Hartwell Enterprises CEO suite.
Sebastian Hartwell acknowledged Wu Yan's efficiency— the background check on Clara Morgan landed on his desk before dawn. Flipping through the files, he frowned at the revelations.
He lifted her Columbia University graduation photo. Clara in a cap and gown, long hair cascading, eyes like a startled fawn's—porcelain skin, natural pink lips. Valedictorian of Columbia's architecture program, first-class honors, recipient of the city's top graduate award.
So her dream of a design studio wasn't a ploy. Her parents' estate left her a fortune—explaining why she'd returned his $1.4M. She'd turned down offers from New York's top architecture firm and London's Royal College of Art to join Hartwell as a lowly admin. A brilliant mind deliberately inserting herself into his life, then pulling away.
After years of ruthless corporate warfare, Sebastian grudgingly admitted her past was clean—too clean to be a setup. But what did she want?
That night, Clara lugged groceries from a Chelsea market, planning pasta. A familiar Rolls-Royce idling below her building made her freeze.
Wu Yan emerged from the driver's seat. "Ms. Morgan, the CEO requests your presence."
Clara thrust her bags at him. "If I don't come back, don't let the groceries go to waste."
Inside the car, Sebastian's gaze burned into her. She wore a cropped hoodie and baggy jeans, hair in a high ponytail—innocent yet provocative. Every movement revealed a sliver of waist, driving him wild.
Suppressing primal urges, he clamped a hand around her throat. His grip threatened to snap her delicate neck.
"Tell me why you approached me," he said flatly, voice disconnected from his violent act.
"CEO Hartwell, p-please… let go…"
"Speak, or you won't survive the hour."
"Then kill me. I don't care anymore."
Sebastian's mind went blank. He released her.
Clara gasped, tears streaming. "Fine. My purpose was stupid. I wanted to get close to you to… spite Serena Vance."
His eyes darkened at the name Ethan Windsor. "Continue."
"Ethan hated me. Serena bullied me in college. When I saw her chasing you, I thought… making you notice me would hurt her."
Silence. Sebastian's expression turned to pure disdain. "You're pathetic."
Clara flinched. He tossed a manila envelope into her lap—photos of them in bed, her naked and asleep.
"Take them to Serena," he said. "Avenge yourself."
She pushed them away. "These include you, CEO. It's not—"
"Afraid? I thought you wanted revenge."
Clara knew the truth: Serena wouldn't care. She wanted Sebastian's title, not his fidelity.
He retrieved the photos. "I'll keep them. Try to leave, and they go public."
Clara paled. "What?"
"I want you, Ms. Morgan." He tilted her chin. "Until I tire of you, run and those pictures become Manhattan's next viral trend."
Before she could respond, he pinned her against the seat. His 6'2" frame swallowed the space. "Who approved your day off?"
His kiss was scorching. When he pulled back, breath hot on her ear: "Consider today canceled."
She stared, dazed.
"Want more?" he teased.
"N-no! Please get off—"
"Be at the office tomorrow."
"Y-yes, Sir."
Clara bolted from the car, yelling back, "Keep the groceries, Wu!"
In the rearview mirror, Wu Yan saw Sebastian smiling—actually smiling—as he watched Clara flee. The CEO had his answer: her motives were trivial, but that made her all the more worth keeping.