Lucas

My name is Lucas Reed and that’s exactly the name.

The name people obeyed, feared, or whispered behind closed doors. It was mine. A name that carried weight, power and, right now, a serious headache.

Because history has a way of sticking to you.

My stepbrother had been CEO before me. Brandon Reed. He was brilliant, charismatic… and just had to be utterly destroyed by his own demons. He was into drugs and fraud. He had scandals that still lingered in the corners of this building. He had left a mess bigger than most people realized. I had inherited not just the throne, but a kingdom of chaos.

And I was supposed to step into it gracefully.

I stepped off the elevator, expecting the ritual: the staff lined up, polite smiles, admiration dripping from every corner. Everything staged to remind them who ran this place.

And then I saw her when I stepped out of elevator

Her hair was pinned neatly, a few rebellious strands brushing her cheek and she looked up.

She casted a glance at me and my chest tightened.

Her face.

It looks so familiar. My mind tried to place it. I frowned. Who the hell is that?

Her eyes met mine, sharp, clear and unflinching. Then, as if she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of me, she walked away.

Focus, Lucas. Fucking focus.

My eyes followed her down the hall, trying not to replay her facetoo many times. The tilt of her head, the way she carried herself with precision yet ease… everything else in the lobby blurred. I shook my head.

By the time I reached my office, the door clicked shut behind me. I removed my jacket and slumped on my chair Everything was in place except my brain, which refused to leave her behind.

I needed answers.

The staff list sat neatly on my desk. It had pictures, names, titles. emails. It was standard procedure for someone taking over Altura Group. Everything was in its place except the sinking feeling that I was already screwed.

I flipped through the photos, scanning casually and then I froze.

Her face was staring back at me.

Lena Hart. Personal Assistant to the CEO. My PA.

I dropped the list and then threw my head back and laughed. I recognized her. Even to me, it sounded a little insane. Of course. Of course this had to happen.

The woman I’d fucked with last night, the one who left $200 on the pillow for a reason that still amused me and the woman who was the best sex of my entire life, was now going to be part of my life, professionally.

I leaned forward, tracing her photo.

I ran a hand through my hair. Altura Group, fucking deadlines, decisions, my father’s expectations and Brandon’s mess. It was all meaningless compared to the problem standing one floor down in heels.

I laughed again, darker this time. I was fucked.

Flashes of last night hit me: the club, neon lights cutting through smoke, the bass rattling my chest. I had gone there to drink myself into oblivion, my mother’s death anniversary and, as usual, my family hadn’t remembered or cared.

And then I saw her.

She didn’t belong there. Not in a million years.Her outfit was all shades of wrong for a club, her hair pinned like she was heading to a meeting and heels that looked like they were designed to stab the floor rather than dance on it. Honestly, I wondered why the bouncer had let her in, maybe he had a death wish, or maybe the universe just had a really twisted sense of humor.

And yet… she caught my goddamn eyes.

A knock came at the door, polite but insistent.

“Come in,” I responded.

A knock came at the door, polite but insistent.

“Come in,” I said, keeping my voice smooth, calm, and CEO-perfect.

The door opened.

And there she was, like a perfectly wrapped disaster I couldn’t look away from.

Lena Hart.

She stopped for a fraction of a second, eyes flicking down, then back up, perfectly composed, professional. Every instinct screamed at me to act like a CEO, but my brain sort of freaked out the moment I saw her.

Her lips were full and soft, flashed through my mind, pressed against mine just nine hours ago, daring me to throw every rule of decorum out the window.

Her chest, her breasts that I had studied far too thoroughly for someone with a supposedly functioning brain. For a heartbeat, I forgot she was my PA. I forgot everything except that she existed, and that she looked like a problem I very much wanted to solve in every possible way.

“Mr. Reed,” she said carefully but her hands twisted slightly in her lap, betraying the slightest tremor.

I gestured toward the chair. “Please… sit.”

