My Boss, His Twin, and Me

I discovered my boss has a "split personality" that turns him from a ruthless CEO into a seductive nightclub host. Taking advantage of the fact that his "second personality" doesn't know me, I book him every time I go to the club. To thank him for his "hard work" at night, I bring him homemade lunches during the day. This "night shift, day feed" arrangement worked perfectly until I went home with him and saw two identical men standing there... Boss: "Say hi to your sister-in-law." The "Other Boss": "Bro, you mean say hi to my girl." Me, shocked and greedy: "Calling me sister-in-law by day and your girl by night isn't impossible..." 1 After getting roasted by my toxic boss for "working without a brain" and "leaving faster than anyone," I did exactly as he wished: I clocked out the second the clock struck five. I sprinted to the bar to start the 99th "I Hate My Job" conference of the month with my best friend, Chloe. "He says I'm lazy? Ha! Hard work costs extra." "You get what you pay for. I'm gonna show this company what 'cheap labor' really means!" "I just want his money, but he wants my life." "Slave away for pennies... I just want to be a trophy wife." ... As I vented, the bar's atmosphere hit its peak. Hearing Chloe's excited gasp, I followed her gaze to the center stage. Three men were dancing, but the one in the center—wearing a silver mask, a crisp white shirt, and messy-chic hair—was captivating. Every move, every glance, that waist... I gulped. "My morals are hanging on by the thread of my poverty." Chloe: "I can't imagine how morally bankrupt I'd be if I were rich." True that. Me: "How much to book that guy?" Chloe: "A grand, at least?" "..." Poverty keeps us honest. I withdrew my gaze, drank my cheap beer, and accepted my fate as a corporate slave. At the bar, I only order the most cost-effective draft. Twenty-three years old, enjoying a twenty-four-year-old's mediocre life. Damn this world! A few rounds later, the dancers had mingled into the crowd. My eyes unconsciously searched for the boy in the white shirt. He was sitting on a sofa nearby. Surrounded by people with bad intentions. The innocent boy was having his chin grabbed, alcohol forced down his throat. He looked reluctant but helpless. His eyes, glassy and unfocused, met mine. That look of vulnerability made my heart skip a beat. The romance novels I read in high school suddenly made sense. So this is the POV of the CEO seeing the poor heroine being bullied! I downed another beer, slammed the bottle, and stood up! Alcohol courage. Chloe grabbed me: "How much money you got? How much face you got?" In times like this, if you don't have fists, you need cash. I sighed: "I'm at the age where I have to spend money." "I don't have a rich girl's life, but I have a rich girl's disease. I can't stand bullying." I walked over, feeling like a billionaire. Getting closer, I heard them jeering, telling the poor guy to shake for them. "Outrageous!" Man, I'm here to save you! I pushed through the crowd and saw them touching him. His shirt was messy, tie crooked. He looked at his tormentors pleadingly: "Sir, I can't drink anymore." This scene triggered both my protective instincts and my... baser instincts. He's so good! Right now, he shouldn't be in this dirty bar! He should be at my apartment at 21 Oak Street! I slapped a card on the table, channeling my inner CEO: "I'll take him!" Later, Chloe told me I slapped my driver's license on the table, was met with deafening silence, and then dragged him away after paying $250 cash from my wallet. Back in our booth, I sat on the sofa, feeling like a god: "You... belong to me for this hour." "With me here, no one dares touch you." Chloe: "..." Novel dialogue really works in real life? The boy took off his mask and rubbed his flushed face: "Thank you, sister." The music changed, the lights brightened. I swirled my drink pretentiously: "No need..." Before I could finish "to thank me," I saw his face. It was Caleb Vance. My boss. The slave driver. "Holy shit! Caleb Vance?!" The hand I had just placed on his thigh recoiled as if burned. I went from CEO to corporate dog instantly: "B-Boss, what a... nice hobby you have here haha..." My brain short-circuited. I was already drafting my resignation letter. I work to make money for him, and now I'm spending money on him? The iron-faced boss moonlighting as a seductive host? I'm gonna die. Even Chloe sat up straight, like she was meeting a parent. The "host" pointed at himself innocently: "Huh? Are you talking to me?" I suspected he was drunk. Me, trembling: "You don't know me?" Him: "Should I know you, sister?" He tilted his head, puppy eyes staring at me, drunk but not drunk. Setting everything aside... isn't he kinda wrong for this? Chloe nudged me: "Is he really your boss?" Must be! I might not recognize my own mother, but I'd recognize my boss even if he turned into ash! But he denied