Not Your Boy Toy

The elevator doors slid open with a soft, melodic chime. Celine stepped out onto the legendary thirtieth floor, her legs feeling as heavy as lead. The corridor stretched before her, an intimidating expanse of dark slate flooring and muted, architectural lighting. Nolan walked a few paces ahead, leading her toward a massive set of double doors at the very end of the hall. He stopped and tapped his knuckles against the rich mahogany wood.

"Come in." Vance's voice filtered through the heavy door.

Celine reached for the polished brass handle. Her stomach twisted into violent knots as she pushed the door inward, stepping into the sprawling, heavily shadowed executive suite. The space was enormous, dominated by a massive glass desk and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling cityscape of Belgrave.

Vance sat behind his desk. He looked entirely different from the immaculate, untouchable billionaire who had ordered her up here. He had discarded his tailored suit jacket, leaving him in a crisp black dress shirt. The top two buttons were undone, and his silk tie lay tossed aside on a stack of financial reports. His posture was relaxed but commanded the room. The undone collar exposed his collarbones and the dark, bruising hickey she had sucked onto his skin the night before. It was a glaring, physical reminder of her reckless loss of control.

Nolan stepped back and shut the door behind her. The heavy latch clicked into place. The faint sound echoed through the cavernous office, deafening in the silence.

"Mr. Sterling, you wanted to see me?" Celine asked, fighting to keep her tone even.

"Mm-hmm." Vance spared her a brief glance from his leather chair before returning his focus to his computer screen.

The silence stretched. Celine stood frozen near the door, her pulse thudding against her eardrums. Every passing second felt like an hour. She watched him work. He possessed an unfair level of masculine beauty. Sharp, aristocratic angles defined his face, pairing with a strong jawline and piercing dark eyes. Standing next to him earlier, the top of her head had barely reached his chin. Her mind betrayed her, flashing back to the bathroom stall. Her wandering hands had traced his perfectly defined abdominal muscles, feeling the raw heat radiating off his skin.

She shoved the humiliating memories away.

"Mr. Sterling, did you need something?" Celine asked again.

"Sit." Vance pushed his chair back and stood up.

He bypassed his massive desk and walked over to a black leather couch in the center of the room. He settled onto the cushions. Celine moved forward, keeping a safe six-foot distance as she took a seat on the far edge of the sofa.

"Come closer." Vance patted the empty space right next to his thigh.

Celine hesitated, gripping the edges of her notebook. She forced herself to stand and bridge the gap, sinking onto the leather right beside him. He turned his head, staring at her with an unwavering intensity. The proximity suffocated her. She twisted her fingers together in her lap, unable to draw a full breath.

"Does it still hurt?" Vance asked.

His low voice pierced the quiet room. Celine froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. She shook her head, staring at the polished floorboards. He actually wanted to debrief the encounter.

"What are you thinking?" Vance demanded.

Celine forced herself to look up. Her eyes landed right on his exposed neck, tracing the edge of the purple love bite. "I am sorry, Mr. Sterling. I drank way too much last night, and I honestly did not know I would do something so aggressive to you."

"Don't apologize." Vance sat up straight, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Last night was my choice. Yeah, you were drunk and you kissed me, but everything after that was all me."

"Please stop talking. We are both adults here. What happened happened, so let us just pretend it never did." Celine pleaded, her face burning with heat.

"What am I, your boy toy?" Vance snapped.

The sudden drop in his tone turned his expression to ice. He looked ready to interrogate her.

"You have got the wrong idea." Celine defended herself, her ears burning red.

"Would you consider becoming my wife?"

Celine stopped breathing. She stared at him, searching his stoic face for any sign of a joke. His dark eyes remained dead serious behind his rimless glasses.

"What?" Celine managed to whisper.

"We had sex last night, and I did not use a condom. I came inside you. If you get pregnant, we will have the baby. Even if you do not, I am going to take responsibility for your body." Vance delivered the bombshell calmly.

He spoke about their unprotected intimacy with zero hesitation, as if he were recounting a routine business merger. Celine felt a cold wave of shock wash over her. Her mind raced, sharpening into acute clarity. Vance came from a distinguished, cultured family. His impeccable upbringing dictated a rigid moral code. He had reached twenty-eight without a single scandal or marriage. Sleeping with an employee shattered his pristine rules, and now his conscience demanded he fix it through marriage.

She refused to play the victim he needed to save. She knew her place in the world. She was the illegitimate child of a desperate mother and a nameless businessman. Her entire life consisted of dodging whispers and fighting for scraps. Dragging a magnate like Vance Sterling down into her chaotic, messy reality was out of the question. More importantly, the devastating betrayal from Trent still bled in her chest. She had zero capacity to trust another man right now.

"I am sorry, Mr. Sterling, but I did not mean anything like that. I already took the morning-after pill this morning, so you do not need to worry about any consequences. I do not want to be Mrs. Sterling, nor do I want to pretend this is a fairytale. Since you feel you wronged me last night, and I am the person it happened to, let us just say we are done here. Let us not bring this up again." Celine delivered the rejection in one breathless rush.