She lowered herself gracefully, her knees together, and hands folding neatly on her lap and yet… a quiver in her fingers, the tiniest hitch in her breath, made my pulse spike. I may or may not have grinned like an idiot.

“Lena Hart sir. I’m your personal assistant,” she added, finally giving her full name.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the mask settle. There was no need to jump the gun or make her feel awkward.

“We’ll be working closely together,” I said, extending my hand. “I expect great things from you.”

Her hand met mine, it was warm, firm, slightly tense. I let it linger just long enough to make her notice the heat in my palm.

“We will,” she said softly.

I tilted my head, smirk tugging at my lips. “Good. I have no doubt.”

Her eyes flicked up at me, just for a second, hesitation swimming in them.

“You… seem familiar,” I said, letting my voice thread with amusement.

Her eyes widened and then bit the corner of her lip, a small, nervous gesture that made me want to lean across the desk and see if she’d really do it again.

“I—I don’t… I don’t think so, sir,” she stammered.

“No?” I said, letting my smirk deepen. “You look like someone I remember.”

“Sir, I don’t think I….”

“I’m kidding,” I quipped in,“I guess my sense of humor is bad.”

She didn’t dignify yhat witu a response so I continued.

“You’re unusually composed,” I said, pacing slowly behind the desk, letting the tension build. “Most people wouldn’t hold themselves together this well… not in front of me.”

Her gaze lifted. “I… I like to maintain professional boundaries,” she said.

I couldn’t help it, I smirked. “Good. That will serve you well. Especially with me.”

I leaned slightly closer, letting the tension hang between us. “We’re going to make a great team, Lena. You’ll see… sooner than you think.”

Her lips parted, a faint flush creeping up her neck, her eyes flickering with hesitation. “I—I… I’ll do my best, sir.”

I watched as she stood up to leave and bowed before turning around, I let my gaze drift, it wasn’t not crude, not obvious but deliberate down the curve of her back, the sway of her hips. Her ass was … completely, ridiculously, impossibly irresistible.

Last night’s memory hit me in full force, her fingers brushing mine, her hands tracing circles on my chest, the way she had moved, trembled. My chest tightened. My brain tried to remind me I was in control. But right now? I was hopelessly, gloriously, absurdly down bad for Lena Hart. And the best part?

I realized I wouldn’t be able to forget about that ass or her…for a single damn second.

Lena

Thank goodness he doesn’t know who I am.

I muttered it under my breath as I tried to focus on the stack of files in front of me. My hands gripped the papers a little too tightly, my pulse skipping every time the thought of Lucas Reed crossed my mind. God. Last night had been a complete disaster for my composure, and yet a complete disaster I couldn’t stop replaying.

Focus, Lena. Files. Numbers. Emails. Not him.

I tried to force my eyes on the spreadsheets, reading and rereading line after line of marketing projections and client feedback, but the words blurred together. I should have been thinking about budgets, but instead I was thinking about the tilt of his head, the smirk that had made my knees weak, the way he had leaned close and spoken in that smooth voice and his fucking dick.

No. Stop it. He’s the CEO. I’m the PA. Keep it professional. Keep your head in the game.

Which was apparently impossible, because every time I shifted in my chair, every time a shadow passed the window, my heart jumped like he might be standing there, watching, waiting for me to slip up.

By the time lunch rolled around, I felt like I had survived a war since he didn’t come out of his office. My stomach growled, reminding me that survival required food, even if my brain was still a tangled mess of last night and Lucas Reed. I grabbed my bag and headed for the cafeteria, sitting at a quiet corner where I could eat in peace and maybe pretend no one existed outside the stack of files I had stuffed in my bag earlier.

And then I froze.

“Lena.”

My stomach sank. Of course. Ethan. My fiancé or should I say, ex, depending on how honest I wanted to be and the man who had somehow managed to waste three years of my life.