it: "My name is Flynn. Not whatever Caleb Vance boss you're talking about." "Sister, I'm Flynn. Like... free as a bird." "If I were a boss, why would I be working here?" He looked down, pitifully: "To be honest, I'm poor. My family is struggling. I have a disabled brother to take care of." Chloe whispered: "Gambling dad, sick mom, disabled brother, and broken him." Me: "..." He denied being Caleb again. I mustered the courage to grab his chin and examine his face. His eyelashes fluttered, eyes misty, cheeks flushed. Just as I was about to be bewitched by his fragility, I saw the red string necklace. His mom got it for him at a temple. It is Caleb Vance! I shuddered and let go of his face like it was hot iron. He turned his head defenselessly, looking like I'd slapped him. Chloe mused: "CEOs usually have issues... stomach problems, insomnia... maybe your boss is so stressed he developed a split personality?" That would explain a lot. Otherwise, why would a billionaire be here? A reasonable explanation: Amnesia! Or dissociative identity disorder! I gained confidence: "You're really not Caleb Vance?" Flynn shook his head: "I'm not, sister." Chloe said usually the personalities don't know what the other does. To verify, I steeled myself, cupped his face, and kissed him. If it were real, the germaphobe, woman-hating Caleb would have flipped me over. But Flynn didn't. After the kiss, he just grabbed the sofa in panic: "Sister, I work here but I don't do that..." "I'm not an escort." Confirmed. This little cutie is the second personality. Flynn covered his face, looking at me pitifully: "I... I haven't been kissed before... sister." My lust blinded me. Coupled with work trauma, my twisted psyche exploded into a fearless desire for my handsome, rich boss. I hugged him and kissed him hard: "Okay, okay, I'll take responsibility!" 2 Next day at work, the boss was his usual stone-faced self. Looks like he really doesn't remember. But I remember. I remember using his tie to bind his hands... After the morning meeting, my face was burning red. Colleague: "You okay, Mia? Don't stress about the KPI..." Me, in my own world: "I think my relationship with the boss is a bit ambiguous." Colleague: "I think it's a bit delusional." I stared at his back. Office romance, here I come. If I can't be family, I'll be a lover. As long as he pays. Work has stripped me of my morals! Someone must have gossiped that I looked mental. Before leaving, the boss called me in for a "counseling session." "I know the workload is heavy... but Mia, I see potential in you." "I've brought you on every project. Think about how much you've learned." "If you're tired, take the weekend off. Come on a business trip with me Monday." Me, muttering: "Tsk, this mouth is so cold now." "Last night it was so hot..." He paused: "What did you say?" Emboldened by lust, I stepped forward and lifted his chin: "Caleb Vance..." Do you know how slutty you were last night... Last night he was wild, now he's serious. Caleb turned away. To me, this was playing hard to get. Tsk, men. He said seriously: "Ms. Mia, we are at work. Be mindful." I got it. His subtext: Flirt with me after work. I was lost in fantasy, vaguely hearing him ask: "Did you understand?" I had an epiphany. I patted his butt on the way out: "I'll wait for you~" Invest now, live in a mansion later. Caleb: "..." I don't know if the primary personality has daytime shame, but my reflex slap earned me a spreadsheet. Boss: "Finish before you leave." Fine. Just wait until later. 3 One hour later, Club Elysium. I was at the bar for less than a minute before Flynn appeared. He leaned on me drunkenly: "Sister, why so late?" "I thought you forgot Flynn." The audacity! If you didn't give me that spreadsheet, would I be late? You clock out on time to come here and fool around with your second personality! I pushed him away, plotting torture. I need payback for the work trauma. Flynn: "You're late. They made me drink a lot." I gripped my glass, silent. He tugged my sleeve, shaking it gently, looking at me with puppy eyes: "Sister, don't you feel bad for me?" Honestly? I did. But thinking of the empty office while I worked overtime? My heart was colder than a frozen fish. I pulled him close and poured my strong drink into his mouth. He coughed, red liquid running down his chin, over his adam's apple, into his shirt. I couldn't help it. I bit him. Metallic taste. DJ music pounding. I went crazy. Lipstick smeared, clothes messy. I pulled his crumpled collar, panting. He held me, licking the corner of my mouth with his bitten tongue. Voice raspy and obedient: "Sister, want me to drink more?" My anger vanished in the kiss. He looked like a succubus. If I didn't have a shred of morality left, I'd be pouring more than alcohol down his throat. "Caleb Vance..." Him: "Sister, I'm not him." "I'm Flynn. Not Caleb." Before I could speak, he grabbed my waist and lifted me off the stool. I tasted a lot of alcohol on him. I was tipsy. Before I knew it, we were in a dark corner, my back against the wall. He kissed me fiercely. I was shocked. He was usually passive. Why today... I pushed the man burying his face in my neck: "Caleb..." His breath was hot, kiss urgent: "I don't want to hear his name." Okay, crazy second personality. Can't tolerate the first. 