The CEO'S RULEBOOK

The Monster Behind His Mask

Angel’s POV

I’ve been standing here for what feels like an eternity. She’s late. She’s never late.

A wave of unease starts to gnaw at me. Has she gotten tired of my stupid antics and finally decided to leave? No, she wouldn’t do that. What am I even thinking? I silently chastise myself as I continue to stare at the damn elevator doors.

I’ve never wanted to see anyone as badly as I want to see her every damn morning. Hearing her talk is the highlight of my day. But she’s late, and I’m this close to picking up my phone to call her. Just as I turn to head back to my office, the elevator doors slide open, and my heart races.

There she is.

Her tired eyes and the dark circles beneath her makeup are impossible to miss, but even with all those flaws, she’s... damn beautiful. It makes my heart ache even more for her.

I want to touch her face again. I want her close, but I can’t. I promised myself I’d keep my distance.

I adjust myself, clear my throat, and try to sound stern.

“You’re late, Miss Brown,” I say, my gaze falling on her, pretending to be angry. She doesn’t respond. I step closer.

“I’m so sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” she replies, looking away from me.

Damn it. I hate when she does that. I don’t want her looking away. I need those beautiful eyes on me always.

I know I promised to keep my distance, but I can’t hold back anymore.

I move closer, my fingers gently brushing the corner of her face, urging her to meet my gaze.

She doesn’t pull away. For a moment, I lose myself in the sweetness of her face. But then, I see it.

A pleasure mark on her neck.

Everything inside me crashes. Anger. Rage. It surges through me. I step back, running my fingers through my hair, trying to regain control.

“How did you get that mark?” My voice trembles, my mind struggling to convince itself that what I’m seeing isn’t real.

She looks confused, as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

Fuck. She’s messing with my head now.

Frustration floods me. I run my palm over my face, groaning. I can’t shake this strange, overwhelming feeling of her being with someone else. I need answers.

“Answer me!” I demand, pointing at the mark on her neck.

She touches it for a second, then looks up at me. “Sir... I don’t think it’s any of your business what I do in my private life,” she says, folding her arms and meeting my gaze head-on, her voice confident.

She’s enjoying this. I can tell.

Feeling defeated, it took everything in me to walk into my office and pretend I was okay with seeing that on her. I couldn’t focus on work. All I could think about was her... Miss Brown and the image of her with someone else. It eats at me, tearing me apart.

“f**k, what is wrong with me… why can’t I get her out of my head?” I scream under my breath.

This shouldn’t be happening. She’s my employee. I’m her boss. This is wrong.

I thought dating Alexis would help push these feelings away, but it only made them stronger.

Okay. That’s it. I need to be more professional. I can’t let this feeling control me.

The day drags on. I waited until Miss Brown left before I did. trying to avoid her. I couldn’t face those eyes that weaken me, not today.

As I walked out of the building, I saw him.

“Armando Rayas.”

Rage boils inside me. All I saw was red.

“What the f**k are you doing here, Armando? Weren’t you supposed to be in London?” I spit venomously, stepping toward him. My eyes fall on her, and everything inside me snaps.

What the hell is she doing with him? I warned her to stay away.

“Oh, Angel...” Armando grins, pulling her close. “Came to take my precious out to dinner. Last night was f*****g amazing.”

Then, he leans in and kisses the pleasure mark on her neck.

Fuck. It all made sense.

I lost it. The anger consumes me.

Armando, of all people- no, it can’t be.

I lunge at Armando, grabbing him with a fury I couldn’t control

Mila’s POV

Mr. Harris is punching Armando like a madman, his body stiff, every blow driven by raw, violent rage. Blood splatters everywhere.

Armando tried to defend himself, but it was useless. Mr Harris was like a beast. He didn’t stop. He keeps hitting him, over and over.

“Stop! You’re going to kill him!” I scream, my voice hoarse, but...

Nothing.

Mr. Harris is a shark drawn to blood. He kept going digging for blood

“Stop… please, stop!” I beg, pulling at his arm, desperate to make him listen.

Tears fall, but I can’t stop them. My breaths come in ragged gasps, but still, nothing works. He keeps murmuring something to Armand, words I can’t understand.

Shivering in horror, I know I have to do something before it goes too far. So I screamed.

“Angel...” My voice cracks as I shout, pleading with him. “Please, stop. For me.”

Just like that, like my words were a lifeline, he freezes.

He stops immediately. I can barely breathe. He stands, looking at me, seeing the horror in my face. I saw it break something in him, his bloodied hands reaching for me. I instinctively step back. He follows.

“Mr. Ha...” I start to speak, but he cuts me off.

“No...Say my name the way you just did,” he murmurs, his voice dark and low. He wipes my tears away with his bloody hand, his other arm pulling me close.

I froze. My breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. I was terrified. If he wasn’t holding me, I’d collapse.

“You almost killed him,” I manage to say. I couldn’t meet his gaze, but the words felt small compared to the darkness in his eyes.

“He deserved it. And much more,” he says flatly, his eyes filled with hatred. But it’s not for Armando, no; it’s for something else. Something I don’t understand.

The look in his eyes sent chills through me. He’s not sorry. He doesn’t care.

Anger surges in me. I force myself out of his grip, glaring up at him, my chest filled with disappointment.

I couldn’t stand this side of Angel Harris. I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore.

Without another word, I rushed to Armando’s side. He was struggling to get up, so I helped him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, steadying him. “My Boss has gone mad,″ I let out, glancing at Angel as I said it, making sure he heard my emphasis, that he is my boss and nothing.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” I say, trying to clean some of the blood from his face.

“No, my precious, I’ll be fine,” Armando groans, wincing.

“Okay… please, let me take you home, at least, so I can treat your injuries,” I plead, and he finally agrees.

But just as I’m about to help him into his car, a hand yanks me back.

“You’re coming with me. I’m taking you home,” Mr. Harris demands, his voice sharp.

“Hell no, Mr. Harris,” I snap, pulling away. “I’m taking the man you almost killed back to his house. See you at work tomorrow.”

I hear Mr. Harris yell behind me, but I couldn’t care less. I keep walking, leading Armando to the car, determined to get him home safely.

Later that night, after treating Armando’s injuries, my mind couldn’t stop racing. What drove Mr. Harris to do that? Why was he so angry?

The look of rage in his eyes haunted me. It churned within me with confusion.

And then, an intrusive thought creeps into my mind: Could it have been jealousy?

Jealousy.

I scoff, bitterly laughing to myself. Mr. Harris couldn’t possibly be jealous of Armando. He is my boss.

I shake my head, dismissing the thought as absurd.

The next morning, when I arrive at work, Mr. Harris is nowhere to be found. I wait at my desk, expecting him so I can give him a piece of my mind, but he never shows up.

Days pass, and it’s as if he’s vanished into thin air.