I paused, taking a breath I didn’t quite feel. He was smiling like everything was fine, like nothing had happened, like he didn’t owe me a single explanation.

“Lena, can we talk?” he asked, stepping closer as he sat down opposite me with that same self-satisfied expression plastered on his face.

“No,” I said firmly, planting my feet. “We cannot talk.”

He raised a brow, clearly expecting me to melt at his charm. “I called you last night. You didn’t answer.”

“That was it?” I asked, voice low but sharp. “One phone call and you think that fixes everything?”

“I… Lena, you don’t understand. I was…drunk. I—”

“Don’t.” I cut him off, louder this time. “I understand perfectly. You were drunk. Next time, try honesty while sober. Might work better than excuses.”

He opened his mouth again, and I shook my head. “Save it, Ethan. We are done. Whatever engagement, whatever future you thought you had with me, it’s over and to make it easy on you, I’ll even mail your ring back. You can pawn it off for all I care.”

His jaw tightened. “My mom… she’s expecting you this weekend. You can’t just—”

I laughed, bitterly. “Expecting me? That’s cute. Maybe the woman you slept with can fill that spot just fine. She’s probably more reliable than I ever was. Congratulations, Ethan. Truly.”

“Stop being childish,” he snapped, taking a step closer, voice dropping into that condescending tone he always used when he thought he was being reasonable. “We’ve been together for three years. Three. Do you have any idea how much time I invested in you? And you’re really going to throw it all away over one mistake?”

“Yes,” I said, calmly now. “Because you’re not worth my future. You never were. I just finally see it.”

His smile twitched, confidence cracking for half a second before he recovered. He always did. “You’re being emotional, Lena. That’s the problem. You never think things through. You were never really there for me. You were always busy, working late, running after your dreams, choosing everyone and everything else over us.”

I laughed. “Oh, this again.”

“You don’t have to get defensive,” he continued, warming to his speech. “I just needed more from you. Is that so wrong? A girlfriend should prioritize her relationship. You made me feel lonely, Lena. You pushed me into this.”

That did it.

“Oh, really?” I cut in, fire climbing straight up my spine. “So let me get this straight. I prioritize my career and my dreams. You work in the same company as me, climbing up the ladder and because you feel lonely, your solution was to cheat, then stand here and tell me it’s my fault?”

“I said mistake,” he corrected sharply. “Why do you keep exaggerating everything? Normal couples work through things like this.”

“No,” I said. “Selfish men expect women to swallow them.”

His face hardened. “You’re overreacting. This is exactly what I mean. You always make things dramatic.”

I picked up my water bottle from the table, my hand steady despite the shaking in my chest. “No,” I said quietly. “I’m finally reacting appropriately.”

Before he could speak, I tipped the bottle and poured it straight into his face.

Cold water drenched his hair, soaked his shirt, splashed onto the floor between us. He stumbled back, sputtering, his eyes wide with shock.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted.

“Done,” I said, louder now, my voice echoing through the empty cafeteria. “I’m done shrinking myself so you can feel important. I’m done apologizing for having a life. I’m done enduring your sulking, your entitlement, your belief that loving you meant erasing myself.”

He stared at me like I’d committed a crime.

“You really think you’ll do better than me?” he scoffed, wiping his face. “After everything I put into you?”

I slung my bag over my shoulder and stood. “That right there? That’s why I already have.”

I met his eyes. “Goodbye, Ethan. It’s over. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t show up pretending you deserve access to me ever again.”

Then I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, wet, furious, and finally irrelevant. He was still here, clinging to the last scraps of his pride but I didn’t look back. I was done giving him even that.

By the time I reached my office, my hands had stopped shaking.

I closed the door, locked it, and leaned back against it for a brief second, just to let the finality of it settle in my chest.

Then I pulled out my phone.

I opened the food app, scrolled past the things I usually ordered for him and I, and chose what I wanted. Extra sides. A drink, dessert. I added it all without hesitation and hit order.

