The voice message exploded in the Global Team chat like a grenade.
“Seriously, I can’t take Owen anymore. That man is like a Greek god in a suit. Way too handsome, but also the most arrogant and unbearable person on the planet. He’s like a hot corporate dictator.”
And then—send.
Natalie Ross didn’t even notice at first. She was juggling too many things: a cup of coffee in one hand, a stack of reports in the other, her phone pressed between her cheek and shoulder as she typed. Her thumbs moved faster than her brain, and when she laughed at her own words and tapped the screen, she thought she’d just shared a funny complaint with her best friend.
Then silence.
Not the normal office buzz. A silence so sharp you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Natalie looked up from her phone. Dozens of eyes stared at her in disbelief. One coworker was frozen mid-sip, coffee dripping from the edge of his cup. Another mouthed the words: “Oh my God.”
Her blood ran cold. She glanced down at the screen. The message hadn’t gone to her best friend. It hadn’t gone to her private group.
It had gone to Global Team Group.
Hundreds of employees. Entire departments. Regional managers. And sitting at the very top of that chain—Owen Carter, CEO of Apex International.
Notifications started pouring in. Shocked emojis. Laughing faces. A string of “WOW” and “OMG” from people across time zones.
Then the last one. The one that made Natalie’s stomach twist into knots.
“Owen Carter listened to your voice message.”
Her throat tightened. She wanted to throw the phone out the window, run out of the building, erase herself from existence. Anything but face what was coming.
And then she heard it.
The echo of polished leather shoes clicking down the hall.
Every head in the marketing department turned.
And there he was.
Owen Carter.
Tall, broad-shouldered, flawless in a navy suit tailored to perfection. He wasn’t just handsome; he was intimidating, a presence that seemed to shift the air around him. His eyes—icy gray—swept the room like searchlights until they locked on her.
Natalie’s heart pounded.
“Miss Ross,” Owen said, his voice deep, even, carrying the weight of authority without even raising the volume. “We need to talk. Now.”
It wasn’t a request.
The entire office froze as Natalie stood, her legs trembling beneath her pencil skirt. Crossing that hallway felt like walking to the gallows.
His office was on the top floor, glass walls framing a breathtaking view of Manhattan. But today the city looked like a backdrop in a theater of doom. Natalie perched on the edge of a leather chair, trying to steady her breathing.
She opened her mouth. “Mr. Carter, I—that was—”
“Hot corporate dictator?” he interrupted, one eyebrow arched, voice deceptively calm. “Is that how you see me?”
Her face burned crimson. “I didn’t mean— It was a misunderstanding, I swear—”
“Hot,” he repeated, as if testing the word. His gaze was sharp, dissecting her down to the bone. “Arrogant. Dictator. Interesting choice of adjectives.”
Natalie swallowed hard. “I was joking.”
“Joking.” His lips curved—not into a smile, but into something dangerously close. “Do you often joke about your CEO in global channels?”
She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
But instead of the explosion she expected, Owen Carter leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. The silence stretched.
“There are many ways I could handle this situation,” he said finally, his tone smooth as ice. “I could fire you today. That would be simple. Clean. No arguments.”
Natalie’s pulse roared in her ears. She gripped the armrest until her knuckles whitened.
“But,” Owen continued, letting the word hang heavy in the air, “I prefer another solution.”
She blinked. “Another… solution?”
“You’ll be working directly with me,” he said. “From now on, every report, every presentation, every meeting—done together. Every day. My supervision.”
Natalie’s jaw dropped. “Is this… punishment?”
He tilted his head. “Let’s call it re-education.”
The smallest flicker of a smile crossed his lips, the kind that made her stomach flip in confusion. Was he serious? Was this a game?
She walked out of his office in a daze, her coworkers watching her with a mix of pity and amusement.
She hadn’t been fired.
But maybe this was worse.
The next morning, Natalie tried to act normal. She wore her best blouse, forced a smile, and breezed into the marketing floor like nothing had happened.
But her heart nearly leapt out of her chest when Owen appeared behind her desk not fifteen minutes later.
“Good morning, Natalie,” he said smoothly, his cologne a quiet assault on her senses. “I see you’re right on time.”
She jumped, almost spilling her coffee. “Mr. Carter, you—you’re very quiet these days.”
He didn’t blink. “It’s one of my many talents. Now. I need to review the sales report you prepared yesterday.”
Natalie frowned. “That report isn’t even from my department.”
“It is now,” he replied without missing a beat. “Remember our conversation yesterday?”
As if she could forget.
Owen pulled a chair next to hers and sat so close she could smell the faint trace of cedarwood from his suit. He glanced at her stapled packet and murmured, “That staple is crooked.”
She gaped. “Seriously? You’re checking my staples now?”
