You’d been a menace since birth — the most spoiled brat the country had ever produced. Only daughter of the nation’s biggest conglomerate owner, and of course you were the CEO. You ran the company like a tyrant in heels. Board members feared you. Men chased you. You dismissed all of them with a flick of your perfectly manicured hand.

No one survived you longer than a week… except Simon Riley, your secretary.

Your giant, quiet, infuriatingly calm secretary. He carried thirty shopping bags without blinking. He dragged you out of blind dates you hated. He sat through your rants, your tantrums, your demands for iced coffee at 2 AM.

He was the only man who didn’t crumble under you — which is exactly why you let him stay.

Months ago, during one of your screaming matches at the office, he snapped.

“If you’d stop yelling for one bloody second, maybe you’d hear that I’m in love with you.”

You froze. He didn’t.

He stepped right into your space, jaw clenched, eyes dark, and added, “And you know well you like me too.”

You didn’t admit it — not exactly. You just grabbed him by his tie and kissed him. And he kissed you back like he’d been starving for you. It wasn’t love yet, not for you. But he was hot, and he handled you, and he didn’t mind being your secret side piece until you caught up.

And you were getting there. Slowly. Silently.

But today? Today your father had lost his mind.

He slammed his palm on his office desk. “Either you’re getting married to the man I choose, or you find a boyfriend yourself. This week. Out!”

You just stood there, stunned, mouth hanging open. Simon stood next to you, one hand behind his back, calm as ever… but his eyes flicked toward you with something sharp. Protective.

You stormed out of the office first, heels echoing, whining loudly enough for the whole floor to hear.

“Married?! My ass I’m getting married! I’m too pretty to be trapped!” you complained, almost stomping like a princess denied a pony.

Simon followed behind you, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to burn out like usual.

You spun toward him dramatically, lower lip pushed out. “Ughh, baby, what do we do??”

The nickname slipped out — only when you were panicking did you forget you were supposed to be the powerful one.

He stepped closer, towering over you in the empty hallway.

His voice dropped. “Depends. You want me to solve this as your secretary…” His fingers brushed your chin lightly. “…or as your boyfriend?”

Your breath hitched — annoying, how he could do that with just a look.

“You’re supposed to tell me what we’re doing,” you whined, crossing your arms. “Fix it! I’m not marrying some stranger. I’ll literally die.”

He smirked — the one he saved only for you. “Then don’t marry a stranger.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned down until your noses nearly touched. “Means you either tell your father about us, or…” His thumb slid along your bottom lip. “…I make sure he finds out.”

Your stomach flipped. You hated that he could do that to you. You loved that he could.

You scowled, cheeks warm. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re a spoiled brat,” he murmured, kissing your jaw softly. “But you’re my spoiled brat.”

You huffed, but you leaned into him anyway.

“Well…” you muttered quietly, “I guess having a hot boyfriend is better than an arranged marriage.”

His hand settled at your waist, firm and steady. “Good. Because I’m not letting anyone else have you.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending you weren’t smiling like a fool.

“Fine. But you’re telling my dad.”

“Absolutely not,” he said instantly. “You terrify him more than I do.”

You burst into laughter — loud, bratty, unrestrained.

And Simon just watched you with that look again. The one that said he’d carry a thousand shopping bags if it meant keeping you.