Dear CEO, You Are Crossing the Line

EMILY.

My head pounded with pain, a deep, throbbing ache that echoed through my skull. Light pricked at my eyes, and my vision swam, shapes blurring together like watercolor left in the rain. Blinking rapidly, I tried to focus. The fuzziness lifted, piece by piece, until the room sharpened around me.

A hotel room. Pale curtains billowed slightly from a vent. Soft lighting hummed overhead. And above me—a figure, a woman with familiar almond eyes and a grin that didn’t reach them.

"Awake now, sis?" the voice floated down, light and mocking.

I blinked again, and her face finally clicked into place.

"Olivia?" I croaked, my voice cracked and dry. The pieces of memory slid together with a sickening jolt. The sharp pain at the back of my head. A stranger's cold voice. The promise of hurt.

I tried to sit up, my heart racing like a jackrabbit as my vision swam. My breath came in short gasps. "Olivia, we have to leave—someone hit me—he said he’d hurt me—I don’t remember everything, but—"

She cut me off with a smirk, unbothered, almost entertained. Her movements were too calm for someone hearing about an attack. She took a step closer, a hand on her hip.

"I know," she said, tilting her head with a little hum. "That was... kind of the plan."

"What?" The word hit the air like a rock dropped in still water.

She leaned down, voice thick with satisfaction. "I had you come here deliberately."

My lips parted. "You—you said you wanted to apologize. For accusing me of theft—"

"Oh, sweet Emily," she said, as if I were a child who’d misunderstood a joke. "That lie was just bait. There’s an old, very rich man who’s become... fascinated with you. And I, being the generous sister I am, sold you to him for a nice pile of cash."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

My breath caught in my throat as I gasped, "You sold me?" My voice shook, my body jerked instinctively—but I only managed to lift my left arm a few inches before something yanked it back. Cold metal pressed against my wrist.

I looked down. A handcuff. I was shackled to the bed.

"No..." My whisper cracked. "You’re my sister."

Her smile turned cruel. "You were a substitute, Emily. A pretty little stand-in for our grieving parents while I was missing. Now that I’m back, your job is done. Tonight, you can be useful in another way." Her voice dropped, oozing venom. "Just relax, let the aphrodisiac do its work, and please the old man."

"Aphro—" My throat locked up. Sweat broke across my forehead like someone had thrown boiling water on me. She was already at the door.

"Be good," she murmured, then clicked it shut behind her.

The silence that followed was louder than the words she'd left hanging in the air.

I jerked at the cuff, panic rising in my throat.

I had to get out.

I twisted my wrist, trying to squeeze through the metal. First time—nothing. Second—my skin scraped, but I felt a shift. Third time—my hand slid free.

I didn’t hesitate. I staggered to my feet, the room swaying slightly. Something was wrong. My limbs felt warm and loose, like they belonged to someone else. Like I was floating just above my own body.

The drug.

It was inside me now.

I bolted from the room, bursting into the hallway. And slammed into something solid.

A man.

My head snapped up, and our eyes met. His smirk sent a chill down my spine. Short white hair, a fat belly straining beneath a sleek gray suit – every detail seared into my mind.

The truth crashed down on me like a physical blow – I was sold to this man!

A silent scream built in my throat, my vocal cords straining to let out a sound that never came. I turned and ran, the world spinning with each step.

Through hallway after hallway, chandeliers swaying overhead, blurred faces turning as I passed. My feet stumbled over plush carpets.

My breath came fast, too fast.

I looked back, and my heart sank. The old man was right behind me, following me. His eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

He wasn't rushing – just walking calmly, like he enjoyed the chase. Two men walked beside him, their steps calm and deliberate, as if stalking their prey.

I pushed harder. I crashed through a waiter, his tray flying, glasses shattering behind me.

Someone yelled. I didn’t stop.

Outside. I needed outside.

I threw myself through the glass doors of the hotel, barefoot on the street now. Cold rain lashed against my skin. My gown clung to me, soaked in seconds. My foot landed on something sharp. Pain stabbed up my leg. I didn’t stop.

I kept running. Blood mixed with rain on the pavement.

But the warmth inside me deepened, curling through my stomach, humming along my nerves. My chest rose and fell in frantic gasps.

My thoughts were foggy, cotton-wrapped.