She stood up and spun on her heel, marching toward the heavy wooden doors.

"Wait."

Vance rose to his feet. He crossed the room in three long strides, his towering frame cutting off her escape route. He planted himself between her and the door. Her blunt rejection had managed to stun the powerful CEO. No woman in Belgrave had ever dared to turn him down. He quickly masked his surprise, his face settling back into a calculating mask.

He reached into his pocket, retrieved his personal phone, and pulled up his QR code. He held the glowing screen right in front of her face.

"Add me on WhatsApp." Vance ordered.

Celine stared at the screen, refusing to reach for her phone.

"Next month, there is a fashion week happening in Vespera. The company is planning to send you and Mr. Carmine. If you do not want to go, just pretend I did not say anything, and you can stay here." Vance watched her reaction closely.

He dangled the highly coveted Vespera slot right over her head. The man knew exactly how to force her hand. The international fashion week was a career-making milestone. Attending meant immediate industry recognition and a fast track to senior designer. She could not walk away from it.

"You do not need to answer that other question right away. I will give you time to think about it." Vance smoothed over the demand, leaving no room for argument.

Celine gritted her teeth. She pulled her phone from her pocket, opened the app, and scanned his code. The familiar chime confirmed she had added his private contact. She resolved internally to simply ignore the absurd marriage proposal for the rest of her natural life. He stepped aside, and she pulled the door open, escaping the suffocating pressure of his office.

The ride back down to the design floor offered a brief moment to collect herself. Celine stepped off the elevator and walked back to her cubicle. She dropped her notebook onto the desk and collapsed into her chair.

Clara rolled her mesh chair over immediately, her eyes wide with eager gossip.

"So? Is the CEO's office incredible?" Clara whispered, leaning over the divider.

"It is one of those things you just have to experience yourself. Next time, I will put in a request so you can go see it in person." Celine deflected the prying questions, forcing a playful wink.

"Girl, I was so scared. I thought they were going to carry you out on a stretcher." Clara sighed in relief, turning back to check the data on her dual monitors.

"Ms. Winslow!" Simon yelled across the room.

He came jogging down the aisle between the desks, practically bouncing on his heels. The veteran designers paused their work, turning to look at the ecstatic supervisor. Simon's over-the-top expression commanded the attention of the entire department.

"Mr. Carmine." Celine stood up to meet him.

"They just sent down a memo from upstairs. You and I both officially made the exclusive list for Vespera Fashion Week!" Simon beamed, clapping his hands together.

"I know." Celine nodded, keeping her voice neutral.

The sudden news sent an immediate ripple through the open-plan office. Celine heard the frantic clacking of keyboards as gossip ignited on the internal messaging system. She caught the sharp glares from the senior designers. The veterans had poured years of sweat into the company, fighting for local showcases, let alone international tickets. Celine had only been at the company for a year. Snagging the Vespera spot painted a massive target on her back.

She knew the truth. Vance had orchestrated the assignment to keep her tethered to him. It was a golden handcuff. She ignored the jealous whispers and sat back down, focusing on her sketchpad.

Her phone buzzed against the wood of her desk. The screen lit up with a text message from Trent.

*Celine, you free tonight? Want to catch a movie?*

Celine stared at the notification. Her cheating boyfriend was shamelessly asking her out on a date, acting as if he had not been burying himself in her best friend's bed. He played the devoted partner to her face while servicing his side piece behind her back.

A dark smirk touched the corners of Celine's mouth. She unlocked her phone and began typing.

*Sure!*

She hit send. Instead of closing the chat, she took a screenshot of his movie invitation. She opened Instagram, loaded the screenshot, and carefully adjusted the privacy settings. She filtered out every single follower until only Aubrey Langley remained on the allowed viewer list. She typed out a biting caption to accompany the post.

*Five years strong.*

Celine hit publish. The trap was set. She placed the phone face-up on her desk and waited.

Less than two minutes later, a new banner dropped down from the top of her screen. Aubrey had taken the bait.

*Babe! My friend and I are going to see a movie tonight too. Which one are you guys seeing? What time?*

Aubrey's frantic panic bled through the digital text. She was desperately fishing for details, terrified that her secret lover was taking his official girlfriend out on the same night. The sheer audacity made Celine want to laugh.

She swiped the notification away without opening the message. She tapped the power button, locking the screen in silence. The vengeful satisfaction washed over her, replacing the lingering anxiety from Vance's office. Let Aubrey sweat. Let her tear her hair out trying to figure out where Trent was taking her.

Celine stood up from her chair and walked toward the massive glass windows lining the edge of the design department. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the busy Belgrave streets.

She looked down at the concrete pavement near the main entrance of the corporate building. The evening commuter rush flowed past the glass revolving doors. Standing right near the curb, attempting to look dashing, was Trent. He held a pathetic bouquet of mixed flowers in his hand, checking his watch while he waited for her to come down.