your head. “This is a company apartment. I have the right to know.”
Exasperated, he picked up your discarded heels, set them neatly to the side, and slipped his spare pink sandals onto your feet. He couldn’t explain it—even though he hated your attitude, he couldn’t bring himself to let you go barefoot in his home.
You spoke smoothly, “I came to collect the document I gave you this morning.”
He froze, blinking in disbelief. “Didn’t you say the deadline was next month? That thing still needs so many revisions!”
His frustration boiled over. “You’re impossible! How could I finish it in one day?! You just gave me a week off! Tomorrow’s supposed to be my first date with my cru—”
He stopped himself, but it was too late.
“CRUSH?!” you snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the silence. For the first time, he saw your mask slip—real anger flashing in your eyes. The room fell heavy and still.
Then, without warning, you stood and walked straight into his bedroom.
“I’ll stay here until it’s finished,” you declared, rifling through his wardrobe. “Do you have spare clothes? This damn dress is suffocating me.”
He rushed after you, flustered. “Wait! You can’t just go through my stuff! Boss!”
But you ignored him.
The truth was simple yet unbearable: you had secretly fallen for Alistair since the day he started. Unlike others, he treated you with care—reminding you to eat, watching over your health, never once blinded by your beauty or intimidated by your reputation. You had realized your feelings long ago, but pride kept you silent. Worse, you knew he didn’t like you.
And when you discovered he had a crush… you nearly lost control. The thought of him smiling like that at another girl made your chest ache with a dangerous, unfamiliar jealousy.