CEO'S MISTRESS

(Izzy's POV)

Julian Sterling had stopped pretending he could stay away. No more casual invitations or late-night excuses. Now, he made time for me. He cleared entire afternoons, shifted board meetings, and locked his office door with a glint in his eyes that made my pulse thrum like a war drum.

It was addictive, the way power melted under my touch.

"Just five minutes," he whispered one day, pressing me against the edge of his sleek, overpriced desk, his breath ragged against my neck.

I laughed, low and wicked. "You said that twenty minutes ago."

"Then stay twenty more."

He kissed me like a man starving, hands desperate, body taut with desire and danger. Every time he touched me, I could feel it: the unraveling. Julian Sterling, lion of the boardroom, was losing himself. And I was the blade slicing through his leash.

His marriage with Vivian was cracking. He’d started going home late, answering her questions with vague shrugs and distracted smiles. He was slipping. Slowly. Deliciously.

And I kept feeding him rope.

In his office, I planted ideas in his head with gentle suggestions and offhand comments.

"You trust Brennan too much," I murmured one afternoon, handing Julian his scotch. "He talks like a loyalist, but he aligns with whoever's most useful."

Julian frowned. "He's been with us for years."

"Loyalty fades in shadows. Especially in a company as visible as Sterling."

He didn’t say anything. But the next day, Brennan’s name was notably absent from the leadership summit invite list.

One seed at a time.

The first time he canceled a meeting just to see me, I knew he was no longer in control.

He texted me at 11:42 AM: "Lunch. My office. Tell no one."

Not a question. Not a request. But behind the command, I heard the hunger.

I made him wait twenty-three minutes.

When I finally stepped into his office, he was pacing like a caged animal, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, bourbon already in a glass though it wasn’t even noon. His tie hung around his neck like a noose—loosened but still constricting.

“You’re late,” he growled.

I tilted my head, my smile slow and unapologetic. “You’ve never minded waiting before.”

He crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to him. Our lips were inches apart.

“I mind when I want something this badly.”

Oh, he wanted. And he didn’t even realize how much I wanted him to want.

That day later turned into the first of many. Meetings became a formality—pretext for stolen moments in shadowed corners, boardroom doors locked behind us, his hands sliding up silk blouses and his mouth silencing any thoughts of consequences.

Julian really wasn’t pretending anymore. He texted every night. Called some mornings. Found excuses to see me twice, sometimes three times a day. He rearranged his schedule to align with mine.

Vivian was a ghost in his life now. Or so he made it seem.

“I’m suffocating in that house,” he said one night as I sat across his desk, legs crossed, dress just tight enough to drive him to distraction. “You’re the only thing that feels real lately.”

I feigned softness in my eyes, dipped my chin just so, and said, “Maybe you should start making real choices, Julian.”

Subtle. Suggestive. Enough to plant the seed.

And it worked.

He started rejecting Vivian’s invitations to events. Dodging dinners. Staying later and later at the office, where I was always just a few doors away.

And while he was growing addicted to the illusion of us, I was quietly playing the long game.

Behind the scenes, I began feeding choice tidbits—just whispers—to a certain anonymous email account I knew would reach the right people: Sterling Innovations had cracks in its pristine foundation.

Nothing overt. Not yet. Just enough to stir curiosity, raise questions. A discrepancy in a quarterly report here. A rumor about boardroom infighting there. Harmless on their own, but strung together? Dangerous.

Julian never noticed me slipping into his office after hours, his fingerprint still fresh on the biometric lock. He never saw the way I smiled at the file labeled “Pending Contracts – Overseas.” The kind of leverage one couldn’t buy.

Information is power.

And power, when wielded properly, is a scalpel—not a sledgehammer.

Vivian, however, wasn’t stupid.

She noticed. Of course she did. The missed dinners. The cologne that lingered too long. The lipstick that wasn’t her shade. The subtle smile on Julian’s face when he thought no one was looking. Or maybe she simply knew her husband had grown distant.

But she didn’t confront him. She didn’t scream or cry or throw wine glasses like the melodramatic wives of tabloid fantasies.

No. Vivian Sterling made a phone call.

To Marcus Thorne.

A private investigator with a reputation for finding things that didn’t want to be found.

I watched her from the mezzanine one evening, her phone tucked discreetly into her hand as she stood in the hallway outside Julian’s office. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could read the body language: sharp. Controlled. Deadly.

It made me smile.

Because it meant the game was finally shifting.

Julian wasn’t the only pawn moving anymore. Vivian was sliding her queen across the board.

And Marcus Thorne? He was the wild card. The one variable I hadn’t fully planned for. Yet.

That night, Julian asked me to stay late.

“I need someone I trust,” he said, rubbing his temples, sleeves rolled up as usual, tie discarded. He looked tired. Frayed.

“I’m honored,” I said sweetly, handing him the contract I’d planted questions in two days ago. “But are you sure I’m the right person?”

He glanced at me, something tender flickering in his eyes. “You’re the only one who hasn’t lied to me in months.”

Oh, Julian.

If only you knew.

“I have a surprise for you,” he added suddenly, reaching into a drawer. He pulled out a slim velvet box and handed it to me.

Inside, a necklace—simple, delicate, platinum with a blood-red ruby pendant. Elegant. And telling.

“Red suits you,” he murmured.

I touched the gem with a careful finger. “Why give me this?”

“Because you make me feel alive again… come away with me this weekend," he said suddenly.

I blinked. "What?"

"Just us. Somewhere quiet. Private."

He was spiraling. Falling fast. I didn't even need to try hard. He's already getting addicted.

"That sounds... impulsive," I said, laughing softly.

"You make me impulsive. I don’t want to think. I just want you."

I kissed him, slow and sweet, while my mind ran a hundred paces ahead.

Yes, Julian. Lose yourself in me.

But as I headed home, my phone buzzed. An unknown number.

I answered.

A deep voice. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Miss Valei."

I didn’t respond. Just smiled.

Because this is where the real fun begin.