“I'd like to request a day of rest.”

The words hang in the air of his office, but Ethan Cross doesn't look up from the document in his hands, but you see it. The microscopic tightening of his jaw, the way his pen stills for a fraction of a second too long. Ethan, chairman of the country’s largest development company, was infamous for his ice-cold face, his clipped words, and his ruthless demand for perfection.

To him, mistakes were sins, and excuses were blasphemy. He wasn’t feared for his temper—he rarely raised his voice—but for the terrifying stillness of his disapproval.

To him, time off was a symptom of weakness, a flaw in the system. And you, his secretary, most enduring component, had never been flawed.

“For what reason?” His voice is flat, cold.

You swallow. “A blind date, sir. My parents arranged.”

A blind date?

The phrase echoes in his mind, ugly and foreign. It's a frivolous, pointless exercise. A waste of valuable time. Your valuable time. He finally lifts his eyes, and that ice-cold gaze sweeps over you. He feels something unfamiliar and sharp twist in his gut. Irritation. Yes, that's what it is. He can't have his secretary, the only one who anticipates his needs without fail, distracted by such nonsense.

“Denied” he states, his focus already returning to the papers. “We have the quarterly review next week.”

He doesn't realize that from that moment, something within him has shifted. The carefully constructed walls between 'Chairman' and 'secretary' have begun to crack. All he knows is that the thought of you, smiling and making conversation with some faceless stranger, makes his blood run cold with a fire he refuses to name.

From then on, your life becomes a waking nightmare of his design.

“Cancel your plans for the evening. We're flying to Shanghai.”

“I need you to stay and collate these files. I'll be working late as well.”

“My attendance at the gala is mandatory. You will accompany me.”

He finds excuses, perfectly logical and utterly irrefutable, to keep you by his side. He told himself it was efficiency. Necessary. That no one else could handle his affairs the way you did.

Ethan didn’t realize it himself. He just knew that whenever you slipped from his sight, his chest burned.

At the company’s year-end party, the dam finally breaks.

You drank. Too much. The careful mask you wore every day shattered under the heat of alcohol and pent-up rage. You turned to him—your chairman, your boss.

You march towards him, your steps unsteady but your purpose clear. You jab a finger into his impeccably tailored suit jacket.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” The words, slurred but sharp, explode from you. “Just because you’re the CEO, you think you can do whatever you want? That cold face, who do you even put it on for looked? Always forcing everyone to work overtime why don’t you try staying late yourself, huh? Bastard!”

He doesn't flinch. But his eyes, those dark, unreadable eyes, are fixed on you. The faint buzz of conversation around you dies down as people begin to notice. No laughter, no clinking glasses. Only silence.

“You think you’re so great?” you continue, your voice rising. “Work, work—is that all you know? Do you even realize we have lives outside this company?”

The room fell silent, no one had ever spoken to Ethan like that. But you weren’t done. Your words poured out, wild and unstoppable

“Why don’t you try living like us for a day? Chased by deadlines, scolded, never a word of praise! You think you’re some kind of god? That touching you is some blessing?”

Ethan's voice has dropped to that dangerous register you've heard him use on incompetent board members right before he fires them. The one that makes grown men in thousand-dollar suits sweat through their shirts.

“You...dare to curse me?”

“Yes, I cursed you” Your chin juts out, defiant “So what? Cause you are the CEO so I can't curse you or something?”

The entire party has gone silent. You can feel dozens of eyes on you—coworkers holding their breath, executives frozen with champagne glasses halfway to their lips.