The CEO Who Killed Me

The Devil in the Morning

Chapter Three: The Devil in the Morning

Alex’s POV

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the ceiling—high, carved wood beams with dim golden light filtering through the blinds. My bedroom was as massive as a damn ballroom. A king-sized bed draped in gray silk sheets, walls painted charcoal, one side entirely made of glass overlooking the city skyline. Everything screamed power, wealth, and isolation—exactly how I liked it.

The second thing I saw was a naked blonde sprawled beside me, her lipstick smeared, hair a mess. I couldn’t even remember her name. Jessica? Jennifer? Didn’t matter. I leaned over and tapped her shoulder.

“Get up,” I said flatly.

Her sleepy eyes blinked open, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Mmm, round two?”

I stared at her like she had just asked me to marry her. “No. Round one was forgettable enough. Grab your heels and go.”

Her face dropped, but she didn’t argue. They never did. She slipped out of the bed, muttering under her breath. I didn’t care to listen. By the time she left, I was already in the shower, steam curling around me as water hit my skin.

Minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror buttoning a crisp white shirt, tailored perfectly to my frame. Black trousers, polished leather shoes that probably cost more than most people’s rent. My hair—thick, jet-black—fell slightly over my forehead, the kind of messy that was deliberate. My gray eyes stared back at me, cold, sharp, veins running subtly along my arms from years at the gym. If the devil dressed in human skin, he’d probably look a lot like me.

Downstairs, the scent of bacon and coffee filled the dining hall. The sound of laughter caught my attention before I saw them.

Cierra. My daughter. Six years old, with the brightest brown eyes, sitting at the long mahogany table with a plate of pancakes bigger than her face. She spotted me instantly, chair screeching as she jumped down and ran across the floor.

“Daddy!” she squealed, wrapping her little arms around my legs.

And just like that, the ice around my chest cracked. I bent down, kissed the top of her head, letting a rare smile tug at my lips. “Morning, princess.”

When I looked up, the smile vanished.

My father sat at the head of the table, reading the paper like he owned the world. His presence in my house was like poison.

I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. He didn’t even look up. Typical.

Without a word, I straightened, ruffled Cierra’s hair, and left.

Outside, my car waited—a sleek black Lamborghini Urus, latest model, the kind that turned heads even in this city. Dave Jordan leaned casually against the driver’s side.

Dave was twenty-six, built lean but strong, with dark skin, a clean fade, and that easy grin that made him look like trouble in all the right ways. He wore a plain black t-shirt, jeans, and a watch that I knew he didn’t buy—probably one of the many gifts from women who thought he was more than just a driver.

“Rough morning?” Dave asked as I slid into the backseat.

I ignored him, staring out the window instead. My thoughts churned. I hated seeing my father in my house. Hated that he dared sit at my table, breathe my air, and act like Cierra was his. One day, I’d make sure he regretted ever thinking he still had power over me.

By the time we pulled up at the office, my mood was dark. The second I stepped out, the building shifted.

Employees scrambled out of the way, heads bowed, voices muttering, “Good morning, sir,” like I was death himself walking past. Their fear rolled off them in waves. I didn’t know when I became a monster in their eyes—and frankly, I didn’t care. Fear was better than being liked. Fear meant control.

My office was at the very top—floor-to-ceiling windows giving me the whole city at my feet. A glass desk, black leather chairs, minimalist décor. It wasn’t just an office. It was a throne.

I sat down, leaning back, fingers pressed against my temple. Silence. Finally.

The door opened without a knock.

Veronica.

Short black skirt that showed off legs for days, pink blouse unbuttoned just enough to make HR cry. She strolled in like she owned the place, her red heels clicking against the marble.

“Hey, handsome,” she purred, sliding right onto my lap like she belonged there. Her perfume hit me instantly—sweet and sharp.

She traced her nails down my chest, tugged at my shirt. “Rough morning?” she teased, tilting my chin so I’d look at her.

I didn’t answer. She didn’t need me to.

“I missed you,” she whispered, grabbing my hand and pressing it against her breast, her lips brushing mine before kissing me deeply.

I let her. For a moment, the world shrank to just heat, perfume, and the taste of trouble. I stood abruptly, gripping her waist and lifting her onto the desk, kissing her harder, her fingers in my hair.

And then—

The door opened again.

“Mr Blackwood "

Amara froze in the doorway, her eyes wide.

Our eyes locked. Her face went pale, lips parting in shock before she spun around and bolted.

“Damn,” Veronica smirked against my neck, completely unbothered.

But all I could think was—

Who the hell was that ?