The confirmation popped up.

Good.

I walked to my desk, set my bag down, and sat in my chair, staring out the window as everything moved on like nothing monumental had just happened. My life didn’t pause. The world didn’t collapse.

And for the first time in a long while, neither did I.

I was free. And I was hungry.

After a few hours, I buried myself in work, forcing my mind to focus. I attacked it with the ferocity of someone who had just survived a personal apocalypse. Lucas Reed never stepped out, and for that, I was quietly grateful.

By the time the clock neared quitting time, I felt like I might actually survive the day. I zipped my bag, straightened my blouse, and headed for the exit, reminding myself to breathe, to keep control.

As I crossed into the underground parking lot, the sound of a horn cut through the air.

I froze mid-step.

Please don’t be…..

I turned.

Lucas Reed.

Of course it was him.

When did he even leave his office? He hadn’t moved an inch from his office the last time I saw him in the morning. Had he left while I went to grab coffee? Or when I went back for my bag? Had he been timing me?

My stomach dropped so hard I was pretty sure it hit the concrete.

He was already stepping out of his car, dressed in that sharp black suit like he’d personally declared war on my nervous system. He shut the door with an easy motion and leaned against the car, relaxed, entirely too attractive for a man who was currently ruining my peace.

“I can give you a ride home,” he said, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

My brain immediately shut down.

A ride. Home. Alone. In a car. With him.

Absolutely not.

I turned my head slowly, schooling my face into something calm, something adult, something. “That’s not necessary,” I said, my voice clipped.

He didn’t move. He merely smiled.

“It’s just a gesture,” he said. “Since… we’re working together.”

Oh God. The pause. The emphasis. The way his eyes flicked over my face like he was trying to read something written between the lines.

No. Nope. This was dangerous territory.

My heart started racing. My palms went damp around my bag strap. I could not let this become a conversation. I could not let him remember last night. Or worse….let me remember it.

My mouth moved before my brain could catch up.

“I’m—” I started, then stopped, then rushed it out in one breath, “I’m married.”

The word hung there. It was loud, heavy and a little unhinged.

His expression shifted, not dramatically, just enough. His brows lifted slightly, surprise flashing across his face before he masked it.

“Oh,” he said.

Just that. There are no follow up or an awkward response.

He straightened, nodded once like he’d just received new information in a meeting, and turned back toward his car.

“Oh,” he repeated, quieter this time.

He slid into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and the engine purred to life. Then he drove off, smooth and unbothered, disappearing up the ramp like he hadn’t just detonated my entire nervous system.

I stood there, rooted to the spot.

My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure someone could hear it. My legs felt weak, like they’d forgotten their job description. I tightened my grip on my bag, breathing out slowly, like it might float me back into reality.

I let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh and dragged a hand down my face.

“Oh shit,” I muttered. “What the hell did I just say?”

Lucas

I realized she was married halfway down the highway.

The thought hit me hard enough that my jaw tightened and my grip on the steering wheel followed. Traffic moved at its usual pace, but the lights blurred past my vision as if I were driving faster than I actually was. I kept replaying the moment in the parking lot, the way her posture had gone rigid, the way her voice had rushed the words out as though she needed to say them before she lost her nerve.

She had said she was married.

There had been no explanation, no apology, and no ring in sight. I exhaled slowly and tried to make sense of it. If she was married, then she had still slept with me and if she had a husband waiting for her that night, that was bad. Neither option sat well with me.

I had not seen a ring on her finger, but I knew better than to trust something so obvious. People who cheated did not tend to advertise it. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. I had never liked being involved in deception, and the possibility that I had walked straight into one unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. It stirred memories I had already buried and had no intention of revisiting.

By the time I pulled into my father’s driveway, my irritation had settled into something heavier and more reflective. That house always did that to me. The moment I arrived, it seemed to strip away whatever sense of ease I carried with me.