“Details matter, Miss Ross. Just like posture.” His eyes flicked down. “Your back is slouched.”
Natalie straightened up instinctively before realizing what she was doing. She shot him a glare. “Don’t you have anything else to do? Like, I don’t know, run a company?”
Owen allowed himself the faintest smile. “Running a company includes ensuring employees are… aligned.”
Her blood boiled.
“Speaking of alignment,” he added, rising from the chair, “let’s schedule a meeting at three. Topic: operational efficiency.”
“Operational efficiency?” she echoed. “I’m in marketing.”
“You work wherever I say now.” He turned, his tailored suit cutting a sharp line against the glass.
And then, almost as an afterthought, he looked back. “By the way—congratulations on your vocal boldness yesterday. It was… enlightening.”
He walked away before she could come up with a retort.
Natalie sat frozen at her desk, the bent paperclip in her hand itching to be thrown at the back of his perfect head.
At 3:00 sharp, she was in the conference room, alone, waiting.
When Owen arrived, five minutes late, he carried only a folder and his air of absolute control. He slid into the chair across from her, boredom etched across his features.
“So,” he began, “how are you adjusting to the new arrangement?”
“Wonderfully,” Natalie deadpanned. “I love being micromanaged by someone who critiques my paper clips.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “I see your humor is intact.”
“It’s a natural gift,” she shot back.
He flipped through papers, pretending to study them. “Tell me, Natalie, do you still think I’m arrogant… or have I evolved into charmingly unbearable?”
Her breath caught. He was quoting her voice message.
Natalie tilted her head, feigning thought. “I think you’ve reached a new level. Arrogant, unbearable, charming, and intrusive.”
“Intrusive?”
“You appear behind me like a ghost in a suit. A very well-dressed ghost, but still.”
To her surprise, Owen’s lips twitched. Almost a laugh. Almost.
“And what do you suggest I do?” he asked.
“Wear a bell. Or announce your arrival like a medieval herald. Hear ye, hear ye, the CEO approaches.” She spread her arms dramatically.
For the first time, Owen actually smiled. A real, fleeting smile.
“You have quite the imagination.”
“Thank you. I have other qualities too. In case you’re interested.”
The air shifted. Natalie felt it—like the rules of the game had just changed, though neither of them knew what the new rules were.
And then Owen leaned forward. “Coffee?”
“What?”
“Now.”
They went to the breakroom. Natalie made two cups while Owen watched, silent, every movement under his scrutiny.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” she muttered, stirring sugar.
“I’m doing exactly what I want,” he said smoothly. “Getting to know you better.”
The spoon froze mid-stir. “Get to know me better?”
“You said some… interesting things in that audio. I want to know if there’s more.”
“You want me to bad-mouth you again?” she laughed nervously.
“I want you to be honest. Like you were yesterday.”
Natalie gave a real laugh this time, soft and incredulous. “Careful what you wish for, Mr. Carter. My honesty can be dangerous.”
“I’m willing to take that risk.”
Their fingers brushed when she handed him the cup. The spark was undeniable.
She pulled back quickly, forcing a casual tone. “What’s the plan? Follow me around until I make another epic mistake?”
“Maybe,” Owen said, his secret smile returning. “Or maybe I just want to see what other talents you’re hiding besides vocal boldness.”
The rest of the afternoon blurred into something that felt like a duel. He’d appear at her desk with cryptic remarks about posture or reports. She’d counter with sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood. And somewhere between the parries and the retorts, Natalie realized she was enjoying herself.
And that terrified her.
At the end of the day, as she packed her bag, Owen appeared once more.
“Natalie,” he said smoothly.
“Let me guess,” she shot back. “My purse is messy.”
“Actually,” he said, his eyes glinting, “I need you to join me on a business trip. Tomorrow morning.”
She froze. “A trip?”
“Portland. Investor meeting. Quick. Efficient.”
“And why me?”
“Because you’re my new special assistant. Remember?”
Natalie’s pulse quickened. She tried to read him, but his face revealed nothing except that secret, dangerous smile.
One thing was certain.
That trip would be anything but ordinary.
The flight to Portland was supposed to be routine.
Natalie told herself this a hundred times as she packed her bag that night. Routine. Investors. Presentations. She would sit quietly, hand Owen papers when asked, and pray for a quick return to Manhattan.
But as she zipped her suitcase shut, one thought kept repeating: Why her?
Out of every employee in Apex International, why had Owen Carter chosen her?
The next morning, Owen was already waiting by the curb when the black car pulled up to her building. He looked flawless, as always—navy suit, crisp white shirt, tie perfectly knotted. He checked his watch when she stepped out, then his eyes flicked over her in quick appraisal.
“On time,” he said simply, opening the car door.
Natalie slid inside, pulse racing. He sat beside her, the air in the backseat thick with silence. For once, even she couldn’t find words.
