THE BOSS' MISTRESS

JAY'S HOSPITAL ROOM

BLAKE WOKE BEFORE HIS ALARM.

For a moment, he didn't even know why. His eyes opened into the gray pre-dawn gloom of his penthouse bedroom, the soft hum of the city barely reaching the fortified glass windows. The ceiling above him was familiar - a stretch of modern architecture he had looked at every morning for years - but today it felt different. Heavy. Pressing. Like the air itself had weight.

Then memory returned like a punch straight to the solar plexus.

Anna.

Her face, pale. The pain in her eyes.

Her silence.

Her distance.

The way she seemed to disappear from him even while standing right in front of him.

He had lost her.

The thought settled over his chest like ice water, cold and unforgiving. He dragged a hand over his face and sat up slowly, a man moving more like a ghost than the CEO whose name made executives across the country sit upright.

He had barely slept - scraps of dark, restless dreams and flashes of her face had filled the night. He had closed his eyes only to see her again, walking past him in the hallway with that shattered expression that clawed at him. His fault. Entirely his fault.

He swung his legs off the bed, feet hitting the chilled floor. He usually moved with purpose - a man of discipline, precision, routines that bordered on ritual. But this morning, his body didn't listen. His mind felt... padded, wrapped in fog. Numb.

He stood there for a long, empty minute before finally forcing himself to move.

The water steamed within seconds, filling the glass enclosure. Blake walked in, barely noticing the temperature. Normally he took quick, efficient showers - hot enough to wake every nerve, cold enough to focus his mind. Today he just stood under the cascade, unmoving, letting the water beat against the tension knotted between his shoulders.

He braced both hands on the tile wall and bowed his head, the water running in rivulets down his face like a silent confession.

What was he doing?

Why had he let things get so far?

Why had he pushed her away when she had been standing right there wanting him - trusting him - with that soft fierce loyalty she carried like a heartbeat?

Because he was a coward.

Because he was afraid of wanting someone more than he had ever wanted anything.

He clenched his jaw. The steam thickened around him.

Her eyes in the meeting...

Her trying to speak...

And him shutting her down like she was insignificant.

He had been cruel to her. Cruel and stupid.

He dug his fingers into his hair until his scalp stung. The water had long stopped feeling warm; everything felt muted, softened, wrong. He didn't even know how long he stood there before he finally reached for the soap.

Even that he did absently - rubbing it over his chest, shoulders, arms - his mind nowhere near the tiled enclosure. He didn't register the scent. Didn't register the heat. Didn't register the time.

By the time he stepped out, the bathroom mirror was fogged completely, hiding his face - and a part of him was thankful. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what he looked like.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped a patch of the mirror with his palm. The man staring back at him wasn't someone he recognized.

Eyes slightly bloodshot.

Jaw tight.

A kind of restless exhaustion carved into the lines of his face.

He picked up his razor.

Normally he shaved clean every morning, the precision of the blade as important to him as the sharpness of his suits. But today, he moved mechanically, like a man imitating a version of himself rather than being it.

His strokes were uneven.

His focus wandered.

He missed spots - several of them - leaving an oddly patchy shadow along his jaw, something he had never allowed before.

He nicked himself once, a thin line of red sliding across his skin - but he didn't flinch. Didn't curse. Didn't even bother wiping it right away. He just kept shaving in that distant, half-awake rhythm until he looked marginally presentable.

He rinsed the razor, set it down, and stared at his reflection again.

Still not himself.

Still not anywhere close.

He walked into the closet - a space meticulously organized, shirts arranged by color, ties by pattern, suits by season. Usually he stood here with a clear mind, choosing exactly the combination that projected confidence and power.

Today, he grabbed the first shirt his hand brushed against.

A pale blue dress shirt.

He didn't check for wrinkles.

Didn't check if it matched the suit.

He slipped it on, buttoning it unevenly at first before fixing it with a distracted huff. He reached for his trousers, then his belt, missing a loop the first time. Everything felt clumsy. Off. Like his body had forgotten the steps.

He nearly forgot socks. He actually put on the wrong shoes before realizing they didn't match.

He normally wore cologne - a subtle, expensive scent he never skipped.

He forgot that too.

When he finally shrugged on a blazer, it wasn't the one he usually paired with that shirt. His hair, still damp from the shower, stuck up slightly in unruly waves. The patchy shave made him look older, harsher, more... human in a way that unsettled even himself.

For the first time in years, Blake Carlson looked anything less than flawless.

His car ride to the office was silent, not even music playing. The city blurred past the windows, but he didn't notice. His thoughts drifted constantly back to her - her voice, her smile, the way she used to brighten the office just by walking through it.

