The CEO's Exception

Chapter Twelve

By four in the evening, I was still working

.

My laptop was open, tabs everywhere, my giant notepad beside me filled with arrows, corrections, and backup plans that honestly deserved an award for dedication.

The dinner was at eight, everything had already been confirmed, and yet I was still checking because experience had taught me one thing—events are perfect right up until they’re not.

I scrolled through the guest list again. Confirmed. Catering? Confirmed twice. Security? Updated. Venue? “Fully prepared,” which I did not trust as a phrase. I leaned back, rubbing my temple.

“Everything is fine,” I muttered. “You’ve done your part.”

That was when I noticed the box again.

Still sitting there. Still unopened. Still suspicious.

“…this is still weird,” I said.

Because it was. My boss had apologized, told me to attend, and then sent me an outfit like this was normal behavior. It wasn’t. None of this was normal.

I closed my laptop and stood, walking toward the box slowly. “We’re just looking,” I told myself, like that would reduce the impact.

I opened it.

And froze.

“Oh.”

The dress was not normal. Not anything close to what I owned. It was sleek, perfectly tailored, the kind of fabric that didn’t just sit on your body—it moved with intention. The color was rich, deep, the kind that didn’t need attention because it naturally commanded it.

“…this is not a ‘don’t worry about it’ outfit,” I whispered.

The shoes were just as bad. Clean, elegant, sharp. Everything matched too well, like someone had already decided exactly how I was supposed to look tonight.

I touched the fabric again, slower this time. “…am I being styled?”

Because this didn’t feel like help. It felt like strategy.

I exhaled. “Okay. Fine. We’re doing this.”

After that, everything moved quickly. Shower, hair, makeup—no hesitation, no overthinking. I curled my hair carefully, watching it fall into soft waves, then kept my makeup simple but precise. By the time I was done, I paused in front of the mirror.

“…okay,” I admitted. “This is working.”

I put on the dress last, and the moment it settled, it fit perfectly. Of course it did. I turned slightly, taking it in.

“…oh.”

It fits so well

Like I had accidentally become the kind of person who belonged at the event I had spent a week planning.

I slipped on the shoes, adjusted, then grabbed my notepad. No matter how I looked, I was still the one making sure everything didn’t fall apart.

One last glance in the mirror. “You look expensive,” I said. “Do not act expensive. Stay normal.”

The cab ride felt too fast. By the time I arrived, the sky had already started dimming, the venue glowing softly like it was ready for exactly what I had planned.

I stepped in and immediately started checking everything again. Seating—correct. Lighting—perfect. Staff—positioned. Entry points—clear.

“Good,” I murmured. “We are stable.”

I stood near the entrance, flipping through my notes one last time.

Then he walked in.

And my brain paused.

Because wow

Adrian didn’t just look good. That would have been manageable. He looked majestic,he looked ethereal,handsome, sexy?

Why does my boss have to look like some Egyptian god?

I blinked. “…oh.”

Then immediately straightened. No. We were not doing this. We were professionals. We had responsibilities.

He looked at me.

And stopped.

Not physically, but his attention did. His gaze settled and stayed, longer than usual, like he had expected something—and I had exceeded it.

Silence stretched for a second too long.

“Well,” I said quickly, because silence was dangerous, “everything is set. No disasters so far. We’re ahead of schedule.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Still looking.

Then, “You look… beautiful.”

I blinked. “…thank you.”

Mr voss please stop setting my heart on race it isn't prepared for because that “you look…beautiful” had the ability to turn me on right now

I recovered quickly. “You clean up well too,” I added. “Very intimidating,very Mr Voss ”

His little smile came again

I looked back down at my notes, grounding myself. “Guests should start arriving soon. Everything is in place.”

But even as I spoke, my brain betrayed me.

Because somewhere in there, a very unhelpful thought formed

…why does he look like that?

Gosh do I sound weird for wanting to have s*x with him right now?

Why am I so turned on?

I shut it down immediately.

Irrelevant. Unnecessary. Dangerous

When I looked up again, he was already scanning the room like nothing had happened.

Calm. Controlled.

Untouchable.

And somehow—

That made it worse.