THE CEO'S SECRET HEIR

Aurora sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling slightly as she stared at the black dress pooled at her feet. Her room was dim, the only light came from a crack in the window, and the endless flickering of phone notifications she had no intention of checking. But her mind wasn't in this room, not really.

It was still trapped in last night's memory, replaying each moment over and over again. She couldn't stop asking herself what could have gotten into her. She wished she could erase it, or at least understand it.

She never planned to attend the company dinner party. Parties weren't her thing, especially not grand corporate events in massive ballrooms that reeked of money, perfume, and cheap validation.

To her, it was a night made for show-offs, gossipers, and the kind of people who had everything to prove. But the company had marked it as a mandatory attendance event, and she couldn't afford to risk her job, not when her parents were barely getting by, and her savings never lasted beyond rent and food.

So, she went in quietly and tried to blend in. She avoided everyone, stayed near the waiters, picked at a dry appetizer, and slipped out as soon as she could.

And still, she ended up in his office.

She ran her fingers through her tangled curls, the shame of it all knotting in her stomach like a fist. How did I let this happen to me?

Damon Windsor, her boss the CEO of Windsor Holdings. The man she had never looked at twice, not because he wasn't attractive, but because she had always known better.

He was the one everyone whispered about in the elevators. Cold, handsome, rich, and untouchable. The face of the company, the heir to a billion-pound legacy, the man who belonged to a world she didn't even dream of entering.

She hadn't even exchanged five words with him before that night.

And yet...

One moment, she was trying to find her bag, escaping the dizzy blur of alcohol, music, and small talk. The next, she was standing in his office doorway, and there he was, his suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his tie tossed carelessly across the desk. His eyes were darker than she remembered, tired and heavy.

They didn't speak, not at first.

He looked up at her. She froze.

"I just... I left my bag," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

He nodded slightly, barely reacting. "Stay if you want. It's quiet here."

She should have left.

It should've ended there.

But it didn't.

Two people who hated being seen finally saw each other.

They didn't talk. Maybe that's why it happened. Maybe the silence made everything feel less real.

It made the whole complication disappear for a moment, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. The world slipped away, leaving just the two of them.

In that quiet room, buzzed by wine and weakened by loneliness, she let her guard down. And he did too.

Now?

Aurora let out a shaky breath and stood up. Her body ached, not from the act itself, but from the emotional weight it carried. She crossed the small room and stared at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was smudged, her curls flattened, her lips chapped.

And her eyes? They seemed older and wiser, like she was a different person.

"You're fine," she whispered to her reflection. "It meant nothing. It's over."

She had learned to survive by pretending, and she would pretend her way through this too.

The weekend passed like fog. It was the longest weekend of her life.

She didn't text anyone. She didn't go out. Her phone stayed silent, not that she expected otherwise. And when Monday came, she woke up before her alarm, forced herself into a soft beige blouse and plain black trousers, and walked into the glass-and-steel world of Windsor Holdings like nothing had ever happened.

No one suspected a thing.

She passed Damon once in the hallway. Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept walking. There was no pause, no words, no reaction. Just silence.

It was exactly what she wanted.

Exactly what she needed.

Until she opened her inbox.

A new calendar invite blinked at the top of her screen:

One-on-one: 12:30 PM | DW

Her fingers froze.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Maybe it was nothing, just a schedule update. Something about his itinerary, maybe he didn't even remember.

But at 12:25 PM, her palms were sweating.

She stood outside his office at 12:29, folder in hand, legs stiff.

The moment she had been trying to avoid all day had finally come.

Just knock.

She raised her fist and knocked once.

"Come in."

He was sitting at his desk, typing. He didn't look up when she entered. The room was silent, except for the soft click of keys.

"Sit."

She sat.

He finished typing, then finally lifted his head.

His eyes met hers, and just like that, her heart betrayed her with a loud, painful thump against her ribs.

"I'll be traveling on Wednesday," he said calmly, sliding a folder across the desk toward her. "I want the quarterly notes prepared before I leave."

She took the folder, her voice firm and steady. "Of course. I'll send them before the end of the day."

He studied her longer than necessary.

There was something unreadable in his expression, the kind of stare that felt too long, too quiet, like he was trying to read something from her face, or maybe convince himself there was nothing to read at all.

"Anything else you need to say?" he asked.

She blinked.

"No, sir."

"Then we're done."

She stood.

Turned.

And just as she reached the door, his voice cut through the silence.

"I didn't plan for that night to happen."

She stopped.

Turned slowly, her fingers tightening around the folder.

"I know," she said softly. "And it won't happen again."

She walked out before he could say another word.