The CEO's Obsession

Evelyn Hart's POV The first time Damien Laurent humiliated me, I cried in the restroom. The second time, I cried all the way home on the bus, keeping my head down so no one would notice the tears I couldn't stop. By my third year at Vanguard Company, I'd learned something far more valuable than any lesson my job had taught me. If I wanted to survive working under Damien Laurent, I couldn't afford tears, Not at work, Not in front of him, Not ever. "Miss Hart." Damien's voice cut through the boardroom with quiet authority, silencing every conversation almost instantly. Thirty pairs of eyes shifted toward me before quickly looking away again. No one wanted to be caught watching the CEO dismantle his executive assistant. Standing beside the projector with my tablet pressed tightly against my chest, I forced myself to meet his gaze. "Yes, Mr. Laurent?" He didn't answer immediately and Instead, he flipped through the financial reports in front of him, page after page, slowly and deliberately. Every turn of the paper tightened the knot already twisting in my stomach. I knew that silence. After working beside him for five years, I'd learned that Damien's quiet moments were always more terrifying than raised voices. Finally, he stopped turning the pages. "Explain this." He slid the report across the polished conference table, I lowered my eyes to the highlighted figures. Projected Annual Growth: 12.8% My heart lurched. No... That wasn't right. The final report should have shown 11.8%. Someone had uploaded the wrong spreadsheet, and somehow it had ended up in the boardroom. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't ask for an apology." His voice remained calm, as it always did. Most people expected powerful men to shout when they were angry, but Damien Laurent never needed to. His silence was sharper than any raised voice, and his composure somehow made every mistake feel even heavier. "I asked for an explanation." Taking a slow breath, I steadied myself before answering. "Finance sent three different versions of the report last night. I reviewed what I believed was the latest file before the meeting, but somehow the older version was printed instead." His expression remained unreadable. "So you presented financial figures without confirming they were the final version." There was no point making excuses. "Yes." A muscle flexed in his jaw. It was such a small movement that no one else would have noticed, but I did. After five years of working beside him, I'd memorized every warning sign, every subtle change in his expression that signaled disappointment before he ever spoke. "You've been my executive assistant for five years." "Yes." "How many mistakes have you made during that time?" The question caught me off guard. "I... I don't know." "But I do." He closed the file with measured precision before looking directly at me. "Three." I stared at him in surprise, He remembered? "Today's mistake makes four." The room fell into complete silence. No one shifted in their seat. No one dared interrupt. Even the air felt painfully still as Damien rested both hands on the table and held my gaze. "I trust numbers because numbers don't lie." His eyes never left mine. "People do." My throat tightened, Of all the things he could accuse me of, dishonesty wasn't one of them. I'd given five years of my life to this company, sacrificing weekends, holidays, and more sleepless nights than I cared to count. I could accept being called careless, but never a liar. "I would never lie to you." "I know." His answer came so quickly that I almost missed it. For a brief second, relief flickered through me. He believed me. He knew I wasn't dishonest but Unfortunately, believing me didn't mean forgiving my mistake. "You made an error," he continued calmly, reminding me exactly why he was feared throughout the company. "Yes." "And who is responsible for checking every report before it reaches my office?" "I am." "And whose name is attached to every document that lands on my desk?" I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Mine." He gave a single nod. "So whose mistake is this?" There was only one answer, I lowered my head, forcing the word past the tightness in my chest. "Mine." The room remained painfully silent until something completely unexpected happened and Instead of continuing to question me, Damien shifted his attention toward the Chief Financial Officer. "Mr. Collins." The older man nearly jumped out of his chair before straightening his posture. "Yes, sir?" "How many versions of yesterday's financial report did your department send to Miss Hart?" The color drained from his face almost instantly. "Three, sir." "Were any of them clearly labeled as the final version?" "No, sir." "So your department created unnecessary confusion." The CFO lowered his head. "Yes, sir." Damien's gaze returned to me, unreadable as ever. "The mistake began in Finance." For the briefest moment, hope stirred inside me. I thought—foolishly that he was about to defend me. "But," he continued in the same calm voice, "it ended with you." The fragile hope disappeared as quickly as it had come. He wasn't wrong because no matter where the mistake had started, I was the final person responsible for every document that reached his desk. That responsibility had always been mine, and deep down, I knew he expected better because I'd spent five years proving that I could do better. "I understand." "I don't pay you to understand after the damage is done," he replied evenly. "I pay you to prevent the damage before it happens." There was nothing I could say except the truth. "Yes, sir." He closed the folder and regarded me for another moment. "Correct the report." "I already have." For the first time that morning, something shifted in his expression. It wasn't surprise exactly, but it was close. "You have?" I stepped forward, opened my folder, and carefully placed another report on the table. "I noticed the figures didn't match about ten minutes before the meeting. I printed the corrected version immediately, but the investors had already arrived. Delaying the meeting would only have created more problems, so I brought both copies with me." The boardroom fell silent once again. Damien lowered his eyes to the revised report before looking back at me. "So you prepared a backup." I nodded. "I hoped I wouldn't need it." A faint smile tugged at one of the directors' lips before he quickly looked away, pretending to study the documents in front of him but unfortunately for him, nothing escaped Damien Laurent. "Mr. Collins." "Sir." "Meet me at my office after the meeting." The CFO's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Yes, sir." Without another word, Damien picked up the corrected report. "We'll begin again." Relief spread quietly through me. It wasn't because I'd escaped his criticism, but because he'd given me the opportunity to fix my mistake before it destroyed the meeting. An hour later, the investors walked out of the boardroom wearing satisfied smiles, and the merger negotiations were firmly back on track. The executives congratulated one another as they filed out, discussing projections and shaking hands as though the earlier mistake had never happened. No one congratulated me, They never did. When everything went well, the success belonged to Damien Laurent. When something went wrong, however, the responsibility somehow found its way to my desk first. I'd accepted that reality years ago. After everyone left, I stayed behind to gather the reports scattered across the conference table. "Leave them." I looked up. The boardroom was empty now except for Damien and me. "I'll finish cleaning," I said automatically, reaching for another stack of papers. "The cleaning staff will handle it." "It'll only take a minute." I continued organizing the files anyway, more out of habit than obligation. He watched me for a long moment before speaking again. "You don't know how to stop working." A small laugh escaped me. "I didn't realize that was a problem." "It is." The simple answer caught me off guard, Before I could ask what he meant, he glanced at his watch. "When was the last time you ate?" I blinked in confusion. "What?" "Answer the question." I searched my memory and immediately wished I hadn't. "Yesterday evening." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "So you skipped dinner." "I wasn't hungry." "And breakfast?" I looked away. "I had coffee." "Coffee isn't breakfast." "I know." "You also skipped lunch yesterday." I frowned, How did he know that? "You noticed?" "I notice everything that affects my office." His answer sounded as professional and detached as ever, yet for some reason those words lingered in my mind. He'd said it as though he were talking about workplace efficiency, but I couldn't shake the strange feeling that there was something more behind them. Before I could think about it any longer, my phone vibrated inside my pocket, I excused myself and glanced at the screen. St. Mary's Oncology Center. The blood drained from my face. For a terrifying second, I couldn't breathe. Damien noticed the change in my expression almost immediately. "Answer it." I gave a silent nod before hurrying out of the boardroom, praying with every step that the hospital wasn't calling about my mother.