Mr CEO's Freaky Obsession

Laura

The diner was quiet. Too quiet.

The only light came from the dim glow of the kitchen gas, flickering like it could go out at any moment. The usual buzz of life was gone, the air thick with an unnatural stillness.

I sighed and turned the gas off.

"Hey, Peter. I'm clocking out now," I called over my shoulder, untying my apron.

No response.

I frowned. He had just walked into the pantry a few seconds ago.

"Peter?" I called again, but the silence stretched.

A prickle of unease crawled down my spine as I walked toward the pantry. Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, my breath catching in my throat as my heart slammed against my ribs.

I froze.

Peter was sprawled on the floor, lifeless eyes staring straight ahead, blood pooling around him.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

My limbs felt heavy, my mind blank but then, the dam broke.

"Peter!"

I dropped to my knees, my hands trembling as I reached out to his face. His skin was pale, unmoving. The thick scent of iron filled my nostrils, and I whimpered, lowering my head to his chest, straining to hear something, anything.

Nothing.

"No," I whispered, stumbling back, my entire body shaking.

Tears blurred my vision as I scrambled for my phone, fingers fumbling to dial for help but as I raised the device to my ear, something odd struck me.

The smell.

I sniffled, lowering my phone, and bringing my hand closer to my nose, it didn't smell like blood.

It smelled like Ketchup.

What the hell?

My heart still hammering, I wiped my tears and rushed back to the pantry, my legs wobbly.

Peter was... on his feet.

I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at him like he had just risen from the grave.

"Hey, Laura," he greeted casually, as if he hadn't just been lying in a puddle of fake blood.

My eyes swept over him, from head to toe, my body still in fight-or-flight mode.

"What... the fuck?"

He stood there, unmoving, until a grin split his face. Then he burst out laughing-a loud, hysterical laugh that sent a fresh wave of shock through me.

"What the hell just happened?" I demanded, my voice sharp with anger and confusion. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

Peter took a step toward me, still chuckling, but I stepped back, putting space between us.

"You should've seen your face," he wheezed, barely able to get the words out.

I shook my head, trying to process the last sixty seconds. "You were dead just now, Peter! How the hell are you standing?"

He smirked. "It was barbecue sauce. Mixed with ketchup."

I blinked. "What?"

"The blood. It wasn't real."

I stared at him, my jaw tightening. "You faked your death?"

He shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. "I was bored. No customers, no action. Thought I'd liven things up."

Except you played dead, you absolute lunatic.

"And you thought that would be fun?" I snapped, my hands clenching at my sides.

"Laura, come on. Look at me. I'm dying from laughter." He let out another bark of laughter, doubling over.

My patience snapped.

"You're an asshole, Peter. A lunatic. This is why no one wants to talk to you, hang out with you, or even work the late-night shift with you. Because you're a weirdo!" The words spilled out before I could stop them.

His laughter stopped instantly.

The amusement drained from his face as he stared at the floor. Without a word, he turned away and grabbed a mop, silently cleaning up his mess.

A sharp gust of wind blew through the diner as the front door swung open.

"Hello," a voice called out. "I'd like a box of pizza. No pepperoni, light on the cheese."

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples. Fucking fantastic.

****

Later that night, as I made my way to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of tea, something slid under the door.

An envelope.

I frowned, bending down to pick it up. It was thick, and expensive to the touch, and the ink on the front was bold and precise.

Letter to Laura George.

My name.

A strange feeling curled in my stomach as I unlocked the door and peeked outside. The hallway was empty. No footsteps. No lingering presence.

I tilted my head. Was this even for me?

Without much thought, I took the envelope upstairs, hopping up the steps two at a time until I reached my bedroom. I threw myself onto the bed and held up the letter.

"Alright, let's see what we've got here, Laura George," I muttered to myself, managing a crooked smile but as my eyes skimmed the first line, my entire body tensed.

"With the memories of that night still lingering in my head, I write to you..."

My grip tightened.

"That night? What night?"

I cleared my throat. "Uh... excuse me?" I muttered to no one in particular, before continuing.

"With the memories of that night still lingering in my head, I write to you about how impactful our encounter has been on me-positively, I should add.

You were like a dandelion in the midst of daisies. Among so many beautiful women, you stood out. Your presence struck me like lightning, making my tux feel as hot and suffocating as my bowtie.

