The Morning After

Celine taps her manicured nails against the leather armrest of the sleek luxury car. "Pull over right here. I will walk the rest of the way."

Nolan glances at her through the rearview mirror, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "We are still five blocks from the towering Sterling Group building, Celine. Mr. Sterling requested I take you directly to the front entrance."

"And have half the design department see me climbing out of his personal vehicle? No thank you. I value my job. I cannot explain away arriving in my terrifying boss's car." Celine unbuckles her seatbelt and grabs her purse. To keep her arrival discreet and avoid the prying eyes of her coworkers, she needs to enter that building on foot.

Nolan sighs but pulls the vehicle to the curb. Celine steps out onto the bustling morning street. The crisp city air bites at her face, offering a brief, chilling distraction from the dull ache radiating through her lower body. She walks a block down the pavement, keeping her head lowered until she spots the green neon cross of a corner pharmacy. She ducks inside, the glass doors sliding shut to block out the roaring traffic.

She navigates the lit aisles straight to the family planning section. Grabbing a box of Plan B, she heads to the cashier. The small cardboard box feels heavy in her grip. It serves as a stark, unavoidable reminder of the reckless, unprotected night she just spent tangled in the sheets with the CEO. She pays in cash, avoiding the clerk's eyes, and dry-swallows the pill the moment she steps back out onto the sidewalk. She cannot afford any permanent consequences from her drunken mistake.

Just as she tosses the empty box into a nearby trash can, her phone buzzes in her coat pocket. Celine pulls it out, her eyes narrowing at the glowing caller ID. *Trent*.

A bitter, hollow smile crosses her lips. She stares at the name of her cheating boyfriend of five years. They met in college, back when she was a grade-skipping prodigy and he was the charming older student who swept her off her feet. Two years ago, she moved abroad with her mother to study. Trent swore he could handle the distance. Instead, he proved his weakness by choosing to warm his bed with one of her closest friends from back home.

The phone continues to vibrate against her palm. Celine ignores the call, letting it drop to voicemail. She knows every filthy detail of his betrayal, but confronting him in a screaming match right now simply isn't her style. That would give him the opportunity to make excuses, to turn the situation into useless drama. She is biding her time. She is waiting to execute a calculated revenge that will hit him where it hurts, destroying the comfortable life he thinks he has secured.

Her phone screen goes dark, only to light up a second later with a new WhatsApp notification.

Her carefully maintained composure slips. The name on the screen sends a jolt of pure adrenaline straight through her chest. *Vance*.

Her heart skips a beat. She stops dead in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. Pedestrians bump past her shoulders, but she remains frozen, staring at the notification bubble. Why is he messaging her on a personal app? Is he reaching out to her as the intimidating, ruthless CEO of Sterling Boutique, or is he texting her as the man whose bed she had just left mere hours ago?

Clenching her jaw in sheer frustration, she swipes the notification away without reading it. She bolts toward the towering glass facade of the office building, knowing she is late for an impromptu design department meeting.

Celine rushes through the expansive marble lobby, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She spots the closing doors of a crowded elevator and quickens her pace, slipping through the narrow gap just in time.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up."

Celine turns to see her best friend, Clara Monroe, standing near the buttons. Clara looks her up and down, a teasing smirk forming on her lips.

"Celine, you hate wearing stiff business clothes. Why did you put on a stifling, fully buttoned-up suit today?" Clara questions, gesturing to the thick fabric covering Celine from her collarbone down to her knees. Celine usually favors fashionable, creative attire that matches her role as a top designer.

Celine smooths a hand over the dark lapel, desperate to hide the sprawling canvas of dark bruises and bright red bite marks hidden beneath the fabric. "I wanted to display my professional assets today. A little power dressing never hurt anyone."

"Right. Because your sketches don't speak for themselves." Clara laughs, leaning over to playfully smack Celine on the shoulder.

A sharp wince of pain shoots through Celine's muscles. Her shoulder is sore from Vance pinning her down in the dark. She masks the wince, forcing a stiff smile to keep Clara from noticing her discomfort.

Just as the metal doors begin to slide shut again, a large hand shoots through the narrow gap. The heavy doors retract with a mechanical whir.

Nolan steps aside, clearing the path. Vance strides into the elevator.

He is clad in an intimidating, tailored black suit. The dark fabric stretches across his broad shoulders, radiating cold authority. The casual chatter in the elevator dies. Employees avert their eyes, pressing themselves toward the back walls to create a wide berth for the CEO.

Celine and Clara shift to the side to make room. Celine swallows hard. Vance is now standing right next to her, towering over her smaller frame. Pressed uncomfortable close in the cramped, airless space, Celine feels like she cannot breathe. The oxygen vanishes the second he steps inside.

