MOONBOUND OBSESSION : THE ALPHA CEO’S MATE

Sophia’s POV I couldn’t believe I was finally here. The cab pulled up to the Blackthorn Grand Resort just as the sun was dipping low over the ocean, painting everything in that golden hour glow that influencers like me chased for the perfect shot. My phone had been blowing up the whole ride from the airport—notifications from i********:, comments pouring in on my latest post. @SophiaLiftsSteel was sitting pretty at 285k followers now, up from 280k just last week. That deadlift PR video I’d dropped before boarding the plane? It was going viral, fans tagging their friends, brands sliding into my DMs with collab offers. “Girl, you’re killing it!” one said. “How do you stay so motivated?” another asked. I built this from scratch, you know? No handouts, just me grinding in dingy gyms back home, filming shaky videos on my old phone until they started paying off. Now, head trainer at one of the fanciest resorts on the coast. Six figures, free access to top-tier equipment, and a chance to train executives who probably thought a treadmill was extreme sports. This was my big break, my escape from the small-town drama and that asshole ex who thought he could clip my wings. I paid the driver, slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, packed light, mostly workout gear and protein bars—and stepped into the lobby. Holy crap, the place was next-level. Marble floors that shone like they’d been polished by hand, massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, and the faint scent of jasmine from fresh flower arrangements everywhere. The staff in crisp uniforms nodded at me, all smiles. It screamed luxury, the kind I’d only seen in sponsored ads. But underneath it all, there was this weird vibe. Like the air was too still, too heavy. Maybe it was just me being paranoid after the long flight. The HR rep, Mia, was waiting for me at the check-in desk. She was perky, mid-twenties, with a bob haircut and a name tag that sparkled under the lights. “Sophia Hart? Welcome! We’ve been expecting you.” She handed over a sleek keycard and a welcome packet. “Your suite’s on the fifteenth floor—ocean view, of course. Mr. Blackthorn himself requested to meet you tomorrow morning for a quick orientation. He’s… well, he’s intense, but he runs a tight ship. You’ll love it here.” Intense. That word stuck with me. “Sounds good,” I said, flashing my best confident smile—the one I used in my videos when I was pushing through a tough set. “I’ve handled intense before.” Mia laughed, but it seemed a little forced. “Oh, I’m sure. Just a heads up—the gym’s open 24/7, but try not to wander too much at night. Security reasons, you know?” Security reasons? In a place like this? I nodded anyway, not wanting to seem nosy on day one. I headed up to my room, the elevator was smooth and silent, like it was gliding on air. The suite was insane: a huge bed with Egyptian cotton sheets, a balcony overlooking the waves crashing below, and a mini-fridge stocked with healthy snacks. I unpacked quickly, hanging up my sports bras and leggings, setting my phone on the nightstand to charge. More notifications rolled in: likes, shares, a message from a fan saying my routines had helped her lose twenty pounds. It made me smile, that rush of knowing I was making a difference. But honestly, I was wiped. Jet lag hit hard, and the time difference from my old life back east wasn’t helping. I tried to sleep, but I was tossing and turning on that massive bed. The ocean sounds from the balcony should have been soothing, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. Thoughts of my ex crept in—how he’d belittled my dreams, called my fitness obsession a “phase.” Screw him. This job was proof that I was more than that. By 3 a.m., I gave up. Sleep wasn’t happening. What better way to shake the jitters than a late-night workout? The gym was calling my name. I slipped into my favorite black sports bra—the one that hugged just right—and matching high-waisted leggings that made my legs look endless. My hair was up in a messy ponytail, I put my sneakers on, and I was out the door. The hallways were deserted, the lights dimmed to that soft emergency glow. It felt eerie, like the whole resort was holding its breath. I took the elevator down to the fitness center, the doors opening with a quiet ding. The gym was a dream—state-of-the-art machines, free weights that looked brand new, mirrors lining every wall so you could check your form from any angle. No one was around, just the hum of the AC and the faint smell of rubber mats. Perfect. I dropped my water bottle on a bench and started my warm-up: jumping jacks, arm circles, and a few dynamic stretches to loosen up. My muscles