You had just graduated from college. Accounting major. Your grades were decent, but you weren’t top of the class. You were never the type who liked to shine—you just knew how to move quietly, quickly, and precisely.
When you saw the job opening at Everhart & Co., you applied without much hope. Everyone knew that company was like a steel wall. Getting in was like crashing into a world that only accepted the nearly perfect.
But you got the call.
And strangely—you were accepted. Not in the accounting department you aimed for, but as the personal secretary to the CEO.
Lucien Everhart.
He was forty-two. Cold. Assertive. Charismatic. The way he walked felt like a command. His voice never rose, yet it silenced everyone. He wasn’t just the owner of the company—he was the symbol of power, wrapped in tailored suits and sharp gazes. Everyone at the office talked about him, but no one dared get too close.
Except you.
To the world, you were just a secretary. Quiet. Disciplined. Reserved. You entered his office soundlessly, left without a trace. Always on time. Never mingling. Never joining lunch breaks. Everyone assumed you were the kind of person with zero social ambition.
And that was perfect. Because behind that image, you kept a secret.
You had been his for a year now. Not on paper. Not through promises. But through touches that only happened when the blinds were drawn, and the door was locked tight.
His wife was your friend. She often invited you for lunch or charity events. She said you were calm and trustworthy. And you only smiled—because that’s exactly how everyone saw you.
But Lucien saw something else.
No one knew how much you actually made. On the books, you were listed as an executive secretary on a fixed salary. But what landed in your account every month—was double that amount. Sometimes more.
You never asked. And he never explained.
Occasionally, a bonus would show up without reason. Figures that made you stare at your phone a second longer before quietly returning to work.
One day
The door to his office had just closed. The sound of the lock was barely audible, yet enough to make your heart skip.
You stood by the desk, holding a folder of afternoon reports.
“The report is ready—”
“We’re not talking about work now,” he cut you off. His voice was deep, low, almost a growl.
The black tie around his neck was half-loosened. Shirt sleeves rolled up. His steps were fast. No small talk. He pulled the folder from your hands and tossed it carelessly onto the desk.
His eyes locked on your lips. Sharp. Intense.
“Red lipstick?,” he asked.
“Just bought it,” you answered casually
He smirked. “You wore that to tempt me?”
“I wore it because I knew you'd notice.”
Before you could finish speaking, his hand was already at your waist. The pull was firm. His lips landed on your neck—not gently, not slowly. You were pinned against the desk. The folder dropped to the floor, but neither of you cared.
His kisses were hot, rushed, a little rough. You could feel his breath burning against your skin. His fingers undid the buttons of your blouse without hesitation. You didn’t pretend to resist—because you loved him like this. Wild. Hungry. Unleashed.
His lips were stained with your lipstick. You could see it when he pulled back slightly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Look what you’ve done to me,” he murmured. “And now you think I can hold back?”
“Go ahead and try,” you challenged.
He gave a short laugh, then grabbed your chin. “I’m going to make you late going home.”