Heat floods her cheeks. His intoxicating, crisp sandalwood scent washes over her senses. It is the exact, distinct scent that was all over her bare skin just last night. The memory of his heavy body pressing into hers threatens to overwhelm her. She stares intently at the glowing floor numbers above the door, praying for the ride to end.

Oblivious to the suffocating, thick sexual tension radiating between Celine and the silent CEO, Clara leans in close and whispers excitedly into Celine's ear.

"Oh my god, Celine, you will not believe what I saw after the dinner last night. I saw this mysterious woman in Mr. Sterling's car. She had her arms wrapped tight around his neck, kissing him. He didn't even try to stop her. Do you think our supposedly celibate CEO finally got some action?"

Celine's cheeks burn hotter by the second, the flush spreading down her neck beneath the restrictive collar. She is the mysterious woman. She is the one who ripped his shirt open and attacked his mouth in the backseat of that car.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Clara." Celine feigns ignorance, keeping her voice to a barely audible whisper. She refuses to look to her left, terrified she might catch Vance looking at her.

The elevator chimes at the 28th floor. The doors slide open. Celine shoves her way out, dragging Clara along and leaving the suffocating sandalwood scent behind.

Ten minutes later, the design department gathers in the glass-walled conference room. Celine takes a seat near the back, pulling out her notebook. Her body aches with every subtle movement, but she forces herself to sit up straight.

Simon Carmine, the flirtatious and slimy director of the department, stands at the head of the long table. He paces back and forth, boasting about the massive success of their recent campaign. Celine rests her chin on her hand, exhausted by his endless self-promotion.

Simon stops pacing and turns his gaze directly toward Celine. A greasy smile stretches across his face. He showers her with excessive praise, his eyes roaming over her buttoned-up suit in a way that makes her skin crawl.

"We really need to take a moment to thank Ms. Winslow for her incredible contributions. Her top-selling designs carried this entire campaign. Truly, Celine, you are a marvel to work with. Your pieces sold better than anything else we put out."

Celine grips her pen hard enough to turn her knuckles white. She is exhausted by his relentless, hinting advances. She has heard this same speech before and knows he just wants her to fall at his feet. She forces a polite smile.

"Thank you, Simon, but the success belongs to the whole team. I am just doing my job."

Just as the meeting wraps up and people begin closing their laptops, a sharp knock echoes through the room.

The heavy glass door swings open. Nolan stands at the entrance, his expression an unreadable mask. He looks past the scattered designers and locks eyes with Celine.

"Ms. Winslow, Mr. Sterling wants to see you in his office." Nolan announces the summons to the room.

The room plunges into a stunned, breathless silence. The collective gasp from her coworkers sucks the remaining air from the space. A dozen pairs of eyes bore into Celine.

The 30th floor is known among the staff as Hell. Rumors swirl through the breakroom that previous employees had left that office on stretchers with broken bones after failing the CEO. The last director to go up there walked out with a dislocated shoulder, and an assistant before that suffered a broken leg.

Simon looks worried for her. He steps forward, dropping his slimy persona for a moment. "Nolan, do you know what this is about?"

Nolan offers no further explanation to the gawking room. His mouth is locked tighter than a vault.

Celine's face is still flushed red from the elevator ride. Her heart hammers against her ribs. Her mind flashes to Vance acting like a wild, insatiable animal the night before. His hands pinning her down, his mouth devouring hers. Is he calling her up there to fire her for crossing the line? Or is this about something much worse? She fears the brutal repercussions of their night together as she faces the reality of ascending to his office.

She stands up slowly, her legs feeling heavy. She decides to joke grimly to break the thick tension.

"Well, if I don't make it back, you guys can split up all the sketches in my office as my inheritance."

Gathering her notes and clutching them to her chest like a shield, Celine walks out of the conference room. She follows Nolan down the quiet corridor toward the restricted, private elevator reserved solely for executive use. Regular employees cannot access the 30th floor without proper clearance.

They step inside. Nolan leans forward, letting the red laser scanner read his face. The machine beeps in approval, and the elevator begins its slow, dreadful climb toward Hell.

The silence in the moving box stretches Celine's nerves to the breaking point. She clutches her notebook tighter, her knuckles aching. She feels trapped. What will the terrifying CEO do to her now that she is trapped alone with him on the 30th floor?

She demands answers, unable to handle the agonizing suspense any longer. "Nobody's here now, so can you tell me what he wants?"

Nolan keeps his eyes fixed on the changing floor numbers above the door. "He didn't really say, but he seemed like he was in a pretty good mood."

Celine's stomach twists into a painful knot. She stares at the polished steel doors, thinking bitterly to herself.

*Of course he was in a good mood. Who knew how many times he'd gotten his rocks off last night?*