My Fake Marriage To Mr. CEO

You're Not Sue

The doorbell rang early the next morning. I dragged my heavy, exhausted body off the couch. My eyes were swollen, and my throat felt dry and raw.

I opened the door to find Vanessa standing on the porch. She took one look at my messy hair and my tear-stained face. She did not ask questions. She just walked inside, wrapped her arms around me, and held me tightly while I let out another wave of tears.

After a few minutes, she pulled back and led me to the kitchen. She made a cup of coffee and forced me to sit down.

"He is a monster, Sue," Vanessa said, her voice firm as she sat opposite me. "But you cannot let him destroy you. You built this life, not him. He took your savings, yes, but he did not take your brain or your strength. It is time to pick yourself up."

I stared into my mug. "He took everything, Vanessa. My money, my trust, three years of my life."

"He took cash. You can make that back," Vanessa said, leaning forward and grabbing my hands. "But he does not get to take your future. You are the head of public relations at one of the biggest firms in the city. Do not let that useless man see you crawl. Dress up, go to work, and face the world."

Her words clicked something inside me. The sadness in my chest slowly hardened into a cold knot of determination.

I nodded. I decided right then to lock the memory of David, the stranger, and my empty bank account in a box in my mind. I would face my work.

I took a hot shower, letting the steam clear my head. I put on a tailored black pantsuit, did my makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes, and walked out the door.

I could still feel my hands shaking on the steering wheel the whole drive there. I told myself it was the coffee.

The moment I stepped through the glass doors of the lobby, I knew something was wrong. Two security guards stood at the main entrance instead of one, checking badges twice. Outside on the sidewalk, a small crowd had gathered with cameras, and a van with a news logo painted on the side was parked across the street.

While a woman was being dragged outside as she kept shouting, “He ruined my life.” Tears rolled down her face.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. Employees stood huddled in small groups, whispering. Every television mounted on the lobby walls was tuned to the same channel, and every channel showed the same face. Phones rang nonstop at the reception desk, one line lighting up the second another went quiet.

The young receptionist had her hand pressed over one ear and a phone against the other, repeating the same line over and over.

"No comment at this time. No comment at this time."

I got into the elevator with three other employees. Nobody spoke or even looked at each other. One woman was on the verge of tears, scrolling through something on her phone with shaking fingers.

My assistant, Marcus, was waiting for me the second the doors opened on my floor. His face was pale, and he was clutching a tablet to his chest like a shield. His tie was loose, like he had been pulling at it all morning.

"Sue, thank goodness you are here," Marcus said, his voice cracking. "Have you seen it? The internet is melting down."

"What happened?" I asked. My professional instincts took over before my brain even caught up.

"It's the CEO." Marcus lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. "Mr. Volkov. A news outlet published leaked documents this morning. He moved company money into personal offshore accounts. There are photos of him leaving a private club with a politician's wife. The stock has already dropped eleven percent since the market opened, and it is still falling."

My heart sank.

I walked the length of the floor toward my office, and the chaos got louder with every step. Someone was crying quietly at her desk while a coworker rubbed her back. A junior associate had three phones lined up on his desk, all ringing at once.

Legal was already camped out in the small conference room, the glass wall covered in sticky notes and a whiteboard full of crossed-out drafts. Two board members walked past me arguing in low, sharp voices, one of them saying the word "resign" twice before they turned the corner.

I rushed into my office and shut the door. My hands were cold. I turned on my computer, and the headlines stared back at me. Mr. Volkov's face was splashed across every major news site. The comment sections were full of outrage and demands for him to step down.

I sat at my desk and started drafting a crisis plan. A holding statement, a call with legal, and a press conference, if we could control the room enough to hold one. My fingers flew across the keyboard, and for the next few hours I forgot about David completely. The work was the only thing loud enough to drown him out.

My desk phone buzzed.

I picked it up. "This is Sue."

"Sue, Mr. Volkov wants to see you in his office. Right now." The CEO's assistant kept her voice barely above a whisper, like she was afraid the walls were listening.

My hand went cold. "Understood. I will be right up."

I hung up the phone. My heart began to race.

Mr. Volkov was a deeply feared man in this company. Nobody said it out loud, but everyone knew it. I had watched two directors get walked out by security after mistakes far smaller than this one. Nobody called him directly to the top floor unless something was about to end.

I stood up, smoothing my jacket down with sweaty palms. I grabbed my tablet with the rough crisis plan and walked toward the private executive elevator. The ride up was silent and too fast.

His assistant did not look at me. She pointed toward the double oak doors at the end of the hall.

I took a deep breath, knocked once, and pushed the doors open.

Mr. Volkov stood by the window with his back to me, wearing a dark charcoal suit. The room smelled like leather and old wood.

I closed the door behind me. The click of the lock sounded incredibly loud.

"Mr. Volkov," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I have drafted a preliminary crisis response. We can release a temporary statement to quiet the media while legal reviews the leaked documents."

He did not turn around. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. My heart hammered so loud I was afraid he could hear it.

Finally, he turned. His dark eyes locked onto mine.

"Sit down," he said.

I sat in one of the leather chairs across from his desk, keeping my back straight, my tablet on my lap. "Sir, if we act quickly, we can control the narrative before the evening news cycle begins."

He walked toward his desk but did not sit. He leaned against the edge of it, arms crossed, staring down at me.

"I did not call you up here to talk about press releases," he said quietly.

I blinked. My breath caught in my throat. This was it. He was going to fire me. Make me the scapegoat for the leak.

"Sir?"

He leaned slightly closer.

"Your name isn't Sue."