The Ceo’s Secret Guard

Whispers In Glass

The glass-walled conference room on the forty-second floor of Monarch Capital Group was a cathedral of power, all gleaming steel, panoramic views of Manhattan, and a table long enough to host a small war.

Damian Pierce sat at the head of it, a human portrait of effortless control. His tailored charcoal suit caught the light in sharp angles, his cufflinks glinting like quiet threats. Around him, board members shifted in leather chairs, speaking numbers and strategies in tones that didn’t dare to rise above polite urgency.

I was only there to take notes. At least, that was the role I played.

From my seat near the far corner, I let my pen move while my mind stayed two steps ahead, cataloguing who leaned forward when profits were discussed, who avoided eye contact when Damian’s gaze swept the table. Corporate politics was a chessboard, and right now? I was watching for the pawns who didn’t know they were already in check.

“Steph,” Damian’s voice cut through the low murmur smooth but edged.

Every head turned toward me.

Oh how I hated the spotlight

“Yes, Mr. Pierce?”

His eyes, storm-grey and unblinking, pinned me where I sat. “Rerun the projections from last quarter. The ones you gave me yesterday.”

“Of course.” I tapped on my tablet, projecting the numbers onto the glass wall.

He watched me a fraction longer than necessary. To the board, it looked like mere scrutiny, but I knew better. We both understood what it meant. It was his own way of confirming I was still here, in place, still guarding the man who thought he didn’t need a guard.

The meeting dragged for another forty minutes before Damian dismissed everyone with a clipped, “We’re done here.” Chairs scraped back as murmured goodbyes filled the air, and in less than a minute, it was just the two of us in the echoing space.

“Something’s off,” he said, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, hands in his pockets.

I closed my tablet. “When you say off, you mean?…Actually define off.”

Somehow, when this man was anywhere close to me, I found it extremely difficult to make any sense…arghh

He turned slightly toward me. “Two contracts pulled out last week. Both had ironclad agreements. And someone’s been digging into our private acquisitions, which aren’t public knowledge.”

That flicker in my gut appeared to be the one I’d learned to trust in the field. Danger wasn’t always a shout, sometimes it was the whisper in the corner of the room.

“Any idea who?” I asked.

“Plenty,” he said dryly. “But I don’t deal in guesses.”

I stepped closer, the low hum of the city seeping in from beyond the glass. “Then we find out.”

He gave me that half-smile that wasn’t a smile. “You make it sound easy.”

“It is easy,” I said, meeting his gaze. “You just have to be willing to get your hands dirty.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes curiosity, or trust. Then it was gone, shuttered behind the cold CEO mask.

“Go home, Steph,” he said, turning back to the city.

I didn’t argue and my compliance was not because I was taking orders, but because I actually had somewhere else to be.

The elevator ride down was quiet, but my reflection in the mirrored doors betrayed me, it reflected my alerted eyes, my tensed shoulders, and my hands sitting loosely at my sides, ready for whatever might be waiting.

It was waiting.

The black SUV was parked a little too perfectly across the street…

I didn’t head straight for the subway like a civilian would. Instead, I ducked into the coffee shop on the corner, ordered something I didn’t plan to drink, and took the back exit into the alley. The air was damp,

By the time I circled back toward my building, the SUV was gone.

My apartment was quiet when I stepped inside. Way too quiet.

I didn’t own much, but I owned just enough to keep up the façade of a mid-level executive assistant’s life. Minimal furniture, neutral walls, no photos, and most importantly no past.

But I knew every inch of it. And I knew for a fact the scent in the air wasn’t mine.

I didn’t draw my weapon immediately. Instead, I slipped off my heels, my steps silent as I moved through the small space. Bedroom… clear. Kitchen… clear.

Bathroom… not clear.

The shower curtain was drawn.

I gripped the handle of the knife hidden in the towel cabinet and yanked the curtain back.

Empty.

The note was taped to the tile where the steam would hit.

Two words, typed in bold black letters: BACK OFF.

I burned the note over the sink before I called Damian.

“You’re being targeted,” I said when he picked up.

“I know that, I’m aware,” he replied, but his tone had changed , tighter, sharper. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to panic about,” I said. “Yet.”

“Steph—”

“I’ll handle it.”

A pause. Then: “Don’t get yourself killed.”

For a man who supposedly didn’t care about anyone, it almost sounded like concern. Almost.

When I hung up, I sat in the dark for a long time, the city’s distant sirens filtering in through the cracked window.

I thought hard and long about how much I tried to hide tans how easy it was for them to find me

Whoever had been in my apartment had left without taking anything. No valuables. No files. Just a note.

But one thing was certain, thist wasn’t a robbery, it was a clear message.

And one thing about me?

I never ignored messages no matter the form or manner they came in.