What did the CEO do?

Chapter Ten - Mine

The next morning, I called in sick.

It was probably the most irresponsible thing I'd done since starting at Nova Home, because there was nobody who could simply step into my position and do everything I was supposed to do. Solomon's schedule alone was enough to keep two assistants busy, and I knew there would be meetings, documents, calls, and a dozen other things waiting for me on the forty-ninth floor.

I didn't care. I needed a day, or two.

I needed to think without Solomon standing three feet away from me, without his hand on my back, without his voice in my ear, and especially without having to look at him and wonder whether the man I had fallen for was capable of something I didn't want to believe.

Twenty minutes after I called the office, someone knocked on my door. I already knew who it was.

I stared at the door for several seconds before finally opening it.

Solomon stood on the other side. He wasn't dressed for work. He was wearing black trousers and a dark shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked almost exactly like the man who had been standing outside my apartment the night before. Except now he was standing inside my doorway.

“You called in sick.”

I sighed. “Apparently.”

His eyes moved over my face.

“Are you okay?”

“I just need some time.”

“I was worried something happened to you.”

“I told you, I'm fine.”

He stepped closer.

“You weren't answering your phone.”

“I didn't want to talk.”

“To me?”

I looked away. “Yes.”

That seemed to bother him.

He remained silent for a moment, then said, “Let me come inside.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

His expression hardened slightly.

“Alex.”

“I need space, Solomon.”

“I heard you.”

“No, you didn't.”

His jaw tightened. “I said I heard you.”

“And I'm saying that I need you to actually respect it.”

For several seconds, neither of us moved. Then I repeated myself because apparently I had to.

“I need space.”

His eyes stayed fixed on mine.

“Alex—”

“I need space.”

Something changed in his expression. It wasn't anger exactly. It was something colder. Something that made me wish I had never opened the door. He suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. Before I could react, my back hit the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

“Solomon—”

His hand tightened around my arm.

“Space with me isn't an option.”

His voice was low and frighteningly calm. I stared at him. For the first time since I'd met him, I was genuinely afraid.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the tension seemed to disappear from his face. He released my arm and straightened his shirt as though nothing had happened.

“I have a meeting,” he said calmly. “I'll come back later.”

I couldn't answer. He looked at me for another moment, then turned and walked away. I stood in the doorway long after I heard the elevator doors close.

My arm hurt where he'd grabbed me.

My back still felt the impact against the wall.

But the physical pain wasn't what frightened me. It was how easily he had gone from threatening me to calmly telling me he had a meeting. As though the two things belonged in the same conversation.

I didn't know what to do. I walked around the apartment for nearly an hour, picking up things and putting them down again without accomplishing anything. Every time I heard a car outside, I looked toward the window. Every time someone walked through the hallway, I expected another knock.

Eventually, I called Liam. He answered on the third ring.

“Hey.”

“Can you come stay with me for a few days?”

There was a pause.

“Alex?”

“Please.”

“What's going on?”

“I'll explain when you get here.”

He didn't ask anything else.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Liam arrived shortly afterward with an overnight bag and the expression of someone who had already decided that whatever was happening, he was going to help me deal with it.

I told him almost everything. Not every detail. Not the things I wasn't ready to say out loud, but enough.

By late afternoon, I had convinced myself that leaving the apartment for a few days would help. Liam knew someone with a small place on the other side of the city, somewhere quiet where we could stay without anyone bothering us.

I didn't tell Solomon.

I didn't tell him where I was going.

I didn't even send him a message.

For the first time since we'd met, I simply disappeared. Or at least, I thought I had.

We had barely been there an hour when I heard a car pull up outside. I was standing near the window when Liam suddenly looked over my shoulder.

“Alex.”

I followed his gaze. A black SUV had stopped outside and my stomach dropped.

“No.”

The driver's door opened. Solomon stepped out.

I turned toward Liam.

“How did he find me?”

Liam looked just as confused as I was. The front door opened before either of us had time to move. Solomon walked inside, looking completely calm. That was the worst part.

There was no shouting, no obvious anger, nothing that would have warned me what was coming. His eyes found me immediately.

“There you are.”

I stepped backward.

“How did you find me?” I asked but he ignored the question.

“Why do you think you can run away from me?”

“I wasn't running away.”

“You left without telling me where you were going.”

“Because I wanted to be somewhere you couldn't find me.”

