CEO IN COMA

008: Eyes Glued On Me

Let it be known—if I was going to be used as bait, I might as well look the part of a high-end siren with blood in her lipstick and war in her perfume.

Mathially Inc. towered over the skyline like it knew it ran the economy. Glass panels that reflected nothing but power. Guards who looked like they used philosophy books for target practice. And valet drivers who bowed so deeply you'd think they practiced tai chi on weekends.

We entered into the underground pathway of Mathially Inc., where everyone trusted can only provide their service. And one of them is Winslow.

“Greetings. Master and Mrs. Mathially.” I nodded.

The moment my red heels touched the marble floor of the Mathially Inc. lobby, the temperature dropped ten degrees—or maybe that was just my nerves having a full-body panic attack.

I shouldn't have said yes.

But then again, I shouldn't have married a billionaire either, and look how well that turned out.

"Hyacinth."

Dark's voice purred behind me like a Rolls-Royce engine in a silk suit. My heart had the audacity to skip, not from love, but from treason. When I turned, there he was: Dark Demetrecov Mathially in a three-piece suit that looked like it was stitched by angels. Black on black. With a blood-red pocket square and the expression of a man who knew he could destroy you with just a look.

I hated that he made me want to volunteer for destruction.

His gaze swept over me.

"You wore that on purpose."

"What, this old thing?" I batted my lashes. The dress was red, of course. Deep red. The color of sin and sealed contracts. Silk hugged every dangerous curve and dared anyone to underestimate me.

"I might kill someone tonight."

"That’s between you and your lawyer," I muttered, strutting past him toward the elevator that smelled of wealth and compromise. The doors whispered shut behind us.

"You look... distracting."

"You sound surprised."

"I shouldn't be. But here I am. Distracted."

I didn't answer. Not because I was flustered. But because I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he still made my thighs feel like live wires.

When we arrived at the top floor, the event was already in full swing. Crystal chandeliers. Soft jazz. Waiters offering champagne that probably cost more than my childhood home.

Dark leaned down, voice just behind my ear. "Remember, you're here because the investor's wife wants company. Be nice. Be charming. And no throwing wine in anyone's face."

"You're no fun."

"I'm deadly serious."

"Then you should've asked someone less dramatic."

He smirked. "But no one else looks this good next to me."

And just like that, he vanished into the crowd, leaving me to navigate the lions' den with nothing but my sharp tongue and sharper heels.

The investor's wife found me within ten minutes.

"You're Mrs. Mathially?"

I smiled sweetly. "Depending on who’s asking."

She extended her hand with a practiced elegance. “Alicia Rodrigez. I’m Emilio Rodrigez’s wife—Tzuilan Hotel.”

Ah. The big fish.

I took her hand and shook it—firm, but with grace. “Hyacinth. Or Cinty, if you're tired of syllables.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, giving me a polite once-over. “And I have to say... you’re not what I expected.”

“Let me guess. You thought I’d be taller, blonder, or—what was the word?—‘trained’?”

She laughed, genuinely. “I was going to say... quieter.”

“Oh, darling. Quiet’s for bank accounts, not wives.”

She smiled again, a little more impressed this time. “I like you.”

“Good,” I said, lifting my glass. “Because I’m not just here to look pretty. I’ve read the proposal for the Tzuilan expansion. If I were you, I’d renegotiate the logistics clause. There’s a loophole in clause 7.2 that’ll eat you alive in the off-season.”

She blinked.

I sipped my champagne. “That’s not in the brochure. But you know, since I’m just the wife…”

She let out a stunned laugh, one that ended with a nod of respect. “Emilio didn’t tell me you had brains too.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t,” I said. “Your husband only looked at my legs when we shook hands earlier.”

Her eyes widened. Then she threw her head back and laughed again—this time, unfiltered and appreciative. “You’re dangerous.”

I leaned in, smile coy. “And I bite.”

We clinked glasses.

She laughed. She liked me. This was going to be fun.

We talked about shoes, children, the morality of seven-course meals, and how men think suits are the solution to everything. I kept her laughing, sipping, and thoroughly entertained. The investor—a short man with a receding hairline and a deep fear of strong women—was eating out of his wife’s palm. Which meant, by association, he was ready to eat out of mine.

Dark kept glancing from across the room.

And oh, the jealousy simmering in his jaw.

At one point, a young executive tried to flirt with me. He was good-looking in a Ken-doll-meets-powerpoint way.

"You must be new," I said, sipping my champagne. "Your confidence hasn't been crushed by the quarterly meetings yet."

He laughed. Nervously. Then ran off to pretend he had urgent emails.

I spotted Dark talking to the investor, but his eyes were always on me. Calculating. Possessive. And maybe—just maybe—a little turned on.

By the time dessert was served, the deal was sealed. The investor’s wife told me, offhandedly, that she hadn’t laughed that much in years.

"You make him look more human," she whispered, gesturing at Dark. "Like a man who bleeds."

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I smiled, and excused myself.

Minutes later, I found myself leaning over the marble sink in the women's powder room, trying to catch my breath.

What was I even doing?

Why did I let myself be paraded like a trophy?

Because he asked.

Because he looked at me like I was the only thing holding his life together.

Because I still wanted to believe there was something real in this mansion of deception.

The door creaked.

Dark stepped in.

"This is the women's—"

"Locked the door."

He walked up behind me, his reflection joining mine in the mirror. Larger. More dangerous. Achingly beautiful.

"You did well tonight."

"I'm not your corporate pet."

"I know."

He reached out. Tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"But you’re the only person in this world I can trust to stand beside me. Not behind me. Not beneath me. Beside."

That stupid, warm ache bloomed in my chest again.

"You don’t get to say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because I might start believing you."

His lips brushed my cheek. Soft. Steady. Burning.

Then he whispered into my hair, "Believe me. Just this once."

And for one fragile heartbeat—I wanted to.

“Before my trust. I need answers…”