The CEO who loved me first

Chapter 4

The music inside still pulsed like a heartbeat when Boyce stepped out into the chill. The night air hit him instantly—crisp, sharp with the faint scent of rain clinging to the pavement. He welcomed the quiet compared to the dizzying bass indoors.

That’s when he noticed her.

Vanessa stood a few steps from the entrance, arms wrapped around herself, shivering in the thin silver dress that shimmered faintly beneath the streetlight. Her phone screen lit up her delicate face, brows knitted as she tapped furiously.

“Trouble?” he asked, slipping his hands into his pockets.

She jumped a little at the sound of his voice, then let out a shaky laugh. “Oh—Boyce. I was trying to get an Uber, but of course, nothing’s available. Guess that’s what I get for staying out this late.” She glanced around dramatically, her blonde hair falling in waves across her shoulders. “It’s freezing, and I swear I just heard something in that alley.”

He hesitated, glancing toward the street where cars were scarce. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide and glistening. “No… no, it’s fine. Unless…” She bit her lip, tilting her head in that practiced way that made her earrings sparkle. “Unless you could maybe drop me home? It’s not far.”

Boyce looked at his watch, then at the eager tilt of her chin. He didn’t like the idea of her standing here alone. He might not have wanted to be at this party, but he wasn’t heartless.

“Alright,” he said finally, unlocking his sleek black car. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”

Her face lit up, a little too brightly. “Really? Thank you, Boyce. You’ve always been such a gentleman.”

He didn’t answer. They drove through the sleeping city in a silence that was oddly heavy, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of tires against wet asphalt. Boyce kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel her gaze flickering toward him, lingering on his profile. He didn’t acknowledge it.

When he finally pulled up in front of her building—a tall glass structure with cold white lights shining from its lobby—he reached to put the car in park. “Alright,” he said, his tone even. “Here we are.”

But Vanessa didn’t reach for the handle. She leaned back in her seat, turning toward him fully, her smile soft and almost secretive.

“Why don’t you come upstairs? Just for a while.”

He shook his head. “It’s late. I’ve got an early morning.”

“Come on.” Her voice dropped, coaxing, playful. “Don’t make me go up there alone. At least have one more drink with me. I insist.”

“Vanessa…” He rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of exhaustion pressing down. “That’s not a good idea.”

But she only leaned closer, her perfume curling around him again like smoke. “I have something for you,” she whispered, her words brushing against the quiet hum of the car. “A gift. You’ll like it.”

Boyce sighed, caught between his better judgment and the guilt pressing into him. He had turned her down all night already. To refuse again, when she stood there in the cold, clutching her coat tighter around her glowing frame, felt cruel.

“Just for a minute,” he muttered.

Her lips curved in satisfaction. She stepped out of the car with graceful ease, the hem of her silver dress catching the breeze, and walked toward the building entrance. Boyce followed reluctantly, his eyes unwillingly drawn to the sway of her hips beneath the shimmer of fabric, each step purposeful, deliberate, a silent invitation.

He pressed the elevator button, the metallic doors sliding open with a chime. She slipped inside first, turning just enough to glance over her shoulder at him, her smile sharp and knowing.

And as the doors slid closed behind them, Boyce felt that same shiver crawl down his spine, something that told him to be careful with this woman.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Boyce followed Vanessa into the hallway. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, echoing through the quiet building. He noticed the way she moved—hips swaying with deliberate grace, every step calculated as if she were performing just for him. He tried to keep his eyes fixed ahead, but they betrayed him, tracing the glint of silver fabric as it caught the low light of the sconces.

The hallway smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, a feminine contrast to the smoky, whiskey-scented lounge they had just left. She stopped in front of a sleek black door and unlocked it with a quick flick of her wrist.

“Come in,” she said, her voice soft but commanding.

He hesitated only a moment longer before following. He told himself it was polite, nothing more. He was just making sure she got home safely. But the moment he stepped inside, he realized he had walked into her world.

The apartment was warm and intimate, nothing like his own cold penthouse. Soft pink curtains framed the tall windows, filtering the city lights into a rosy glow. The scent of fresh lilies lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of her perfume. Plush cushions were scattered across the cream sofa, and candles—unlit, but ready—sat waiting on every surface.

Boyce cleared his throat, trying not to notice the way the place seemed designed for two, even though she lived alone.

“Your home is… beautiful,” he said honestly. “It’s very… you.”

Vanessa’s eyes brightened at his words.

“Thank you. I’ve worked hard on it. But it’s just me here. My family is so far away.” Her voice softened as she brushed her fingers along the back of the sofa. “Sometimes it gets lonely. Too quiet. You wouldn’t understand.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, she moved.

One second she was standing across the coffee table, the next she had slipped gracefully onto his lap, the silk of her dress cool against his trousers. The sudden weight of her caught him off guard. She plucked the glass from his hand with a mischievous smile and set it on the table, the crystal clinking softly.

“Vanessa—” he started, his brows drawing together. “What are you doing?”

She leaned in close, her lips brushing dangerously near his ear. “Giving you your gift,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers toyed with the top button of his shirt before slipping it free, then another, and another, as if she had every right.

Boyce’s jaw tightened. He caught her wrist mid-motion. “That’s enough.”

But Vanessa only pressed closer, her perfume thick and sweet, her body shifting deliberately against his. Her mouth brushed his neck, soft lips grazing his skin. “I became so pretty just for you,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of hunger and pride. Her hips rocked once against his lap, slow and purposeful. “You can do anything you want with me.”

For anyone else, Boyce might have laughed it off or let them down gently. Women had thrown themselves at him before; it was nothing new. He had long grown used to the weight of their gazes, the whispers about his money, his power, his looks. But this… this was different.

Because it was Vanessa.

And though she was undeniably beautiful now—with her golden hair gleaming, her figure sculpted to perfection, her flattering silver dress—he felt nothing. No spark, no heat, no pull.

Not the way he used to feel, years ago, when a girl with dark curls and wide, freckled cheeks had looked down at him with eyes so piercing they seemed to see straight through his soul. Millie.

His throat tightened at the memory of her soft laugh, the way she tucked him and his little brother into bed when they were still boys. She had been warmth. Comfort. A light. And no matter how much time had passed, he had never been able to forget her.

Vanessa shifted again, forcing him back against the cushions, her hands pressing against his chest. He caught her shoulders, firm this time, and pushed her away with a strength that made her stumble.

“I don’t know what makes you behave this way,” he said sharply, his voice edged with steel. “But I’m not interested. I’m not looking for any kind of… whatever this is. Not a fling, not a night. Nothing.”

Her painted lips parted in disbelief. “But—Boyce…”

He shook his head once, cutting her off. “You don’t understand. You’re beautiful, yes. But you’re not… what I want.”

Not who he wanted.

That image of Millie hovered again, unshakable, as if she had stepped out of the past to haunt him.

Vanessa reached for him again, but this time his disgust sharpened into action. He stepped back, snatching his jacket from the couch with a swift motion.

“I’m leaving,” he said flatly, his tone final.

Her smile faltered into a wounded pout. “But—”

He didn’t let her finish. The door shut behind him with a sharp click, leaving Vanessa alone in her perfectly curated apartment.

As he strode down the hallway, the echo of her perfume clinging stubbornly to his clothes, Boyce’s chest tightened again. Not with longing, not with guilt—something colder, something unsettled.

And beneath it all, beating like a secret he’d never confessed, rose the memory of the only woman who had ever made his heart race.

Millie.