Something dark crossed his face. Liam stepped forward.

“Hey, maybe you should—”

“Stay out of this.”

I moved between them.

“Don't.”

“Come with me.”

“No.”

“Alex.”

“I said no.”

He walked toward me and I backed away.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

His hand closed around my arm. I tried to pull away.

“Solomon, let me go.”

He didn't. Instead, he pulled me toward the door.

“Solomon!”

“Alex!” Liam shouted, following us.

“Don't come after us,” Solomon said without looking back.

I fought against his grip as he dragged me outside.

“Let me go!”

He opened the passenger door of the SUV. I grabbed the doorframe.

“I am not going anywhere with you.”

His eyes met mine.

“You are.”

I hated how certain he sounded. A moment later, he forced me into the car and shut the door. The locks clicked. I stared at him through the window as he walked around to the driver's side. My heart was pounding. I had no idea what was happening anymore. I only knew that the man I had trusted was taking me somewhere I hadn't agreed to go.

The drive felt endless. Neither of us spoke.

I kept looking out the window, trying to work out where we were going, but eventually the streets became unfamiliar.

When the SUV finally stopped, I looked up. A huge building rose above us, its glass walls reflecting the evening sky. Solomon got out but I didn't move.

He opened my door.

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Alex.”

“I don't want to.”

He reached inside. I pulled away.

“Don't touch me.”

His expression hardened, but he stepped back.For a moment, I thought he might force me out again.

Instead, he simply said, “You're coming upstairs.”

I didn't know why I followed him.

Maybe because I was scared.

Maybe because I wanted answers.

Maybe because some part of me still couldn't accept that the man I knew could actually hurt me.

We entered the building. The elevator took us to the top floor. The doors opened into a penthouse.

I stepped inside. Then I stopped. I couldn't move.

Pictures covered the walls.

Not photographs of landscapes.

Not art.

Pictures of me. Hundreds of them.

Some were obvious photographs from work, taken from a distance. Others showed me walking through the city, sitting in restaurants, drinking coffee, entering my apartment building.

There were pictures of me laughing, reading, talking to people, sleeping on the couch.

I stared at one photograph of myself standing outside Nova Home.

Then another. And another.

My stomach twisted.

“What the f**k?”

Solomon said nothing. I slowly turned around. There were photographs everywhere.

Some of them were recent.

Some were from before I had ever known him.

Before our first night together.

Before my interview.

Before I had any idea who Solomon was.

My breathing became shallow.

“This is why you never brought me here.” Still nothing. “You've been watching me. Why?”

He finally moved, slowly. He walked toward me until there was barely any space between us. His expression was completely different now.

There was no teasing smile. No warmth. No trace of the man who used to hold my hand underneath restaurant tables. His voice was low when he finally spoke.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

“Since when?”

“Since that night.”

“The first night?”

“I saw you, and I knew.”

"You took these." My eyes moved toward the photographs again.

“Yes.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Long enough.”

I felt sick.

“What did you do?”

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the photographs as though they were memories he cherished.

“I had to make certain things happen.”

“What things?”

“Things that brought you closer to me.”

A chill ran through me. “Solomon...”

“I needed you here.” His voice remained quiet, almost tender, which somehow made it worse. “I needed you in my life.”

I shook my head.

“You can't just decide that for someone.”

“I already did.”

He stepped closer. I backed away until there was nowhere left to go. His eyes never left mine.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you,” he said again, this time with something darker underneath the words. “Every day. Every night. I wanted to know where you were, who you were with, what you were doing. I wanted you close enough that I wouldn't have to wonder.”

"And now?”

His expression softened into something that should have looked affectionate but didn't.

“Now you're here.” He reached up, almost gently, and touched my cheek and I flinched.

His hand stopped. For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then he whispered,

“And now you are mine.”

I looked around the room again, at all those photographs and all those pieces of my life that had apparently been collected without my knowledge.

Suddenly, every moment between us felt different. The dinners. The flowers. The unexpected appearances. The way he always seemed to know where I was. The way he'd appeared outside my apartment. The way he'd found me today.

I had spent months believing that I'd fallen into something unexpected with Solomon.

Standing in that room, surrounded by photographs of myself that I had never known existed, I finally understood the possibility that maybe none of it had been unexpected at all.

Maybe he'd been building this long before I ever realized I was part of it.