Must I also commend your dress? The way its straps clung to your shoulders, how the colour illuminated your skin? But this is not flattery. These words are the truth, written from the depths of my heart to the woman reading this letter.

Another thought that refuses to leave my mind is the way your eyes glittered, the softness of your smile. The way your voice slid through your throat and spilled from your lips-effortless, captivating.

I wonder if that night holds any meaning for you the way it does for me. Perhaps it is foolish of me to hope, but still, I do."

I stopped reading, my mind spinning.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

"This is most definitely not meant for me."

I racked my brain, trying to recall the last time I had gone on a date or met a man who could be this smitten.

Nothing.

Unless, of course, we were counting that one time I got locked in the science lab with my lab partner.

Which... no.

I flipped the envelope over, hoping for a clue. A name. A return address. Anything.

Nothing.

Just my name. Letter to Laura George.

"But this is my name..."

I was baffled. Completely lost.

Still, I resumed reading, despite the nagging feeling that I was intruding on something meant for someone else.

"You may wonder why I am writing this to you. I have asked myself the same question.

Perhaps this was foolish, but this was the only means of communication I could think of since you gave me only your name. We met once, and it was brief, but I cannot shake the feeling that this was something rare. Something real.

I have tried to silence my thoughts, but my heart insists this is love at first sight.

However, I leave the choice to you. You may ignore my heart, or you may do me the honor of contacting me through my number: +1 (573) 222-3322.

I hope to hear from you soon... or whenever you feel so inclined.

Yours."

I let the letter slip from my fingers and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"I wish it was for me," I whispered to myself.

I wished someone had written those words about me.

A strange, lonely ache settled in my chest, but I quickly shoved it down.

"Whatever," I muttered. "I'll just tell him he got the wrong Laura George and go back to my perfectly uneventful, lonely life."

Laura

The sharp whistling of the kettle yanked me back to reality. With a weary sigh, I turned off the stove and poured myself a cup of coffee. I was going to need all the energy I could get today.

The thought of going to work made my stomach twist with dread.

It wasn't just because Peter was an unbearable coworker, though that certainly didn't help. It was the exhaustion of juggling three different jobs just to pay off a loan that seemed endless.

On days when I wasn't forced to cover extra shifts with Peter, I was either racing around the city as a delivery driver or working late into the night as a freelancer, desperate to scrape together enough money to keep my life from crumbling completely.

I took a sip of coffee, momentarily forgetting how hot it was.

"Son of a...!" I hissed as the burning liquid scalded my tongue and throat.

A loud stomping sound came from the ceiling above me, followed by a voice muffled through the floorboards. My new upstairs neighbour, apparently.

The apartment directly above me had been empty for months, probably because the rent was high enough to buy a damn villa on some secluded island but now, it seemed someone wealthy enough had moved in.

"Some people are born rich, while the rest of us work ourselves to the bone until our hands bleed," I muttered bitterly, shaking my head. This time, I sipped my coffee more carefully, staring into nothing as my thoughts wandered.

And then-the letter.

Two weeks had passed since I first received it. No follow-up, no explanation for why it ended up in my hands. No one had come looking for it, either.

Which meant... it was meant for me but the problem was, I had never met a man at a bar. Not once. My love life was nonexistent, and my social life was just as pathetic. I had no friends, and no real family, unless my deadbeat brother counted, which he didn't.

So why did I have this letter?

Who the hell was this other Laura George?

Was it a mistake on the sender's part? A mix-up by the delivery service?

I had no idea.

Too many questions. Not a single answer.

My phone rang suddenly, jolting me from my thoughts. I hurried across the kitchen to grab it, my stomach dropping when I saw the caller ID.

Rick.

Shit.

The second I answered, his gruff voice snapped through the speaker. "You're either the new employer, or you're done working here. Your choice."

Oh, come on, Rick. There's no management. It's just you.

"N-none, sir. No choice," I stammered, my heartbeat pounding like a drum.

"Then if I were you, I'd be on the first bus."

"I'm on my way."

He hung up without another word.

I exhaled shakily, staring at my reflection in the kitchen window.

There was a pattern to my life. A cycle. Work, obey, survive. Repeat. Even when I didn't want to.

Even when I couldn't.

*****

"I'm sorry about that night."

Peter's words were casual, but something about them irritated me.

"What night, Peter?" I asked tiredly.

