Short stories (Erotica)

Case Of Dignity

When people thought of Roman Reigns, they thought of power. The kind of man who built an empire out of charm, ruthless instinct, and a face that could make investors forget their own names. He ran one of the most successful marketing firms in the U.S.—a beast of a company that had only grown bigger because of me.

I was his personal secretary, though the title never reflected what I really did. My ideas, my strategies, my late nights spent crunching numbers and writing pitches that became the backbone of his empire. But no one clapped for me at the celebrations. No champagne was poured in my name.

All the credit went to him.

And while I cleaned up his messes, literally and figuratively, he spent his days (and nights) bringing women into his glass-walled office. I learned not to flinch at the sound of muffled moans while typing away at my desk in my office. Learned to look away when a disheveled woman strutted out afterward, adjusting her skirt. Learned to tell housekeeping, “Yes, he needs his office freshened up again.”

Roman was brilliant, magnetic, and undeniably dangerous in the way only men like him could be. But he was also reckless. A fuckboy in a tailored suit.

And I wanted nothing to do with that.

The London branch opening had been a glittering success. Roman had, as usual, soaked in the spotlight, shaking hands, flashing his smile, looking every bit the mogul he was. I’d watched from the sidelines, offering polite claps, sipping champagne I didn’t taste.

On the flight back, exhaustion hit me like a wave. The private jet hummed with quiet luxury, and I settled into my seat with a sigh, determined to sleep through the trans-atlantic trip.

But Roman had other plans.

“Leila,” he drawled, sliding into the seat beside me. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted with tattoos flexing as he leaned back. “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

I didn’t even glance at him. “I’ve been working, Roman. Someone has to.”

He chuckled, low and arrogant. “Come on. Don’t play coy with me. Every woman wants my attention. Why not you?”

I turned my head slowly, meeting his smirk with an icy stare. “Maybe because I don’t like fuckboys.”

The word cut through the air like a blade. His smirk faltered, just for a second.

“What did you just call me?”

“You heard me.” My voice was steady, firm. “You think I haven’t noticed? The parades of women in your office? The way you treat them like they’re disposable? That’s not impressive, Roman. That’s pathetic. That's disgusting.”

The silence stretched. His jaw clenched, brown eyes hardening.

For the first time, I’d struck something beneath his armor.

Then he leaned forward, voice sharp with venom. “You really think you’re better than them, don’t you? Sitting there with your prim little blouses and your nose in the air.”

I swallowed hard, but I didn’t look away. “No. I just know my worth. And it doesn’t include being your next disposable fling.”

Something in his expression cracked. His pride, his ego whatever it was, it twisted into cruelty.

“You?” He scoffed, letting the word drip with disdain. “Leila, no man wants you. You’re not special. You’re… forgettable. Ugly.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. My stomach twisted, but I held my face still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

“You’ve gotten too comfortable,” he continued, his voice a whip. “Don’t think I don’t notice the way you talk back. The way you act like you’re irreplaceable. You’re not. I could fire you tomorrow. End your little career before it even begins.”

I turned my gaze to the window, blinking hard to keep the sting of tears at bay. Outside, the clouds drifted past, indifferent to the wreckage inside me.

“You’re right,” I whispered after a long silence. My voice cracked despite my best efforts. “You could fire me tomorrow. And you probably should, because I’ve finally realized what a fool I’ve been. Working myself raw to build your empire while you treat me like I’m nothing.”

When I finally turned back, his smirk was gone. He looked… rattled. Almost regretful. But I didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“I won’t say another word to you, Roman. Not on this flight. Not at the office. You’ve made yourself clear. I’m not special, remember?”

I gathered the blanket from my seat and wrapped it tightly around me, turning away once more. My heart pounded in my ears, my chest aching, but my pride held me together like armor.

Roman didn’t say another word.

The rest of the flight passed in silence, his presence heavy beside me, my eyes squeezed shut as I pretended to sleep. But inside, something had shifted.

He could strip me of my job. He could strip me of my title. But he would never strip me of my dignity.

And if he thought otherwise, then he had no idea who Leila really was.