The CEO’s Forbidden Muse

The Rules

James’s hand was still around my waist when Ethan’s voice cut through the room.

“What’s going on here?”

I froze.

James slowly turned toward him, but instead of immediately letting go, he gave Ethan a casual smile.

“We were just having a friendly conversation.”

Ethan’s eyes dropped briefly to James’s hand before returning to his face.

“A friendly conversation?”

“Of course.” James finally removed his hand. “Ivy and I are old acquaintances.”

The way Ethan looked at me made my stomach twist. His expression remained calm, but there was something cold behind his eyes that I couldn't quite understand.

“Do I need to remind you of the company’s conduct policy?” Ethan asked.

My heart jumped.

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” I quickly said. “We were just talking.”

Ethan looked between us for another moment.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

He turned and walked away.

The moment he disappeared around the corner, I released the breath I'd been holding.

James leaned closer. “You should withdraw from the competition.”

I stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re threatening me because I entered a competition?”

“I’m trying to save you from embarrassing yourself.”

I almost laughed. “Or you're worried I might actually beat you?”

His jaw tightened.

“Please, Ivy. You really think they'll choose someone like you over me?”

There it was again.

That same arrogant tone he'd used throughout our relationship whenever I dared to believe in myself.

“I’m not withdrawing.”

His eyes hardened. “Think carefully.”

“I already have.”

He stepped closer. “If you continue, things could get ugly.”

For a second, fear tried to take control.

Then I remembered the night I'd found him with another woman.

I remembered how small he'd made me feel.

And I remembered the promise I'd made to myself when I walked away from him.

Never again.

“Do whatever you want,” I said. “I’m still competing.”

I walked away before he could answer.

When I told Rosie what happened that evening, she stared at me like I'd just announced I was giving up my entire future.

“Tell me you’re not actually thinking about quitting.”

I sat on the edge of the couch. “What choice do I have?”

“The choice to fight.”

I looked at her.

“James spent the entire relationship making you believe you weren't good enough,” she continued. “Maybe that was how he kept control of you. But you're not with him anymore.”

Her words sank in.

She was right.

I had spent too much time letting James define my limits.

I lifted my head.

“You know what? I’m done.”

“Done with what?”

“Letting him control me.”

Rosie smiled.

I took a deep breath. “That position is mine.”

“That’s my girl.”

The next morning, the office was packed.

More than a hundred people had applied for the position, and everyone seemed determined to prove they deserved one of the five finalist spots.

“I heard the interviews are brutal.”

“They're choosing only five.”

“Someone apparently walked out crying yesterday.”

I tried not to listen.

Instead, I reminded myself why I was there.

I wanted this.

And I wasn't going to let James scare me away from it.

After hours of waiting, only Claire and I remained outside the interview room.

Claire glanced at me.

“Looks like we're the last ones.”

“Seems that way.”

“I’m going to get some coffee. Would you like one?”

I hesitated.

“Sure. Thank you.”

She smiled sweetly and disappeared.

A few minutes later, she returned carrying two cups.

“Here you go.”

I reached for mine.

Suddenly, she stumbled.

The cup in her hand tipped directly onto my dress.

Hot coffee soaked through the fabric.

I gasped.

“Oh my God!” Claire exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. I’m always so clumsy.”

I looked at the stain, then at her perfectly clean clothes.

“You did that on purpose.”

Her smile didn't even falter.

“Relax. It's only coffee.”

“My interview is in minutes.”

She glanced at my dress.

“Well, that's unfortunate.”

I clenched my jaw.

“You’re not going to ruin this for me.”

“Oh, darling, I'm sure they'll be impressed.”

She walked into the interview room when her name was called, leaving me standing there furious.

Then Daisy appeared.

Her eyes widened.

“What happened to you?”

“Claire.”

Daisy sighed. “You can't go into the interview like that.”

“I’m not quitting.”

“I didn't say you should.”

She grabbed my hand.

“Come with me.”

Daisy took me to May Zerrar’s private atelier.

I stopped at the entrance.

“Daisy, are we even allowed to be here?”

“Don't worry. Laura is a friend of mine.”

A woman with an effortless sense of style approached us.

“Daisy! What happened?”

“We have an emergency.”

Laura looked at my dress and immediately understood.

“Give me five minutes.”

She helped me choose an elegant outfit that made me feel confident instead of self-conscious.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, Laura smiled.

“Remember, presentation matters. What kind of image do you want to project?”

“Someone confident.”

“Then walk into that room like you belong there.”

