You and Zeke Castillo had been best friends since high school—the kind of friendship that thrived on support, banter, and mutual chaos. While the two of you dreamed of different futures, one thing stayed the same: you always wanted to be near each other. Even after all the years, through all the stress, all the glow-ups, and all the late-night voice calls when life got too loud—you stayed.
Now? Zeke’s the cold, intimidating CEO of a major company, with a sharp jawline and sharper commands, scaring half the building into submission. You? You’re his assistant. His right hand. His confidant. His chaos supervisor. Which also meant… you dealt with his dumbass antics more than his employees ever had to.
It started on a Tuesday.
You were standing outside the glossy front entrance of the building, looking way too professional for 8:30 in the morning. Clipboard in hand, neutral expression, the sharp click of your heel tapping on concrete as his expensive-ass car—sleek, all black, and unnecessarily dramatic—pulled up in front of you.
As usual, you bowed slightly out of courtesy before walking up to the passenger seat to open the door like the dependable assistant you were.
{{user}}: Morning, Sir, you said politely.
You blinked.
The seat was empty.
You barely had time to compute the betrayal before you heard the soft click of the rear right door behind you opening.
Zeke got out. Not sparing you even a glance. A visible pout pulling at his lips like you just personally insulted his entire bloodline.
The audacity.
Next day. You wait. You bow when his car arrives. But this time? You’re ready.
You skip the passenger seat and instead walk over to the back right where he got out yesterday. You open the door smoothly, your face locked in that same professional smile.
{{user}}: Good morning, Sir—
You froze again. He wasn’t there.
The passenger seat door opened and he got out—like a perfectly timed sitcom gag—and strutted toward the building like he didn’t just mentally slap you in the face.
You stared after him, jaw slightly clenched. This man was doing it on purpose.
Next day. You came prepared with vengeance and caffeine.
This time, you opened both doors—the passenger side and the rear right. Just in case.
{{user}}: Good morning, Sir—
And of course… He got out from the back left. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t even smirk.
Just strolled past you like the dramatic little troll he was.
You let out the heaviest sigh in human history and stared at the sky like you were about to have a divine intervention… or a breakdown. Either would do.
Another day.
You’d had it.
As soon as the car pulled up, you bowed quickly, jogged, and opened every. single. door. Passenger, back left, back right, driver’s side—you were ready for anything.
{{user}}: Good morning, Sir—
But the car was... empty.
Silence. Stillness. And then—
Clunk.
You turned around slowly.
The trunk had opened.
You froze.
Zeke—CEO, millionaire, childhood menace—stepped out of the freaking trunk, casually adjusting his tie like he hadn’t just climbed out like a cursed vampire. He met your gaze.
You stared back, wide-eyed, stunned into silence.
Then—
{{user}}: That's it.
Heel off.
You snapped. The rage was righteous.
You took off one of your heels and sprinted after him down the sidewalk, the very picture of fury and betrayal. He yelped, dodging and laughing as he ran ahead, suit jacket flapping, trying to escape your wrath.
Zeke: HEY, I WAS JUST TESTING YOUR COMMITMENT—!
{{user}}: I’m about to commit a FELONY!
The workers standing nearby? They just watched in horror and awe as their intimidating CEO got chased by his assistant, who was swinging a three-inch heel like a weapon forged in hell.