The Portland meeting went smoothly—too smoothly. Investors ate out of Owen’s hand. His presentation was sharp, precise, magnetic. Natalie’s job was minimal: pass documents, nod when needed, pretend she belonged in a room full of billion-dollar deals.
By five o’clock, she let out a sigh of relief as they walked into the airport.
That relief lasted exactly two minutes.
“Canceled?” Natalie repeated, staring at the departure board. The glowing red letters mocked her. ALL FLIGHTS TO EAST COAST SUSPENDED DUE TO STORM.
The airline employee gave a tired smile. “Sorry, ma’am. Weather advisory. Try again in the morning.”
Natalie turned to Owen. His jaw was tight, his tie slightly loosened—the first crack in his perfect armor.
Two hours later, after calling every hotel in the city, they stood at the reception desk of a modest downtown inn.
“One room,” the receptionist said apologetically. “Two twin beds. That’s all we’ve got. Storm’s filled the city.”
Natalie’s heart plummeted.
Owen’s eyes met hers. For once, he looked unsettled. “We’ll take it,” he said finally, sliding his credit card across the counter.
The room was small. Too small. Two narrow beds with a nightstand between them. A television from another decade. The faint hum of pipes in the walls.
Natalie tossed her bag on one bed. “Not fancy,” she muttered.
Owen glanced around, clearly irritated. “Definitely not.”
“Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Probably left it on the private jet we didn’t take.”
Natalie snorted, digging through her bag. “I’m going to grab snacks. Do you want anything?”
He frowned. “Snacks?”
“Yes, Mr. Carter. Normal people eat chips when stranded in modest hotels.”
“Chips,” he repeated as though the word were foreign.
“Stay put,” she ordered, grabbing her coat. “I’ll introduce you to the world of junk food.”
When she returned twenty minutes later, arms full of chips, soda, and microwave popcorn, Owen was still perched on the edge of his bed in full suit, staring at the static-filled TV.
“You didn’t change?” she asked, dropping groceries onto the comforter.
“I didn’t bring casual clothes.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she sighed. She pulled out a bag of popcorn. “This is tradition. Strange hotel nights require popcorn.”
He eyed the bag skeptically. “You bought popcorn?”
“It’s practically a federal law.” She disappeared into the bathroom with her pajamas. When she emerged, wearing pink unicorns, Owen’s expression wavered. His lips twitched.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“I wasn’t going to,” he said, failing to hide the smile.
“Liar. You’re laughing on the inside.”
“Maybe a little.”
“At least I brought pajamas. Are you seriously going to sleep in a suit?”
“I didn’t bring pajamas.”
Natalie stared. “Who travels without pajamas?”
“People who usually stay in hotels with silk robes.”
She rolled her eyes. “At least take off the jacket and tie. You look like you’re interviewing for President of Portland.”
For once, Owen hesitated. Then, slowly, he removed the jacket. Loosened the tie. Rolled up his sleeves.
Natalie blinked. She’d never seen him this undone.
And damn it, he looked better.
By nine, the room smelled of burnt popcorn and spilled soda. Natalie was on her bed in unicorn pajamas, laughing at a cheesy rom-com on the old TV. Owen sat on his, shoes off, sleeves rolled, looking almost human.
“You know,” she teased, “you smile more than I expected.”
He glanced at her. “Do I?”
“A little. In the corner of your mouth. Like you’re hiding secrets.”
“And you observe more than you should,” he countered.
“It’s a talent.”
“How many talents do you have exactly?”
“Still counting.” She grinned. “Want me to list them? Clumsy with coffee. Master of awkward situations. Queen of bad timing.”
Owen chuckled—an actual laugh, low and genuine. It startled her more than his anger ever had.
“You’re funny,” he admitted.
“Wow. That’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Not true.”
“Name one other.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Smirked. “I’ll get back to you.”
She threw a chip at him.
An hour later, an ice cube war erupted.
It started with Natalie bumping into him at the minibar, sending ice scattering across the carpet. She laughed, grabbed one, and tossed it at his chest.
“You didn’t just—”
“I did,” she grinned.
Within seconds, Owen—CEO, corporate god, hot arrogant dictator—was on his knees, ducking behind a twin bed, hurling ice cubes like a teenager.
Natalie shrieked, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
When they finally collapsed, breathless, they found themselves standing too close. Her laughter faded. His eyes dropped to her lips.
And just like that—the spark was undeniable.
“Owen—” she whispered.
The fire alarm blared.
They jumped apart as smoke poured from the forgotten popcorn bag in the microwave.
“Oh no,” Natalie groaned, waving at the smoke. “I burned the popcorn.”
“How do you burn popcorn?”
“It’s one of my many talents,” she shouted over the alarm.