When the elevator doors opened and he stepped onto his floor, the reaction was immediate.

Whispers.

Soft, startled murmurs.

Secret glances.

People nudging each other with wide eyes.

Blake Carlson never looked anything but razor-sharp. His appearance was usually immaculate to the point where interns whispered that he must sleep standing just to avoid wrinkles.

So the sight of him today - slightly rumpled, with a faint stubble and a heaviness in his eyes - sent a ripple of gossip through the corridor.

"Did he just... roll out of bed?"

"Is he sick?"

"He looks... different."

"Maybe something happened at home?"

"He never misses a shave-never."

He heard all of it. Every breath of it. He didn't care.

He walked straight to his office, closed the door harder than necessary, and dropped into his chair.

His desk felt colder than usual. The silence heavier. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly.

Anna.

Where was she right now?

Was she still hurt?

Was she still avoiding him?

Had he destroyed everything already?

He didn't know.

And that not knowing was tearing at him piece by piece.

He pressed the intercom button.

"Pamela. In my office. Now."

His voice came out lower than usual, roughened by fatigue and guilt. Pamela entered within seconds, eyes widening the moment she saw him.

"Sir... are you-?"

"Don't ask." He cut her off gently, not sharply. "I need something. Immediately."

She straightened. "Yes, sir."

"I want the personal detail files every employee submitted when they joined the company. Specifically Anna Jenkins. Bring me everything in her intake forms."

Pamela blinked, startled. "Ms. Jenkins? Her hiring documents? Do you... may I ask why-?"

"Just bring them."

His tone wasn't harsh. It was desperate in a way she had never heard from him.

Pamela left quickly.

Blake sat there, heart pounding too hard, waiting.

He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but something in his gut said he needed to know more about her. Something was missing - something he had overlooked.

Five minutes later, Pamela returned with a thin folder.

"Her file, sir."

He took it with a curt nod.

"Thank you. Leave me."

She left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Blake opened the folder.

Basic information greeted him first - date of birth, university, previous employment. All neat. All standard.

Then his eyes reached the next section.

Family Information.

He read slowly, his breath catching.

Parents - Deceased.

Both.

Years apart, but gone.

Anna was an orphan.

He stared at the words like they were written in fire.

Then the next line.

Immediate Family:

1 younger sibling - Jay Jenkins (medical dependent).

Condition: Autism spectrum, severe. Frequently hospitalized. Requires long-term care.

Blake froze.

Autistic.

Hospitalized regularly.

Little family support.

Anna was all he had.

His hand tightened around the folder until the paper crinkled. Memories of her tired eyes, the way she sometimes rushed her breaks, the faint worry that lingered behind her smiles - they all made sense now.

She wasn't avoiding him those times.

She was carrying an entire world on her shoulders.

Alone.

He felt something twist sharply in his chest - guilt, remorse, a fierce protective ache he had no name for.

He turned the page.

Emergency contact listed:

Jay Jenkins - Hospital ward number and extension.

Blake didn't hesitate.

He grabbed his phone, dialed the number, tapping his fingers impatiently against his desk as it rang and rang with no answer.

Once.

Twice.

Five times.

Seven.

He nearly gave up when finally - finally - someone picked up.

A hesitant, soft voice crackled through the line.

"...Hello?"

Blake straightened immediately.

"Is this Jay Jenkins?"

A small pause.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"My name is Blake Harrington I'm... Anna's boss."

Jay's voice warmed instantly.

"Oh! Anna. Yes. She just left my room. She said she needed some breathing space, so she stepped out for a while."

Blake shut his eyes.

She was at the hospital.

She had been here this whole time.

Not avoiding him.

Not ignoring him.

Just... trying to survive.

He swallowed hard.

"Jay," he said quietly, "which hospital are you admitted in? And your room number?"

Jay hesitated, nervous. "Um... may I ask why... sir?"

"I need to see Anna," Blake said honestly. "But please - don't tell her I called."

"Okay," Jay whispered. "I won't."

He gave the hospital name. The ward. The exact room.

Blake memorized it instantly.

"Thank you, Jay."

"You're welcome, sir."

Blake ended the call slowly, his fingers trembling slightly as the weight of everything settled onto him.

Anna.

An orphan.

Raising and supporting an autistic brother alone.

Visiting him daily.

Carrying burdens he had never even bothered to look for.

And he had humiliated her. Wounded her. Pushed her away when she needed someone - needed him - the most.

He stood abruptly.

He needed to see her.

He needed to fix this.

He needed to be there.

Not as her CEO.

As the man who cared for her far more than he had ever admitted.