woke up fast, that familiar burn starting in my shoulders and thighs. I felt alive again, in control. Deadlifts were next—my go-to for stress relief. I loaded the bar with plates, chalked my hands, and got into position. My feet were shoulder-width apart, grip firm, back straight. Pull. The weight came up smoothly, my hamstrings and glutes firing. One rep, two, three. Sweat started beading on my forehead, dripping down my neck. I racked the bar with a satisfying clang, breathing heavy but steady. This was why I did it—the power, the focus. No room for doubts or ex-boyfriends in my head when I was lifting. On my fourth set, that’s when it hit me. That prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like someone was watching. I paused mid-rep, glancing around in the mirrors. The gym looked empty, but… there. In the doorway, a figure stood silhouetted against the hall light. I racked the bar carefully, not wanting to show any nerves, and turned fully. He stepped forward, and damn if my heart didn’t skip. He was tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders that filled out his dark button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to show forearms corded with muscle. His hair was dark and tousled, like he’d run his hands through it in frustration, and his eyes… gray, piercing, locked right on me. He moved with this quiet power, like he owned the space. Hell, he probably did. “The gym’s closed for maintenance,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the AC. I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, trying to play it cool. My abs were still tight from the set, and I knew I looked good—toned, strong, unapologetic. “The door was open,” I shot back. “And I’m the new head trainer. Sophia Hart.” His lips twitched, almost a smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. It slid over me slowly, taking in every inch: the sweat glistening on my skin, the way my bra clung, the curve of my hips in the leggings. Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I held his stare. Who was this guy? Security? Some overzealous manager? “Lucian Blackthorn,” he said finally, stepping closer. The air between us thickened, charged like right before a thunderstorm. His scent hit me—cedar wood, fresh and earthy, mixed with something deeper, almost primal. It made my pulse race, a warmth pooling low in my belly that I tried to ignore. Blackthorn. As in, the owner? The CEO? Mia’s “intense” boss? My stomach flipped. “Well, Mr. Blackthorn,” I said, crossing my arms to steady myself, “if the gym’s closed, maybe put up a sign next time.” He stopped just a foot away, close enough I could feel the heat radiating off him. His eyes darkened, flecks of silver catching the light. “Welcome to Blackthorn Grand, Sophia.” The way he said my name—it rolled off his tongue like a caress, making my skin tingle. “But a word of advice: don’t wander the halls alone at night. Not in this place.” There was something in his tone—serious, almost protective. It unnerved me. “Why? Afraid I’ll break your fancy equipment?” He didn’t laugh. Just held my gaze a second longer, then turned and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. I stood there, my heart pounding harder than from any workout. What the hell was that? The guy was gorgeous, sure—chiseled jaw, broad chest straining his shirt—but intense didn’t cover it. He looked at me like he knew me, like he wanted to devour me. And that warning? It sent a chill through the sweat on my skin. I grabbed my stuff, suddenly not in the mood to lift anymore. I went back in the elevator, and I checked my reflection in the mirrored walls—flushed cheeks, wild eyes. Get a grip, Sophia. He’s just your boss. Hot, mysterious boss, but still. In my room, I stripped down for a quick shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension. But as I toweled off, I glanced out the balcony windows. The moon was full, hanging low over the ocean. Only… it wasn’t silver. It was red. A deep, bloody red that made the waves look like they were stained with ink. I blinked, rubbing my eyes. Pollution? Some atmospheric thing? I’d seen weird skies before, but this felt off. My phone buzzed on the nightstand—an unknown number. “The red moon rises. Stay away from him. – A friend” My blood ran cold. Stay away from who? Lucian? I deleted the text, hands shaking, but the words lingered. What had I gotten myself into? The resort lights twinkled below, innocent enough, but suddenly everything felt wrong. I locked the balcony door, double-checked the room lock, and climbed into bed. Sleep came fitfully, dreams of gray eyes and red shadows chasing me. Tomorrow’s orientation couldn’t come soon enough. Or maybe it could wait forever.