By midnight, the chaos had faded into silence. Two twin beds. Two restless hearts. Natalie lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
“Owen?” she whispered.
A pause. “Yes?”
“Do you snore?”
Another pause. “You’ll find out.”
She smiled into the dark.
Neither of them slept much that night.
The storm cleared by morning. On the flight back to New York, Owen was silent, distant. The man who had laughed during an ice cube war was gone, replaced by the CEO with the impenetrable mask.
When they landed, he turned to her, his tone formal. “Thank you for joining the trip. You may return to your usual tasks.”
And just like that, he disappeared into his office.
Natalie stood in the lobby, suitcase in hand, a hollow ache in her chest.
What had happened in Portland?
Had it been real? Or was it just another mistake?
The Monday after Portland was worse than Natalie expected.
She arrived at the office determined to pretend nothing had happened. She greeted coworkers with her usual smile, set down her coffee, and forced herself into her chair like everything was normal.
But Owen Carter didn’t even glance her way.
He passed her desk three times that morning—tall, flawless, unreadable—and each time, he acted like she was invisible. No teasing. No crooked smile. No cryptic remarks about her posture.
Nothing.
By noon, Natalie’s chest ached with frustration. He was pretending Portland never happened. Pretending the laughter, the almost-kiss, the ice war that left them breathless in a tiny hotel room… had all been erased.
And that hurt more than she wanted to admit.
It only got worse when Chase Williams arrived.
Chase was the new intern. Twenty-five. Blond, charming, with surfer-boy looks that made him an instant office favorite. He had the kind of easy smile that Natalie envied—effortless, warm, disarming.
“You must be Natalie,” he said brightly on his first day, leaning on her desk like they were already friends. “I’ve heard you’re the funniest person in this place.”
Natalie blinked, caught off guard. “I do try.”
“And very pretty too,” he added, grinning without shame.
Her eyes widened. And then, in a flash, an idea began to form. A reckless, probably dangerous idea.
If Owen wanted to play cold CEO, fine. She could play too.
The next week, Natalie turned every interaction with Chase into a performance.
She laughed louder at his jokes. She touched his arm when he brought her coffee. She leaned in close when he told stories about surfing in California.
It worked.
By Tuesday, Owen was watching from the hallway, jaw tight. By Wednesday, when Chase invited Natalie to dinner, she accepted loudly, right in front of the elevator where Owen was standing.
“That sounds wonderful,” she said, her voice honey-sweet. “I love men who know how to have fun.”
Owen stepped into the elevator, his face carved in stone. But his eyes—his eyes burned.
Thursday’s team meeting exploded.
Chase was presenting a project, speaking confidently about new marketing strategies. Natalie sat beside him, nodding, proud of how polished he looked.
Then Owen interrupted. His voice cut through the room like glass.
“This report is incomplete.”
The room fell silent.
Chase faltered. “Sir, I—”
“The third-quarter data is inaccurate. The methodology is sloppy. And your conclusions are, frankly, ridiculous.”
Natalie’s blood boiled. She had reviewed that report herself. It was solid.
“With all due respect, Mr. Carter,” Chase said, trying to stay calm, “I reviewed that data three times.”
“Then I suggest you review it a fourth.”
Owen stood, towering over the table. “And next time, focus less on social distractions… and more on the work.”
The implication hung heavy in the air. Everyone knew exactly what he meant.
Chase flushed crimson.
“Sir,” he began again, but Owen cut him off.
“This meeting is over. Everyone may leave. Except you, Miss Ross.”
The room emptied in tense silence. Natalie stayed frozen in her chair until the door clicked shut. Then she stood, anger sparking in her chest.
“What the hell was that?” she snapped.
Owen’s eyes burned. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“Working like any regular employee,” she shot back.
“Don’t play games with me, Natalie.”
“Oh, so I’m Natalie again? Not Miss Ross?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t.” She crossed her arms. “You told me nothing happened in Portland. That it was just an ‘inconvenient evening.’ So why do you care who I have lunch with?”
Owen took a step closer. “Because—” He stopped, jaw clenched.
“Because what?” she pushed.
“Because you’re doing this just to get a reaction out of me.”
She laughed, sharp and bitter. “That’s a bold assumption. Maybe I just like Chase. He’s handsome, fun, and—newsflash—he actually treats me like I’m worth his time.”
His eyes darkened. “He’s a boy. I’m a man.”
She stepped closer, fire in her chest. “At least he doesn’t go from warm to cold like a broken air conditioner.”
The tension crackled between them, thick as smoke.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Owen growled.
“Then explain it,” she snapped.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t—or won’t?”
“Both.”
She shook her head, frustrated beyond reason. “You’re impossible, Owen Carter. Completely impossible.”
She turned toward the door, but he caught her arm.
