The obsessive billionaire CEO who wants to control my every move

The airport floor was too shiny. It reflected the harsh rays of sunlight that made Maren’s eyes ache. She stood at Gate 4B. Her fingers felt stiff around the handle of her suitcase. The plastic was warm from her palms. In her pocket, the boarding pass felt like a heavy secret. London. A new job. A life where no one knew her name. She watched the clock on the wall. Each tick of the second hand felt like a pulse in her throat. She was so close to leaving. "Next," the gate agent said. Maren stepped forward. Her heels clicked on the tile. It was a lonely, sharp sound. She handed over her passport. She tried to take a deep breath, to calm her nerves, The agent typed. The keys made a fast, snapping sound. Then, the noise stopped. The woman frowned at the screen. She tilted her head. She clicked the mouse twice, then three times. "Is there a problem?" Maren asked. Her voice sounded thin. "Your ticket is void, Ms. Voss." Maren blinked. She felt a dull thud in her stomach. "Void? I paid for it weeks ago. I have the receipt in my bag." "The system says the purchase was flagged for fraud this morning," the agent said. Her voice was flat. "The money was pulled back by the bank." Maren’s heart sank. She pulled out her phone. Her hands trembling. She opened her banking app. She tapped the icon. Error. System Timeout. She tried again. The screen scrolled. A blue circle spun. It felt like the phone was mocking her. Finally, the page loaded. Balance: $0.00 Maren stared at the zeros. They looked like empty eyes. She refreshed the page. Still zero. Every cent she had saved was gone. Her moving money. Her last paycheck. Her rent deposit. It was all erased. "I don't understand," Maren whispered. The air in the airport felt thin. "I'm sorry," the agent said. She wasn't looking at Maren anymore. She was looking at the man in line behind her. "You need to talk to your bank. Move aside, please. You're blocking the line." Maren stepped back. She stumbled. People pushed past her. They smelled of coffee and expensive soap. They were moving toward their futures. Maren stood still. Her suitcase felt like a rock she was no longer allowed to carry. She walked to a row of plastic chairs. She sat down. Her legs felt like jelly. She called the bank. A voice told her the wait time was an hour. She called the London firm. She had to tell them she was coming. "Vance and Associates," a woman answered. "Hi, this is Maren Voss. I was supposed to start Monday. There’s a mistake with my money, and—" "Ms. Voss," the voice cut her off. It was cold. "We emailed you. We are taking back the offer." Maren felt the blood leave her face. "What? Why?" "We received proof of data theft from your old boss this morning. We don't hire people like that. Do not call us again." The line went dead. Maren let the phone drop. The airport noise became a roar. It sounded like a sea that wanted to drown her. She felt cold sweat on her neck. It was happening again. Every time she got close to the exit, the lock changed. Every time she climbed, the ladder broke. She looked at her reflection in the dark phone screen. She looked small. She looked like someone who was born to lose. A text popped up. It was from an unknown number. I heard about London. How awful. I still have a desk for you here. Come home, Maren. She didn't need a name to know who sent it. She knew the rhythm of those words. They were soft. They felt like a rope tightening around her neck. He was watching. He was always watching. Maren stood up. She didn't cry. The tears were stuck behind a wall of exhaustion. She walked out of the airport. The morning air was gray and sharp. It bit at her skin through her thin coat. She stood at the curb. She watched the taxis go by. She couldn't even pay for a ride home. A black car pulled up. It was long and dark. The windows were tainted. The back window rolled down with a smooth hum. Alaric Draken sat in the back. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a man waiting for a friend. He held out a cup of coffee. "It’s your favorite," he said. His voice was calm. "Extra shot. No sugar. Just how you like it when you're stressed." Maren looked at the coffee. She looked at his clean, gray suit. She hated him. She hated that he knew her predicament and hated how he looked at her. He looked at her like a puzzle he had already finished. But under the hate, there was a sick relief. The world had just crushed her. The sky was too big. The zeros in her bank were too frightening. And here was a man offering a seat and a name. She reached for the door handle. Her hand stopped for a second. She thought about running. She thought about walking until her feet bled just to be away from him. But where would she go? Who was left to help her? He had made sure there was no one. She opened the door. She climbed in. The leather was warm. It smelled like wood and expensive silence. The door shut with a heavy thud. It blocked out the world. "Thank you," she whispered. She hated herself for saying it. Alaric didn't smile. He didn't brag. He just tapped the glass for the driver. The car moved away from the airport. "Don't thank me, Maren," he said. He reached out. He tucked a loose hair behind her ear. His fingers were cold. "I told you. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be." Maren looked out the window. The airport disappeared into the mist. She took a sip of the coffee. It was perfect. It was exactly what she wanted. That was the scariest part. She felt a strange ache in her chest. It wasn't just sadness. it was the feeling of a bird flying back into a cage because the wind was too strong outside. She settled into the seat. She let the heat of the car wrap around her. For now, she was safe. For now, she didn't have to fight. She closed her eyes. She could feel him watching her. He didn't say anything else. The silence in the car felt heavy. It felt like a promise she couldn't break. She was going back to the same desk. She was going back to the same life. She wondered if the zeros in her bank would stay there forever. She wondered if she would ever see London. In the dark of the car, Alaric’s hand stayed near hers. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat from his skin. It felt like a boundary. "Sleep," he said softly. Maren didn't want to sleep. She wanted to stay awake and find a way out. But her eyes were heavy. The stress of the morning was catching up to her. Her head leaned against the window. She was home. But home felt like a prison.