4 Rest is short. I opened my eyes and was at the airport. 5 AM. Caleb stood there, fresh as a daisy. How does he do it? Work all day, host all night? I got home at 12 and slept less than 4 hours. Caleb: "What? Is there something on my face?" Me, yawning: "No, just curious. You sleep so late, how is your skin so good?" Caleb, taking my suitcase: "How do you know I sleep late?" Oops. Based on observation, they don't know about each other. And Flynn hates Caleb. Does Caleb hate Flynn? Me: "Haha, boss is busy, must sleep late..." Wait, where is his assistant, Leo? He paused: "Just us this time." "Oh." Normally I'd fight for my suitcase, but I'm so intimate with his second personality now. Touched hands, kissed mouths, just missing the home run. I felt entitled. Same body, right? Leo booked the hotel. Only one suite left. Me: "Leo only booked one?" Caleb: "One is fine." We spoke in unison. The receptionist smiled professionally and handed over one key card. Caleb took it. His ears looked red. Okay, Flynn is at 70% progress, now Caleb is grinding stats too? The suite had two rooms. Caleb gave me the bigger one with the bath: "More convenient for girls." He pushed my luggage in: "Freshen up, then we eat downstairs." Everything arranged perfectly. I didn't feel like an employee at all. Is the trophy wife dream coming true? I texted Chloe: [Sis is transforming!] Chloe: [Moon Prism Power!] Me: [Some people dream, I achieve. Trophy wife era loading.] Chloe: [You drunk again?] I looked at the CEO in the suit next to me and smiled. [Wait till I'm rich, I'll buy you the mall.] I sent a pic of the high-end restaurant and a "candid" of the boss. Chloe: [?] Chloe: [?] Chloe: [?] Chloe: [Sister! My only sister!] [I'm resigning to carry your shoes!] [Old servant is late!] Me: [Soon. Wait for it.] [If Flynn wasn't dormant, we'd be in the hotel bed, not the restaurant.] Chloe: [Oh my. Attack, sister! Bed is ready, man is ready... Get him drunk! Maybe the broken personality will come out!] [Then this and that...] Phone vibrated with Chloe's "instructional videos." She really watches a lot. The meal made me hot and thirsty. After eating, I stood up dizzy. The wine bottle was empty. Caleb's glass was still full. Damn. I got myself drunk. Caleb came to support me: "Drink moderately." Only Caleb would say that. Flynn drinks like a fish and loves it. Elevator was crowded. I leaned into his arms. He was stiff. Very different from Flynn. My face was flushed. Drunk Caleb is such a gentleman. He walked me to my door: "Can you manage?" I didn't speak. The moment he let go, I fell backward. He caught me by the waist and helped me to bed, tucking me in. He turned to leave. I grabbed his hand. Chloe's videos played in my head. Alcohol blurred the lines between Flynn and Caleb. I pulled him down and kissed him. "Mia..." Caleb was stunned, mouth slightly open. Maybe the personalities react differently. The kiss felt different. "Why are your lips so cold?" Am I too hot? Caleb pushed me away: "Mia, you're drunk." Ears bleeding red. Just like Flynn. "Why haven't you changed?" I poked his face. "I thought you'd come out at night." So, what's the trigger? Caleb: "Change what?" He kept a meter distance. If Flynn is a clingy puppy, Caleb is a high-and-mighty cat. The push fueled my conquest. I wrapped my arms around his neck: "We're adults. You know what I mean." Special treatment at work, eye contact at the club, business trip for two, one suite... I've figured both of them out. I kissed him for a long time. Finally, Caleb reacted. He cupped my face, responding tentatively. I was encouraged. Tonight is the night! I tried to undress him, then felt a familiar flow. Period. Early. I lay dead on the bed. Caleb knocked, bringing brown sugar ginger tea. Perfect temperature. I drank it. He gave me a hot water bottle. I tossed it aside and looked at him pitifully: "Caleb, my stomach hurts. Rub it?" He said okay. Strength and heat perfect. I slept until midnight, woke up hot. Caleb was still there. "You didn't go?" My voice was hoarse. He changed the towel on my forehead: "You have a fever." Physical cooling failed. He carried me to the hospital for an IV. He had meetings tomorrow, but cared for me all night. Eating the porridge he made, I asked: "What are we now?" He paused: "Might be rushed, but if you don't mind... will you be my girlfriend?" I nodded. Just like that, a fever got me a boyfriend. But because of the fever, I could only look, not touch. Caleb was strictly "no-touch."

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