“Natalie, wait.”
“For what? So you can tell me again that nothing happened?”
“So I can tell you…” He exhaled, raw and furious. “…that you’re driving me insane.”
Her breath caught.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said, voice low.
“Then why—”
“Because it’s complicated.” His hand trembled against her arm. “Because you work for me. Because I’m not good at this. Because I can’t—”
“Because you’re a coward,” she cut in, eyes blazing.
His jaw snapped tight. “Careful.”
“Or what? You’ll fire me?” She yanked her arm free. “Go ahead. At least then I won’t have to play this childish game anymore.”
That was when Owen broke.
In one swift move, he pulled her close, crashing his mouth against hers.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was anger, frustration, and months of tension colliding in one breathless, dangerous kiss.
For a split second, Natalie froze. Then every defense melted, and she kissed him back with the same desperate fire.
Weeks of sarcasm, teasing, and denial ignited into heat that left them both trembling.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Owen’s forehead rested against hers.
“Don’t flirt with anyone,” he whispered. “Except me.”
And just like that, the walls he’d built crumbled.
But reality didn’t wait long to catch up.
The door to the meeting room had been wide open. Anyone could have seen. And in an office full of curious eyes, secrets never stayed buried.
By the next morning, whispers followed Natalie down every hallway. People paused mid-sentence when she walked by.
At her desk, Sarah from HR appeared with her phone, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. “Natalie, you need to see this.”
Natalie’s stomach dropped. On the screen was a blurry photo, obviously snapped in a rush. But there was no mistaking it.
Her. Owen. In the meeting room. Kissing like the world was ending.
“Where did you get this?” Natalie gasped.
“Someone posted it in the office WhatsApp group. It’s already gone around.”
By lunch, the entire building had seen it.
The reactions were brutal.
Some coworkers gave her sly smiles. Others whispered behind her back. One muttered “promotion strategy” under her breath as Natalie passed.
She clenched her fists, heat burning her cheeks.
And then came Amanda.
Amanda from admin, who had always resented her for reasons Natalie could never figure out. As Natalie walked by, she heard Amanda whisper, “I always knew she was up to something. No one’s that funny without an agenda.”
Natalie stopped cold.
“Sorry, Amanda,” she said sweetly, turning back. “Did you say something?”
Amanda flushed. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, don’t worry. I understand perfectly.” Natalie leaned closer, her smile razor-sharp. “Just one question. Are you upset because I’m with Owen… or because he never looked at you twice?”
Amanda’s face went crimson as the office gasped. Natalie walked away, her smile victorious but her heart pounding.
By the end of the day, she was exhausted. Every whisper, every glance, every rumor weighed heavier than the last.
That evening, Owen appeared at her desk.
“Natalie,” he said, ignoring the silence that fell over the office. “Lunch?”
Her eyes darted to the dozens of faces staring. “Owen, maybe it’s better—”
“Better what?” he cut in. “Aren’t you hungry?”
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she took his hand.
The office buzzed behind them as they walked toward the elevator. Natalie’s cheeks burned, but Owen’s grip was steady, unyielding.
“You saw the photo,” she whispered as soon as the doors closed.
“I did.”
“And you’re not worried?”
He glanced at her, eyes cool, unreadable. “Why should I be?”
“Because people are talking. About us. About me.”
“So let them.”
Her frustration boiled. “So what? You don’t care what people think of your reputation?”
“Not about my personal life.” He leaned closer, voice low. “Do you?”
Natalie’s pulse jumped. “Of course I do. They’re saying I—”
He kissed her again, silencing the words.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough. “Then stop caring. Because there’s no going back now.”
By the end of that week, Owen Carter and Natalie Ross weren’t a secret anymore.
And whether they liked it or not, their lives had just become the office’s favorite scandal.
By the time Friday rolled around, the whispers at the office had started to fade.
Not because people weren’t interested—far from it. The photo of Owen and Natalie kissing in the meeting room had made the rounds three times over. But Apex employees were smart enough to know when curiosity could cost them their jobs. So, the gossip moved into private messages, side chats, and silent stares.
Natalie hated every second of it.
But Owen? Owen didn’t seem to care at all.
On Friday morning, he strolled across the floor in his usual immaculate suit, coffee in hand, stopping directly at her desk. The office went quiet.
“Natalie,” he said smoothly, “join me for lunch.”
Her cheeks flushed under the weight of two dozen pairs of eyes. “Here?” she whispered.
“Unless you’d rather the cafeteria,” he said, as though he couldn’t feel the electricity crackling through the room.
Every part of Natalie wanted to say no. But when he held out his hand, steady and unapologetic, she slipped her fingers into his.
And just like that, they walked out together, leaving the office in stunned silence.
That weekend, the city felt different.