I was too drained to entertain his ramblings. Between sneaking out on my breaks to deliver food, making sure Rick didn't catch me, and dealing with customers, I barely had the energy to stand upright. I wasn't about to waste what little I had left dealing with Peter's nonsense.

"The night I... you know... played dead."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "You've apologized a hundred times and I've told you, so long as you don't do that shit again, we have no problem."

"Yeah, but you're still acting cold toward me." He sounded almost offended. "I even offered to take that young lady's order, and you ignored me."

I groaned internally.

"You don't get it, do you?" I muttered. "No one here is looking out for us. We're the outcasts, Peter. No one gives a damn about us. We only have ourselves."

He sighed. "I just want to be on good terms with you."

I sometimes wondered if Kate and Andrew-the assholes who had effectively made us pariahs at work were actually justified in kicking Peter to the curb. Maybe I was finally seeing things from their perspective.

"You know you're really annoying, right?"

"I've been told," he admitted, smirking. "Still don't see it, though."

"Well, I can help you with that." I crossed my arms. "You know how exhausted I am. You know how badly I need to get the hell out of here and try to sleep and yet, here you are, holding me back."

He raised his hands in surrender, stepping aside. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'm just trying to be cool with you, Laura."

I exhaled, shaking my head before finally offering him a hand. "Fine. We're cool."

His gaze flicked from my face to my outstretched palm. He grinned before taking it.

"Now let me leave before Kate and Andrew get here," I muttered.

He laughed but nodded, stepping aside completely as I made my way to the changing room.

I pulled my bag out of my locker, rummaging through it for my hairbrush when my fingers brushed against something familiar.

The envelope.

I hesitated, then slowly pulled it out.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of questions. Two weeks of uncertainty and I was tired of waiting.

I grabbed my phone and, without thinking twice, dialled the number scrawled inside the letter.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times and then, the voice came through.

"Hello."

A deep, masculine voice came through the speaker, and I instinctively jerked the phone away from my ear as if it had burned me.

My throat tightened.

Shit.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a steady breath.

"Hello?" he said again, this time more impatiently.

I clenched my jaw and steeled myself.

"This is Laura George," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "I want to meet."

Adlan

After ending the call with my brother, I could still feel the anger simmering beneath my skin, refusing to settle. My grip on the pen in my hand tightened as my phone rang again, dragging me back into the moment.

I cursed under my breath.

Snatching the phone off my desk, I was ready to unleash the rest of the words Andrew hadn't stuck around to hear but when I glanced at the screen, the number flashing across it wasn't his.

An unknown caller.

I frowned, hesitating for only a second before swiping to answer on the third ring.

"Hello," I said, my tone sharp, impatient but there was silence at the other end.

I pulled the phone from my ear, glancing at the screen. The call was still connected.

"Hello," I repeated, slower this time, giving whoever it was one more chance before I hung up.

"This is Laura George. I'd like to meet."

Every nerve in my body went taut.

I checked the screen again, as if I hadn't heard right.

"Hello? Are you there?" she asked, her voice soft but urgent.

A slow smile stretched across my face.

Finally.

"Yes," I breathed, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Yes, I'm here. And yes, we should meet."

"Do you have a place in mind, or would you rather I pick?"

Her voice carried a quiet confidence, but beneath it, I could hear something else. A slight edge.

I hesitated. "Are you really Laura George?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, no hesitation in her voice.

She sounded as eager as I felt. Of course, I had always wanted to meet her again.

"Then leave the location to me," I said. "Let me take care of it."

There was a beat of silence. For a moment, I thought I'd said something wrong.

"I..." she started, her voice softer now. I could hear her swallow. "I don't want to go somewhere far."

Her tone carried a vulnerability I wasn't expecting.

"Best believe it'll be within the right proximity," I assured her.

She might not have noticed that night, but I was a perfect gentleman.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"No. Thank you. Thank you for finally reaching out. I almost thought..."

"Please," she cuts in, her voice firm. "Let's just meet up."

I exhaled, nodding to myself. "I'm sorry. Okay... I'll text you the address soon."

"All right."

The call ended, and I stared at my screen, still processing what had just happened.

"She called," I muttered, a slow chuckle bubbling up in my chest. Then I laughed fully, the sound echoing in my office. "She finally called!"

Excitement surged through me as I pushed back from my desk and got up. I straightened my suit, smoothing my hand down the front, already heading toward the door.