Suddenly, headlights flashed, and a car loomed over me.

I ducked, stumbled, and the vehicle screeched to a halt just inches away. I hit the ground, my body trembling.

Everything felt distant – my thoughts, my surroundings. My skin prickled with fear, and my vision began to tunnel.

Footsteps approached. I turned to face the two men, my body frozen in fear. But before they reached me, a softer sound interrupted the tension – the gentle touch of an umbrella opening above me, its metal ribs clicking into place. I looked up to find a man standing close, a silhouette against the headlights, shielding me from the rain.

The light revealed his form in pieces.

Tailored black slacks clung to powerful legs. His shirt, damp at the collar, outlined a chiseled chest beneath. His shoulders were broad, solid, like the kind that could carry weight without complaint. Raindrops traced down his jaw, sharp and clean-shaven.

His eyes—what I could see through the fancy mask that covered half his face—were blue. Deep and unreadable.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, smooth as smoke.

I couldn’t answer. The words caught in my throat, tangled with a sudden, overwhelming awareness of him.

My gaze dropped to his lips, sculpted and dangerously seductive.

Something twisted inside me—a nameless yearning, a desperate heat, a longing for something solid to cling to.

Was it the drug clouding my senses?

My hand trembled as I reached out, brushing his shoe—testing if he was real.

With a monumental effort, I rose to my feet, swaying. And then, before I could think, before I could second-guess the frantic beat of my own heart, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.

He froze, but only for a heartbeat. His mouth was warm, firm. My body melted against his, fitting too perfectly.

My fingers curled against the back of his neck, and I felt the slight intake of his breath—like the kiss had caught him off guard, too.

Rain poured around us, but under his umbrella, there was only heat.

Until he pulled away.

Not gently.

His hand wrapped around my wrist and yanked me off him like I was something that didn’t belong. Something he didn’t want touching him.

"I see my car didn’t hit you," he said, voice flat and disinterested. Cold. Like I was a mistake he had come to check on. His lips were pressed in a firm line, the half-mask casting a shadow over most of his face. But not his eyes. Those cold, sharp eyes looked at me—not with surprise. Not even curiosity. Disgust.

My heart sank. He hadn’t wanted the kiss. He hadn’t wanted me.

His gaze lowered, slow and assessing. Taking in the wet dress clinging to me, the dirt and blood on my legs, my bare feet. I was a mess, and he didn’t try to hide what he thought of it.

He didn’t care.

His fingers twitched on the umbrella handle, the sound of the rain growing more intense as he seemed to consider letting go and leaving me to the downpour. And he would’ve. He turned to go.

"Please," I breathed, my voice barely audible over the rain. "Help me. Some men are trying to hurt me."

He stopped, his back still to me.

That was all. He didn’t turn. Didn’t ask questions. But something in his posture shifted, like a slight change in the angle of his shoulders.

Footsteps splashed behind me, the same ones I had been running from.

"Emily," one of them called, low and smooth, like they had all the time in the world. "Don’t make this difficult."

I turned, my stomach twisting in panic. They were closer now. One of them pulled something from his coat—a syringe glinting under the streetlight.

I froze.

The man beside me didn’t. His jaw tightened, the muscle flexing beneath his skin. Then he moved.

"Walk," he ordered, his hand pressing firmly against my back. The touch was strong and steady, not gentle, but I leaned into it like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

The leather seats of the car were cool against my skin as he pushed me inside. The door slammed shut behind me, and I was enveloped in the sudden silence of the vehicle.

Outside, the rain blurred the world into streaks of gray. Inside, it was quiet—too quiet.

He moved around the front of the car, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the rain. He got in, locked the doors in one fluid motion, and started the engine. The tires screeched as he drove off, fast and without a word.

I looked out the window, breath caught in my throat, watching the two men disappear into the rain. They didn’t chase us. They didn’t have time.

In the silence that followed, I could still feel the drug’s effect, my skin warm and tingling. But the man beside me didn’t even glance my way. He just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other still holding the soaked umbrella, letting water drip steadily onto the floor. Maybe he didn’t care.

Still, I couldn’t stop looking at him. At the sharp edge of his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the wheel like he had to hold himself back.

I swallowed hard. "Thank you."

His eyes flicked toward me for only a second.

No warmth. No smile.

Just a cold, quiet reply. "You owe me one."