Chapter 1 At the company’s anniversary gala, the newly appointed CEO made her debut. She was stunning. I mean, drop-dead gorgeous. So, naturally, being the idiot I am, I tried to sneak a pic of my hot new boss to send to my boys. Caption: Check out the new boss. Total smoke show. But I got caught in 4K. She snatched my phone, her face like ice. "Focus on the company’s Q3 goals, not your hormones. Get your head out of the gutter." My face burned so hot I thought I’d set off the sprinklers. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. To salvage whatever was left of my career, I rushed to the CEO’s office right after the party, hoping to explain myself. I knocked, entered, and then froze. There, sitting on her pristine mahogany desk, was a clay figurine. Not just any figurine. It was the goofy, hand-painted one I spent three days making for my online girlfriend’s birthday last week. It even had my initials, S.C., carved into the base. My scalp tingled. The room started spinning. The terrifying new CEO... is my girlfriend of three years. ... The realization hit me like a freight train. I stood there, gaping at the woman I’d never met in person but had texted "goodnight" to for over a thousand days. "That figurine..." I stammered. "My boyfriend made it." Natalie Quinn reached out and gently touched the clay head. Her eyes, usually razor-sharp, softened for a split second. Then, the mask slammed back down. She glared at me. "That’s none of your business. Don't ask questions above your pay grade." "Why are you here?" I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to look anywhere but at the figurine. "Ms. Quinn, about the photo... I wasn't being a creep. It's just... you look exactly like my girlfriend. I couldn't help it." Okay, it sounded like a pickup line from hell. But ironically, it was the only honest thing I’d said all day. Natalie scoffed. "Do you think I was born yesterday? That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard." "With those leering eyes of yours, I doubt any girl with 20/20 vision would date you." My face fell. Great. My online girlfriend thinks I’m a creep. I mentally kicked my friend who begged for the photo. I also mentally roasted Natalie. Online, she’s all "UWU" and sweet emojis. In person? She’s a dragon lady. And wait—didn't she say she was a struggling intern? Since when do interns run Fortune 500 companies? Chapter 2 I walked out of her office and immediately pulled out my phone. I sent a "spanking" sticker to her on our chat app. She replied instantly. Hubby! What’s wrong? Who upset you? ? Through the crack in her office door, I saw Natalie grinning at her phone, feet kicking happily under the desk. The difference between her "CEO Face" and her "Girlfriend Face" was giving me whiplash. I typed back, grinding my teeth: Just got roasted by my female boss. She said no girl would ever want a loser like me. Her phone blew up. WHAT?! How dare she talk to my man like that! ? My hubby is literally the best guy on the planet! Your boss needs Lasik! Babe, when we meet up in a few days, I swear I won’t let anyone bully you. Yeah, right. The only person bullying me is you. I’ve been slaving away here for two years, and suddenly my e-girl is signing my paychecks and insulting my face. I was annoyed. Petty, even. I decided to delay our meetup. Let her sweat a bit. Me: I’m slammed with work. Can’t do this month. Her: What?! Her: NOOOO! Babe, I’ve been waiting forever! ??? She spammed me with crying cat memes. I ignored them. I was too busy processing the fact that my life had turned into a bad soap opera. Chapter 3 My little ghosting act had consequences. Dire ones. Natalie became a tyrant. The whole office was trembling. Marketing got chewed out. Finance got roasted. And then, the eye of Sauron turned to my department. Because of a typo—a single typo—in a proposal, she dragged my whole team into her office and shredded us verbally. My coworkers looked like they were about to cry. She sat there, looking like the Ice Queen, nothing like the sweet girl who sends me voice notes about her day. Little liar, I muttered under my breath. "Sam, you got something to say?" Damn, she has hearing like a bat. She stared me down. The pressure was suffocating. "No, Ms. Quinn," I lied through my teeth. "I was just saying how inspiring your leadership is. I'll cherish this feedback forever." She