Blake stormed out of the building like a man with fire in his veins. The automatic doors barely slid open in time before he pushed through them, jaw locked, eyes narrowed with a frightening sense of purpose. He didn't see the employees staring. He didn't care.

Pamela hurried after him, heels clicking rapidly.

"Sir-sir! You have a meeting in ten minutes with the investors. They're already-"

"I don't care." His voice was steel, cold and absolute.

Pamela froze. Blake never dismissed work. Never ignored a meeting. Never walked out without a schedule. But today, nothing could tether him.

"Mr. Harrington-"

"I said I don't care," he snapped without looking back. "Reschedule it. Cancel it. I don't give a damn. I have somewhere I need to be."

Pamela opened her mouth, but the dark, wounded look on his face made her step back. She had never seen him like this-raw, furious, desperate.

Blake pushed into his car and slammed the door hard enough to make the frame vibrate. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white, breath tight. The engine roared to life with a violent growl.

He drove like a wounded lion unleashed.

Every turn was sharp. Every acceleration was aggressive. The city blurred into streaks of gray and silver as he cut through lanes, ignoring the blaring horns and angry shouts from other drivers. His heartbeat matched the pounding of the engine, reckless and thunderous.

All he could think about was Anna.

Anna, whose eyes he had made swell with tears.

Anna, who had walked out of his life with pain he had caused.

Anna, who he needed to see-needed to hold-before she slipped any further away.

He didn't care about investors. He didn't care about deadlines.

He cared about the girl who had somehow become the center of every thought.

The hospital building rose ahead, white and sterile against the sky.

Blake pressed the accelerator harder.

Nothing-absolutely nothing-mattered more than getting her back.

THE HALLWAY FELT COLDER THAN USUAL.

Hospitals always carried a certain kind of chill-sterile, quiet, humming faintly with machines and disinfectant-but today, the coldness pressed more heavily against Anna's skin. Maybe it wasn't even the air. Maybe it was everything weighing on her heart, her mind, her shoulders.

She walked slowly down the gleaming corridor, her fingers brushing lightly against the metal railing along the wall. The tiles beneath her shoes were polished so perfectly she could see a faint, warped reflection of herself in them-her tired eyes, her tense jaw, the small wrinkle that had begun to settle between her brows from the constant stress. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glow, washing every color into sharp white. She blinked several times, long enough for her vision to blur, as though the world was swimming.

Maybe it was.

Maybe she was.

Because in this exact moment, Anna felt like she was floating-untethered, directionless, drifting through the hospital with nothing but thoughts chasing her like shadows.

She paused by the window overlooking the courtyard. Patients walked around in gentle circles outside, some with relatives, some with nurses. The grass looked too green compared to how she felt. A breeze stirred the trees, rustling the leaves like whispers.

Anna hugged her arms around her waist as if holding herself together.

Unemployed.

The word tasted bitter.

She had resigned that week. She still couldn't fully process that she had walked into Harrington Industries with her letter in her hand and walked out jobless. Everything felt unreal. She felt unreal.

And yet, the frustration was real. The fear was real. The heavy, crushing anxiety sitting inside her chest was very, very real.

It wasn't just about her.

It was never just about her.

There was Jay.

Her sweet Jay. Her autistic little brother who filled her world with both sunshine and responsibility. Jay, who needed her. Jay, who relied on her. Jay, whose medical bills piled up faster than she could handle.

She closed her eyes tightly.

What have I done?

She didn't even know whether she had acted out of pain, pride, confusion-or the lingering heartbreak that never healed properly.

Blake Harrington.

Even his name sent a pulse through her body, a wave of something warm, electric, stupid. She hated that she felt that way, especially now, especially today, when everything was falling apart. She hated how deep in her heart she knew her resignation wasn't really about professionalism or boundaries or office drama.

She had left because of him.

Because she couldn't stand working under him while wanting him desperately.

Because she couldn't stand pretending she didn't care when she cared too much.

Because she couldn't stand watching him move on, or act indifferent, or be the controlled, unreadable CEO who set her heart aflame even when he barely looked at her.

She sighed and continued walking.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and quiet hope. Nurses moved briskly around her. A doctor passed, flipping through a chart. A patient in a wheelchair was pushed toward the lift. The atmosphere buzzed with urgency, yet the halls felt suspended in time-like every worry, every fear, every heartbreak was amplified by the silence.

Anna walked past a room where a woman cried softly into her hands while a nurse comforted her. She swallowed hard.

Life was hard everywhere.

Her problems were just one among millions.

But they were hers.

Her steps slowed. She pressed a hand to her forehead.

I need a new job before the month ends.

Before Jay's next therapy session.

Before the hospital calls asking for payment again.