They met at a quiet café downtown, far from the eyes of Apex employees. It was small, unassuming, the kind of place where nobody cared who they were. For the first time since Portland, Natalie felt like they could breathe.
Owen leaned back in his chair, studying her. “You look like you haven’t slept all week.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” she muttered. “Maybe it has something to do with being the office’s entertainment.”
“You worry too much about what people think.”
“You don’t worry enough.” She sipped her latte, trying to ignore the way his gaze burned. “You’ve got an entire company to run. People are going to think this is—”
“Unprofessional?”
“Exactly.”
He smirked. “I’m not afraid of a little unprofessional.”
Natalie rolled her eyes, but the truth was, she felt something she hadn’t in weeks—like they were on the same team again.
For a while, things were good. Better than good.
Owen started showing up at her desk with flowers—always discreet but always noticed. He left notes folded inside her reports, little jokes that only she would understand. He even began smiling more often, genuine smiles that transformed his usually intimidating face into something almost boyish.
It felt dangerous. And yet, Natalie found herself falling deeper.
But beneath Owen’s new warmth, there were cracks.
Sometimes, when their conversations drifted into personal territory, he changed the subject. Sometimes, when she laughed too loudly or touched his hand too casually, his eyes darkened, like he was remembering something—or someone—else.
Natalie noticed. And she couldn’t stop wondering.
The answer came sooner than she expected.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. Owen had asked her to fetch a set of reports from his office while he was in a meeting. She knocked, stepped inside, and pulled open the middle drawer of his desk.
The reports were there. So was something else.
A letter. Torn at the edges, folded neatly, as though it had been read more than once.
Natalie’s fingers hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t. But the handwriting on the front—a delicate, feminine script—drew her in.
She read.
“I know you will never forgive me for what I did, but you need to know that I still love you. I know you still love me too. What we had was real, even though it ended so terribly. Please, Owen. Please, just talk to me. —Sarah.”
Natalie’s stomach twisted.
Sarah.
The name hit her like a stone. She remembered Owen’s evasive answers. The way he’d said “no one” when she asked if he’d ever had someone special.
But this letter wasn’t ancient. The paper was new. The ink was fresh. Sarah wasn’t some relic from his past. She was still writing to him.
Natalie stuffed the letter back into the drawer just as the door opened.
Owen stood there, his expression unreadable.
“Did you find the documents you needed?” he asked.
Her voice caught in her throat. “Yes,” she lied. “I found them.”
But all afternoon, her mind spun with one word.
Sarah.
That night, Owen invited her to dinner. A quiet Italian restaurant, dim lights and soft music. He looked relaxed, telling a story about an investor mix-up. But Natalie couldn’t hear a word.
She stared at him across the table, that letter burning in her mind.
Finally, she set down her fork. “Who is Sarah?”
Owen froze. The humor drained from his face. For a moment, he didn’t speak.
“Where did you hear that name?” he asked, his voice low.
“I didn’t hear it,” Natalie said. “I read it. The letter in your desk. I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for the reports you asked me for. But it was right there, Owen. Right there.”
His jaw tightened. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if summoning strength.
“She was my fiancée,” he said finally.
Natalie’s chest tightened. “Fiancée?”
He nodded slowly. “Three years. We were engaged for one. Two weeks before the wedding, she cheated on me. With my best friend. In our apartment. In our bed.”
The words were sharp, clipped, like glass shards he was still bleeding from.
Natalie felt the weight of it. The reason behind his distance. The shadows in his eyes.
“She writes to me sometimes,” he admitted, voice low. “Asking for forgiveness. Asking for a second chance.”
“And do you consider it?” Natalie asked, her throat dry.
His eyes snapped up to hers. “Of course not.”
“Then why keep the letters?”
Silence stretched between them.
“Because they remind me,” he said finally. “Of what happens when you trust someone too much.”
The night ended in tension.
Natalie lay awake later, staring at her ceiling, feeling torn. She understood his pain. She did. But she also felt betrayed—because when she asked if there had been someone special, he’d lied.
And now, even as she fell deeper into him, she wondered if she was just another temporary distraction.
The next week at the office was cold. Natalie avoided him, answering only when necessary. He noticed, of course. Owen always noticed.
On Wednesday, he cornered her in the conference room after a meeting.
“This has to stop,” he said.
“What? My work? Because last I checked, I’ve done everything perfectly.”
“This coldness. These sarcastic remarks.”
“Oh, you mean professionalism?” she snapped. “Because that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Boundaries? Control? To keep me at a distance while you hold on to letters from a woman who destroyed you?”
His face hardened. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is finding out about Sarah through a letter instead of from you.”
“I didn’t tell you because—”
“Because you don’t trust me.”
His silence said everything.
By Friday, the tension reached its breaking point.
They argued again—this time in his office, door locked, voices low but sharp.