raised a brow. "Good." "You’ve got a glib tongue. Let’s see if your work matches it." " since you're so inspired, redo the entire proposal yourself. I want it on my desk by 5 PM tomorrow." My jaw dropped. My coworkers looked at me with pure pity. That was a three-person job, and she gave me 24 hours. She was hazing me. Definitely hazing me. I went back to my desk, fuming, and my phone buzzed. Natalie: Hubby, stop ignoring me... I miss you. ? Natalie: I won’t push for the meetup. Just talk to me? Chapter 4 To save my team from further wrath, I decided to take one for the team. Me: Fine. I’ll think about it. The moment I replied, my phone vibrated like a seizure. Natalie: YAY! You’re the best! ❤️ Natalie: Babe, tomorrow is your birthday! Even if we don’t meet, I HAVE to send you your gift. Natalie: You promised you wouldn't say no this time! Then came a sticker of a bear aggressively kissing a rabbit. For three years, I never gave her my address. I didn't want her spending money on me, especially since she claimed to be a broke college grad. I didn't want our relationship to be transactional. But now? She’s a loaded CEO. My moral high ground just evaporated. Plus, if I don't give her an address, she might fire me out of spite. I sent her the address of the Amazon Hub Locker near my apartment. No way was I giving her my actual unit number. That night, I received a same-day courier package. Inside a sleek, expensive box was a jar filled with hundreds of paper stars, a handwritten letter, and a watch box. The letter smelled like her perfume—the same scent that lingered in her office. Her handwriting was elegant but forceful. Happy Birthday, Hubby! I folded 999 stars because I want us to last forever. I opened the watch box. It was a mechanical watch. Looked fancy. Low-key. Chapter 5 We met five years ago online. She had just gone through a brutal breakup and vented on a forum. I was bored and replied. We talked for a year before making it "official." I had rules: No video calls, no face reveals, no meetups. I wanted an emotional connection first. Three years. I texted her: Got the gift. Love it. Thanks. Her: Glad you like it! I folded every single star myself! ✨ Her: Oh! Did you find the keychain? I made it! Put it on your bag so I'm always with you! I dug through the packing peanuts and found a clay keychain. It was a little caricature of me. I clipped it to my work bag. Why not? Her: Hubby... are you still mad? Her: You haven't called me 'Babe' or 'Wifey' in days... I cringed. Back when I thought she was a broke intern, "Wifey" was easy. Now that I know she signs million-dollar contracts, calling her "Wifey" felt... illegal. I took a deep breath, mentally separated the CEO from the girl, and typed: Baby wifey. Crisis averted. Chapter 6 The next morning, Natalie bought Starbucks for the entire building. The mood lifted instantly. Except for me. I was running on caffeine and hate, grinding out that proposal. I finished it three hours overtime and passed out the second I got home. I woke up to banging on my door. It was the building manager, surrounded by a mountain of boxes. "Sam? These are all for you. The locker was full. They’ve been arriving all night." I looked at the labels. Same-day delivery. All from her. I opened them. 1982 Lafite Rothschild. Limited Edition Maotai. A box of ginseng worth more than my car. She was love-bombing me with high-end luxury goods because I didn't reply to her texts for 12 hours. I checked my phone. 100+ unread messages. I quickly explained I was pulling an all-nighter because someone gave me a crazy deadline. It took an hour of texting to calm her down. She promised no more panic-buying. That evening, my supervisor dragged me to a client dinner. This project was vital for Q4, so Natalie was coming too. The client, Mr. Wang, was a notorious drinker. Old school. He didn't sign contracts until he was wasted. He zeroed in on Natalie immediately. "Ms. Quinn! In this industry, if you don't drink, you don't respect me. How are we supposed to do business?" He pushed a glass of baijiu toward her. Natalie looked pale. She hesitated, reaching for the glass. I remembered her text from this morning: Cramps are killing me. Dying. ? Before my brain could stop me, I stood up and snatched the glass from her hand. "She can't drink today."
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