But the reality was harsh.

She had no savings.

Her rent was due soon.

Jay's medications weren't cheap.

Bills were stacking, suffocating her, piling like bricks on her chest.

A long tremor ran through her fingers. She shook her hands out, exhaling shakily.

"God, I'm tired," she whispered under her breath.

A passing nurse glanced at her sympathetically. Anna forced a small smile and kept walking.

She rounded another quiet hallway, taking her time. She always took her time when Jay was asleep or resting. It helped her think-walk, breathe, process, panic quietly where Jay wouldn't notice.

Her mind drifted back-uninvited-to Blake.

The tall, impossibly handsome CEO who had ruined her ability to think straight.

The man she dreamed about more than she wanted to admit.

The man she wanted to kiss again, taste again, feel again.

Heat rushed through her stomach.

Then her cheeks.

She covered her face with both palms and groaned.

"No, no, no-this is not the time," she muttered, dropping her hands.

But her heart didn't care.

Her brain didn't listen.

Memories flooded her mercilessly-his cologne, the way his sleeves rolled up to reveal those strong, veined forearms, the way he looked at her that one night, like she was the only woman in the room. The tension between them. The heat. The almost that haunted her sleep.

She bit her lower lip.

She wanted him.

Still.

Too much.

Always too much.

"If I hadn't resigned..." she whispered.

What would have happened?

Would they have gotten closer?

Would Blake have dropped his cold facade?

Would something have sparked between them?

Would he have asked her out someday?

Would she have said yes?

Her heart thudded painfully.

She imagined it-the possibility, the sweetness of what could have been. Blake, smiling. Blake, falling for her. Blake, wanting her. Blake, being hers.

A small, ridiculous laugh escaped her.

She was hopeless.

Absolutely hopeless.

Marriage?

The thought made her laugh again-but softer, wistful.

Could she ever get married?

The last man she dated had left her because she was "too committed to her brother." Because her world revolved around Jay.

Because she loved too much.

Her eyes stung.

"Would anyone ever stay?" she murmured.

She pictured a wedding dress. A hall. Music. Blake waiting at the altar-stop. She shook her head to clear the image, but it came back stronger. Blake looking at her with love in his eyes. Blake holding her hands. Jay smiling in the front row. Her future kids-her beautiful kids-running around calling Jay "Uncle Jay."

The thought warmed her chest. Her lips curved slowly.

It was silly.

It was unrealistic.

But it was sweet.

A dream.

A dream she couldn't afford.

She sighed again, longer this time.

Her steps turned automatically toward Jay's ward.

He would be awake by now.

She hoped he was in a good mood.

Jay didn't always laugh. He didn't always talk. He didn't always engage. His world was different-quiet, gentle, selective. When he laughed, really laughed, it meant something was truly funny.

Or someone had tried hard to make him feel good.

Either way, it was rare.

Precious.

As she approached the corner leading to his room, she slowed again.

At first she thought she was imagining it.

But no-the soft giggles drifting down the hallway were real. Then louder laughter, bright and full, bouncing against the sterile walls.

Anna froze.

That was Jay.

Laughing.

Really laughing.

But who was with him?

Her brows pulled together.

Jay rarely laughed out loud unless she tickled him or made silly faces or unless something was extremely funny. And even then, it wasn't always consistent.

Could it be... a nurse?

One of the child therapists?

A volunteer?

She couldn't tell.

Her curiosity sharpened as she took another step.

Then another.

And another.

The laughter grew clearer.

She heard a low voice-masculine-murmuring something she couldn't catch. Then Jay's giggles followed instantly, like an echo.

Her heartbeat quickened.

Who was in his room?

She reached the door.

Her hand hovered above the handle.

She listened.

Jay laughed again, louder.

She blinked, stunned.

What did the person do? What joke could possibly-

She pushed the door open.

And froze.

Completely froze.

Her breath caught.

Her pulse stopped.

Her world tilted.

Sitting beside Jay's bed, legs crossed, sleeves rolled up, head slightly bent as he helped Jay arrange puzzle pieces... was Blake Harrington.

Blake.

Her boss.

Her ex-boss.

The man she'd spent the entire walk trying not to think about.

The man she had just quit working for.

The man she wanted but couldn't have.

The man she had imagined marrying five minutes ago.

And he was sitting casually in Jay's room like he belonged there.

Jay leaned into him happily, pointing at pieces and giggling as Blake attempted-poorly-to mimic cartoon voices.

Blake Harrington, the famously cold, intimidating CEO...

...was doing cartoon voices.

Badly.

Anna's bag slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.

Blake's head jerked up.

Their eyes met.

And Anna forgot how to breathe.