“You want me to say it?” Owen snapped. “You want me to admit that I feel something for you? Fine. I do. But every time I get close, I remember walking into my apartment and finding Sarah in my bed with him. And I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” Natalie demanded. “Can’t move on? Can’t try? Can’t let someone love you who isn’t her?”
His voice cracked. “Can’t trust anyone. Not really.”
Her eyes stung with tears. “Then what am I to you? A distraction? A mistake?”
“You’re important,” he said, his voice raw. “More important than you should be. And that terrifies me.”
Natalie shook her head, backing away. “Then you need to figure yourself out, Owen. Because I can’t keep being punished for someone else’s sins.”
She walked out before he could stop her.
That night, she stood in her apartment, staring at three positive pregnancy tests on her bathroom counter.
Her hands trembled. Her stomach twisted.
Pregnant.
With Owen Carter’s child.
The man who couldn’t decide if he trusted her. The man haunted by Sarah’s ghost.
Natalie sank to the floor, whispering into the silence.
“Perfect. Just perfect.”
Natalie had never felt so small in her life.
The bathroom floor was cold beneath her, the three pregnancy tests lined up like little glowing verdicts. Two pink lines. Two pink lines. Two pink lines.
There was no mistake. She was pregnant.
And not just with anyone’s child—with Owen Carter’s.
The same man who told her he couldn’t trust anyone. The man haunted by Sarah’s ghost. The man who could turn warm one second and freezing the next.
Her chest tightened. She imagined telling him. Imagined that cool, unreadable stare. The way he would measure every word, every risk, like a business deal.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and whispered into the silence, “Perfect. Just perfect.”
For two days, she said nothing.
At the office, she avoided him as much as possible, keeping her head down, her jokes muted, her smile fake. But Owen noticed. Of course he noticed.
On Wednesday evening, she followed him to the parking lot, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of her chest.
He was on the phone, his voice sharp. “…I don’t care what the board thinks. We’ll finalize the merger next week.”
When he saw her, he ended the call immediately. His face softened, just a fraction. “Natalie. Is something wrong?”
Her throat went dry. The words tangled on her tongue. But she forced them out.
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence that followed was deafening. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.
Then, slowly, he stepped closer. His hand lifted hesitantly, brushing against her arm before settling on her stomach.
“There’s a baby in there?” His voice cracked, almost boyish.
Natalie tried to sound casual, even though her heart was breaking. “Yeah. That’s more or less how it works.”
“Our baby?”
She swallowed. “Technically, yes.”
For a second, she braced herself for rejection, for cold logic, for the Owen Carter who pushed people away before they could hurt him.
But what she saw instead shocked her.
Genuine joy.
“Then let’s do this together,” he whispered.
Natalie blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You and me,” Owen said firmly. “We’ll do this together.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Owen, you don’t understand. Five minutes ago you could barely look at me, and now you’re saying—”
“I know it sounds insane.” He gave a shaky laugh. “It is insane. But the moment you said the word pregnant… something shifted. For weeks I’ve been terrified, running from what I feel. But this?” His hand pressed gently against her belly. “This leaves me no choice.”
Natalie’s voice was sharp. “Don’t do this out of obligation.”
“I’m not.” His eyes locked onto hers. “I’m doing it because I love you. And the baby just gave me the courage to admit it.”
Tears stung her eyes. “How do I know you won’t run again when things get hard?”
“Because now I have two reasons to stay,” he said softly. “You. And our child.”
The weeks that followed were chaos wrapped in tenderness.
Owen, the intimidating CEO, became Owen, the obsessive researcher. He showed up at her desk with ginger candies for morning sickness. He read entire books on pregnancy in one night.
“Did you know the baby already has fingerprints?” he blurted out over lunch one day.
“Owen, it’s only eight weeks.”
“And a heartbeat,” he insisted. “I read that too.”
Natalie rolled her eyes, but her heart softened each time.
Their first ultrasound changed everything.
She lay on the exam table, gel cool against her skin, Owen holding her hand so tightly his knuckles whitened. The doctor moved the probe, searching. Then—there it was. A tiny pulsing rhythm.
“The heart,” the doctor explained, smiling. “Beating perfectly.”
Owen’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s our baby.”
But the surprise wasn’t over.
“Actually…” The doctor frowned, adjusted the probe, and smiled wider. “That’s not one heartbeat. It’s two. Congratulations. You’re having twins.”
Natalie felt the world tilt.
“Twins?” she croaked.
“Yes. Two babies. Both healthy.”
Her head spun with images: two cribs, two college funds, two screaming newborns.
“This is a disaster,” she whispered.
Owen laughed—a real, genuine laugh that filled the room. He kissed her hand. “This is perfect.”
She stared at him. “Perfect? Are you insane?”