Nothing had changed. The hedges were still trimmed with obsessive precision, the windows still glowed with a warmth that never quite reached the inside, and the air smelled faintly of polish and money. The house was immaculate, expensive, and completely devoid of warmth.

Dinner there was a weekly obligation. One night a week, no excuses. Even after Brandon’s collapse and everything that followed, my father had insisted on keeping the tradition. He claimed it maintained structure. I suspected it was simply another way for him to remind me who still held the reins.

I shut off the engine and stepped out of the car, already bracing myself.

Astrid greeted me before I reached the door, as she always did.

“Lucas,” she said smoothly, her smile perfectly composed.

Astrid Reed, my stepmother, looked exactly as she always had. She was elegant, youthful and energetic. She had been part of my father’s life long before my mother’s hospital visits had become routine, long before the pills, and long before silence had replaced shouting. Her hair was neatly styled, pearls rested at her ears, and her perfume clung lightly to her like a signature.

“You look well,” she added, her eyes sweeping over me. “Tired, but well.”

“We don’t have to do this,” I said, stopping short in front of her. “You know how I feel about you. I thought you were still in Paris.”

Her expression did not flicker. It never did. “I came back early,” she replied gently, as though we had shared anything resembling gentleness. “It’s good to see you, Lucas.”

I walked past her without responding.

Inside, the house was quiet in a way that felt too deliberate. There was no laughter, no clutter, no sign of a life actually lived.

My father stood at the base of the stairs, his sleeves rolled up, his posture as commanding as ever. He had always had a way of filling a room without raising his voice.

“You’re late,” he said.

“It was a really long day, Father.” I replied.

“There’s dinner waiting for you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing me. “You should eat, boy.”

“I’m going to bed.”

There was a pause before he nodded. He did not argue. He never needed to. His disappointment had always been more effective than anger.

I took the stairs two at a time, my body remembering the layout of the house even when I wished it would forget. This room had been mine once, before it became a guest room, before the walls were repainted, before my mother’s things disappeared quietly, one by one.

I closed the door behind me and finally allowed myself to breathe.

This room had once been my refuge. It was where I hid when my parents’ arguments turned quiet and vicious, where I learned how to listen without being heard and how to observe without being noticed. Control had been my survival skill, and it had served me well later in life.

Brandon on the other hand had never learned it.

My stepbrother had always been reckless and entitled, charming in the careless way men like him often were. When my father handed him the company, everyone applauded the decision. No one had noticed the cracks forming beneath the surface.

I had noticed.

The drugs had come first, then the erratic decisions, and then the fraud case. It had started small, almost forgivable, until it was no longer either. When everything finally collapsed, my father had looked at me with expectation rather than remorse.

So I had stepped in. I had cleaned up the mess, taken the responsibility, and absorbed the consequences. I had become the man people trusted instead of underestimated.

I sat on the edge of the bed and let out a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over my face.

And now I had slept with my married personal assistant.

Perfect.

Her face appeared in my mind without permission. The way she had stood The word married had fallen from her lips like a shield, but it hadn’t stopped what I felt.

I hadn’t pushed her, and that bothered me. I could have, easily. I could have pressed, tested the claim, reminded her what had happened that night and why she did that to me. If she told me she was married. I would have backed off.

Yet the truth didn’t matter because even knowing she was married, even knowing I should step back, I wanted her. I wanted another night with her.

I leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Complicated, off-limits women had always been my weakness. And she, Lena Hart was impossible to ignore. She was stunning in a way that made my control crack. I told myself I should walk away. I should keep it professional but the thought was a lie I didn’t fully believe.

I wanted her.

I wanted her badly.

And I wanted her again.

But she was married. And that meant rules had to exist, lines had to be drawn. At work, I would be careful. I would stay composed. I would keep my distance, no matter how much I burned to feel her again.

Tomorrow, I could be the CEO, the man everyone expected me to be. I would control myself. I had to.

But tonight, I let myself admit the truth.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.