I smiled.

Before I left, she lowered her voice.

“I might have a little information that could help you.”

I turned toward her.

“The company has been discussing a stronger focus on sustainable luxury.”

I nodded slowly.

“That could be useful.”

“Good luck.”

I rushed back to the office.

By the time I entered the interview room, I had barely enough time to catch my breath.

Four judges sat across from me.

May Zerrar.

Margaret Teit.

Tom Hastings.

And Ethan.

My eyes met his for a second.

His expression remained completely professional.

“Shall we begin?” May asked.

I nodded.

The questions started.

May asked why quality mattered to a luxury brand.

I explained that customers expected exceptional materials and craftsmanship, and that quality was what protected a luxury brand's reputation.

She smiled.

Tom asked how Noir et Blanc could attract new customers while remaining exclusive.

I suggested limited collections, strategic collaborations, and creating pieces that felt fresh without abandoning the brand's identity.

Margaret asked why I wanted the position.

I took a breath.

“Because I want to build something, not just hold a title. I love fashion, but I also understand that a successful collection has to work beyond the sketchbook. I want to help the company grow while respecting what made it successful in the first place.”

Margaret nodded approvingly.

I relaxed slightly.

Then Ethan spoke.

“If you are selected, what would your collection focus on?”

My confidence disappeared.

I knew I should have prepared for this.

But suddenly my mind was completely blank.

“I…”

I swallowed.

“I haven't decided yet.”

Silence.

My cheeks burned.

Margaret raised an eyebrow.

“Isn't that something you should have considered before applying?”

“Of course. I just—”

Tom interrupted gently. “Let's give her a moment.”

But the damage was already done.

I looked at Ethan.

His expression was unreadable, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Davish,” May said.

I forced myself to smile.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

I left the room feeling like I had just watched my dream slip through my fingers.

At lunch, I heard James bragging to several coworkers.

“They practically handed me the position.”

I rolled my eyes.

“They didn't even ask difficult questions.”

One of his coworkers laughed.

“Still, there are more interviews.”

“None of them stand a chance.”

I wanted to tell him exactly what I thought, but I walked away.

I was preparing my lunch when I felt someone approach.

I didn't need to look up.

“Mind if I share the counter?” Ethan asked.

“Go ahead.”

He stood beside me.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then our hands touched as we reached for the same thing.

I quickly pulled mine away.

“Sorry.”

Ethan looked at me.

“You did well today.”

I gave him a tired smile. “I froze on the last question.”

“You had one bad moment.”

“It was enough to ruin everything.”

“Stop.”

I looked at him.

“Where is the woman I met that night?” he asked quietly. “The one who told me exactly what she thought?”

My heart skipped.

“That woman is still here.”

“Good.”

A small smile touched his lips.

“You're a fighter, Ivy. Don't let one question make you forget that.”

His words stayed with me for the rest of the day.

I worked late that evening.

When I finally looked up, the office was almost empty.

I noticed Ethan was still in his office.

He was dealing with a production problem involving the wrong fabric being used for a major order.

“I can help,” I offered.

He looked at me.

“You're tired.”

“So are you.”

For a moment, he smiled.

But eventually, I decided to go home.

Unfortunately, there were no cabs available.

“I’ll drive you,” Ethan said.

“You have work.”

“I’ll come back.”

During the drive, we talked about my breakup.

“Do you miss him?” he asked.

“No. I miss the person I thought he was.”

Ethan's hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

“You deserve someone who knows your worth.”

I looked out the window, afraid he might see what his words were doing to me.

“You seem tired,” he said.

I barely managed to answer before everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, Ethan was watching me.

His jacket covered my shoulders.

“You fell asleep.”

I sat up quickly. “I'm sorry.”

“You needed the rest.”

I rubbed my eyes.

“Good night, Ethan.”

The moment I said his first name, I froze.

My boss stared at me for a second.

Then his expression softened.

“Good night, Ivy.”

One week later, I stood beside Rosie in the crowded office auditorium.

My palms were sweating.

The HR manager stepped onto the stage.

“Thank you all for participating in the Executive Fashion Designer selection process. After reviewing every interview, we have chosen five finalists.”

The room became completely silent.

My heart pounded.

Rosie squeezed my hand.

The HR manager looked down at the paper.

“The first finalist is…”

I held my breath.

“The second finalist is…”

Someone beside me gasped.

Then the HR manager smiled.

“And the remaining finalists are…”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Because whatever happened next would determine whether I was finally getting the chance I'd spent years dreaming about—or