“Completely,” he said, grinning. “But think about it. Twice the chaos. Twice the love. Twice the reason to make this work.”
Natalie groaned. “I can’t believe you’re happy about this.”
Owen just smiled at the screen where two tiny flickers of life glowed side by side.
As her pregnancy progressed, Natalie moved into Owen’s apartment. Adjusting to life together was… messy.
“You squeeze the toothpaste from the middle,” she accused one morning.
“Normal people do that.”
“Civilized people squeeze from the bottom,” she shot back.
But for every argument about dishes in the sink or his obsession with spreadsheets for baby feeding schedules, there were tender moments too. Owen bringing her ice cream at midnight. Natalie laughing at his horrified face when she showed him her flamingo-print pajamas.
Slowly, against all odds, they began to feel like a family.
But the outside world wasn’t so forgiving.
One afternoon, while Natalie was sorting baby clothes, she heard the ping of Owen’s laptop. She opened it, thinking it might be urgent.
The subject line froze her blood.
“Final merger proposal – personnel matters.”
The email was blunt: shareholders feared the optics of Owen’s relationship with a subordinate. They recommended “removing Miss Ross from the company before the public announcement,” offering a compensation package to ensure discretion.
Natalie’s hands shook. He knew. He knew this was coming. And he hadn’t told her.
When Owen came home, she was waiting with the laptop open on the table.
“Were you going to tell me?” she asked, her voice calm but trembling.
His face went pale. “Natalie—”
“Don’t. Just tell me how long you’ve known they wanted me gone.”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, really? Because it looks like you were negotiating my exit behind my back.”
“I was trying to protect you,” he said, desperate.
“Protect me?” Her laugh was bitter. “From what? From making my own choices?”
Tears stung her eyes. “I thought you changed, Owen. But you’re still the same man—controlling, condescending, emotionally unavailable.”
She packed a bag that night and left.
For weeks, they barely spoke.
Natalie moved back into her small apartment, focusing on her pregnancy and the blog she had reactivated—Confessions of an Almost Adult. To her surprise, her posts about pregnancy cravings, swollen ankles, and the absurdity of motherhood-to-be went viral. Thousands followed her raw, funny honesty.
Meanwhile, Owen was drowning.
He went through the merger meetings like a ghost, snapping at board members, ignoring calls. Jessica stormed into his office one day.
“You’re an idiot,” she said flatly.
“Excuse me?”
“You love her. She loves you. And you’re throwing it away because you’re too proud to fight.”
Her words hit harder than he wanted to admit.
Finally, Owen snapped.
One Friday evening, Natalie opened her door to find a delivery man holding a massive bouquet of sunflowers. Her favorite. Inside was a note in Owen’s handwriting.
“Natalie, I know I don’t deserve another chance. But please, meet me at Central Park tonight. If after that you want me out of your life forever, I’ll disappear. I have one question to ask.”
Against her better judgment, she went.
He was waiting by the lake, not in his usual armor of a suit, but in jeans and sneakers. He looked nervous, almost vulnerable.
“I owe you honesty,” he said immediately. “You were right. I tried to protect you, but all I did was hurt you. I let fear run my life. Fear of the past. Fear of Sarah. Fear of losing control. But the truth is… I don’t want control anymore. I just want you.”
Her throat tightened. “Owen—”
He dropped to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.
Inside were three rings. Two tiny silver bands, and one elegant diamond.
“For you. For our twins,” he said softly. “Natalie Ross, will you marry me—and let me spend the rest of my life proving I can be the man you and our children deserve?”
Her eyes filled with tears. For the first time, she saw him without walls, without arrogance. Just a man begging for her trust.
“Yes,” she whispered, then louder. “Yes!”
Cheers erupted from strangers nearby as Owen slipped the ring onto her trembling hand and kissed her like the city itself had been waiting for this moment.
The wedding wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t perfect. It was better.
They held it in Eleanor Carter’s backyard, with fairy lights in the trees and mismatched chairs borrowed from neighbors. Jessica was maid of honor. Chase—now forgiven—was the accidental best man. Eleanor cried through the entire ceremony, twins Emma and James fussing in their grandmother’s arms.
When the vows ended, the babies cried so loudly that everyone laughed.
It was messy. Chaotic. Absolutely perfect.
Later, as the party wound down, Owen pulled Natalie aside onto the porch.
“You know,” he said, gently rocking one of the twins, “this all started because of one stupid voice message.”
Natalie smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. “The best mistake I ever made.”
He kissed her forehead, whispering, “No. The best thing that ever happened to me.”
And there, surrounded by family, friends, and the cries of two tiny new lives, Natalie realized her world had turned upside down for the better.
Because sometimes, the wrong message sent to the wrong person… leads you exactly where you’re meant to be.