"Cancel all my meetings for today," I told my secretary as I walked past. I didn't wait for a response. I had more important things to do.

The anticipation built as I waited, sitting at the private table I'd reserved.

I adjusted my cufflinks and checked the time for the hundredth time.

"She's only a few minutes late," I muttered under my breath.

Was she driving? Should I have picked her up? Was she having trouble finding the place?

I tapped my fingers against the table, trying to push down my restlessness. I had made sure this meeting was as private as possible, no interruptions, no unwanted eyes. It was short notice, but I had done my best to create the perfect setting.

Seven minutes passed.

Unable to sit still any longer, I got up and stepped outside, dialling her number.

Before I could press the phone to my ear, I heard it ringing from a few feet away.

My gaze snapped up.

A woman stood near the entrance, holding her phone to her ear, her eyes locking onto mine.

Laura George.

I lowered my phone, ending the call as I stepped toward her. "Laura?"

She nodded, her expression unreadable.

I smiled, a small one, as I led her inside. She followed, offering a polite nod but little else.

Something felt... off.

She looked different from that night, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

I pulled out a chair for her, and she sat hesitantly, an awkward smile flickering across her lips before disappearing.

As I took my seat, I studied her, but she refused to meet my gaze. There was no trace of a smile on her face. No makeup. No effort to enhance her beauty and yet, she still managed to take my breath away.

She looked tired.

That night, she had worn a black dress that hugged every curve, a dress that had been made for her body. Black stilettos. Red lips that had burned themselves into my memory. Her wavy hair had been elegantly pinned up, concealing its full length. She had looked like perfection, luxury, elegance incarnate.

Tonight, she looked... raw. Unpolished. As if life had been weighing on her shoulders.

"Was it hard getting here?" I asked gently. "I tried to pick somewhere nearby."

She finally lifted her head, her eyes studying me with a look I couldn't quite decipher.

"What would you like to drink?" I offered, smiling. "Cocktail? Mocktail? Juice? Water..."

She said nothing, her gaze shifting around the restaurant instead.

"If this place isn't to your liking, I can arrange something else."

Her eyes settled back on me, assessing me in a way that made me oddly uncomfortable.

"You look different from that night," she finally said.

Her voice. Fuck. It was just as I remembered-smooth, sweet, yet laced with something sharper beneath the surface.

I smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Do I not match your taste in men?"

She blinked, shaking her head. "No, that's not what I meant. You just... you look more put-together."

The waitress arrived, placing our meals in front of us.

"I had them prepare your favorite," I said, watching her carefully. "Specially made for you."

She glanced down at the plate, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

"The restaurant is empty," she pointed out.

I chuckled. "I made sure it's just us."

Her gaze flickered with something unreadable but when she picked up her spoon and took a bite, her face softened.

"This tastes like perfection."

I grinned, leaning back in my seat. "Thank God you love it. I was prepared to fire the entire kitchen if you didn't."

She arched an eyebrow. "You have the authority to do that?"

I nodded. "And the waitresses too."

She set her spoon down, lacing her fingers together on the table. "Firing people just because the food isn't good?"

"Isn't that the whole point of a restaurant?"

She held my gaze, unblinking. "I beg to differ."

I leaned in slightly, intrigued. She's interesting.

"Well, I was just being responsible," I countered.

"I appreciate that but..."

"Try the abalone pasta," I cut in smoothly.

She hesitated. "Abalone?"

"Yes. You told me that night it was your favorite."

Her lips parted slightly, then she laughed. "Oh. Yes, yes. I love seafood. All of it." She took a bite, and I watched as her eyes lit up.

I chuckled, relief washing over me.

By the time we left, I was convinced that, despite the differences, she was still the same woman from that night.

As I drove, I felt her gaze on me.

"What's on your mind?" I asked, glancing at her. I placed a hand over hers, resting on her thigh.

She looked down at our hands before meeting my gaze.

"How did you get my address?"

That wasn't what I had expected.

I hesitated. "I just... figured it out."

"Being honest is sexy."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I had one of my men get it for me."

I looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction. "Are you mad?"

"No. Just impressed."

I raised an eyebrow. "Impressed?"

"Pull over," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"Pull over!"

Her voice cracked. I immediately hit the brakes.

She threw open the door and stepped out.

I followed, my pulse spiking when I saw her face-her eyes red, her skin flushed.

And then she whispered, "I can't do this."