The Mafia CEO’s Obsession

Lana: I turned twenty-four today, and the universe decided to destroy me in the most humiliating way imaginable. Mia’s apartment pulsed with music and laughter. She had insisted on throwing me this birthday party in her luxurious downtown space with its floor-to-ceiling windows and glittering skyline view. Ten years of friendship. Three years with Derick. I genuinely believed they were my safe place. I slipped away from the crowded living room around ten-thirty, champagne bottle in one hand and the delicate silver necklace I’d spent weeks choosing for Mia in the other. I wanted a quiet moment with my best friend. The guest bedroom door was slightly ajar. That’s when I heard it. A wet, rhythmic slapping of skin. Mia’s breathy, porn-star moans. “f**k, Derick… your c**k feels so good. Harder yes, pound my p***y just like that!” Derick’s low grunt followed, filthy and familiar. “You’re so f*****g tight, Mia. So much wetter than Lana.” My stomach lurched. The champagne bottle slipped from my fingers and shattered across the hardwood. Glass and golden liquid sprayed everywhere. The sounds inside the room cut off abruptly. I pushed the door open with a shaking hand. They were mid-f**k. Mia was bent over the edge of the guest bed, her tight black dress shoved up around her waist, black lace thong pulled to the side. Derick gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he thrust into her from behind, his thick c**k glistening with her arousal. Her ass rippled with every deep stroke. Mia’s face was flushed with pleasure, mouth open in ecstasy. Derick’s head snapped toward me, eyes widening in horror. He pulled out of her with a wet pop, his erection still hard and slick. “Lana...baby, wait. This isn’t...” “Don’t.” My voice was ice. “Don’t you f*****g dare call me baby while your d**k is covered in her juices.” Mia turned slowly, dress still hiked up, p***y visibly swollen and wet. For a second, genuine guilt flashed across her face before it melted into defensiveness. “Lana… it just happened. We’ve both been so stressed. You’ve been distant with work and...” “Distant?” I laughed, the sound raw and broken. “I planned this entire party for you. I trusted you with everything. Ten years. And you let my boyfriend f**k you raw on my birthday?” Derick fumbled with his pants, still half-hard. “It didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake. I love you, Lana. Please...” “Love?” I stared at the necklace in my hand,the one meant for Mia,and dropped it onto the floor among the broken glass and spilled champagne. “I hope her p***y was worth throwing away three years and ten years of friendship.” The pain was so sharp it felt like my chest had been carved open. I turned and walked away before the tears could fall. The party noise assaulted me again,laughter, music, life continuing while mine ended. Sophia spotted me immediately and rushed over. One look at my face and she knew something was terribly wrong. “Lana?” I grabbed her hand. “Get me out of here.” In the elevator, the full weight crashed down on me. Dry heaves wracked my body as Sophia rubbed soothing circles on my back, murmuring words I barely heard. In the cab back to my apartment, I told her everything in a shaking, broken voice ,the moans, the sight of Derick’s c**k buried inside Mia, the words that would haunt me forever. She stayed the night, holding me while I finally cried. The tears came in waves that felt endless. I curled up on my bed, sobbing into the pillow until my throat was raw and my eyes burned. I cried for the ten years with Mia,for sleepovers where we whispered about our dreams, for the time she held me after my father’s funeral, for every secret we shared, every promise that we’d always have each other. How could she do this? How could she moan his name like that while knowing it would destroy me? I cried for Derick too. Three years of memories flooded me in painful flashes. Our first date at that little Italian place downtown, where he made me laugh until my sides hurt. Lazy Sundays in bed, his arms around me as we watched movies. The way he’d kiss my forehead and call me his future. The nights he made love to me ,slow and tender, or passionate and rough. All of it felt tainted now, poisoned by the image of him pounding into my best friend, telling her she was tighter and wetter than me. I cried until there were no tears left, only hollow exhaustion. Sophia stayed right there, stroking my hair, letting me fall apart without judgment. By the time dawn crept in, I was empty. Numb. But the pain still simmered underneath, waiting to surge again. The following days blurred into a brutal survival mode. I blocked Derick and Mia on every platform, deleting their contacts with trembling fingers. I went through my phone and computer like a woman possessed, erasing hundreds of photos ,smiling selfies with Mia at the beach, couple pictures with Derick on anniversaries, group shots where we all looked so happy. Every loving message, every “I miss you” text, every inside joke. Gone. I threw out every gift they had ever given me. The necklace Derick bought me for our second anniversary. The matching bracelets Mia and I got during a girls’ trip. The hoodie I used to steal from Derick’s closet because it smelled like him. My apartment slowly emptied of their presence, but the memories refused to leave. My twenty-fourth birthday would forever be stained as the day I caught my boyfriend balls-deep inside my best friend, her moans echoing in my ears like a curse. Sophia came by daily with food I barely touched and quiet, steadfast support. She listened when I needed to talk and sat in silence when words failed me. On the third day, I forced myself out of the fog. I couldn’t stay like this forever. Bills didn’t care about heartbreak. I opened my laptop and scrolled through job listings, applying to anything that might offer a fresh start and better pay. One posting stood out: junior marketing strategist at Moretti Enterprises. The salary was nearly double what I made now. It felt almost mythical,the company was known for its power, luxury, and cutthroat success. I applied on pure impulse, attaching my resume with little hope. Late that afternoon, my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered, voice hoarse from crying. “Lana Parker?” A crisp, professional voice said. “This is Elena Moretti’s office. We’d like you to come in for an interview tomorrow at ten. Are you available?” I sat up slowly, surprised. “Yes… I’m available.” “Excellent. Details will be sent shortly. Please dress professionally.” The call ended, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief. A small, fragile spark of determination flickered in my chest for the first time since that night. That evening, I stood in front of my mirror for a long time, choosing a simple yet professional black pencil skirt and crisp white blouse. I practiced a smile. It looked brittle, but it was mine. I would rebuild. I had to. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how many nights I spent crying over lost years with Mia and Derick, I would survive this.