Beneath the Redwoods: Contracted to The Ruthless CEO

The plastic stick felt like a branding iron against Jade’s thigh, hidden deep within the silk-lined pocket of her charcoal pencil skirt. Outside the heavy mahogany doors of the executive suite, the rhythmic hum of the Ashford Group’s morning hustle sounded like a countdown. Typewriters had long been replaced by the soft click of mechanical keyboards, and the air smelled of expensive espresso and filtered oxygen, but to Jade, it felt like a vacuum. One month. Thirty-two days of silence from her body. Jade smoothed her blazer, her face a mask of professional indifference that she had spent years perfecting. She was the Chief Secretary; she was the woman who never missed a deadline, never wrinkled her suit, and certainly never forgot her birth control. Yet, as she stood in the sanctuary of the CEO’s private office, the memory of that rain-slicked night three weeks ago the one where the professional boundary hadn’t just been crossed, but obliterated threatened to shatter her composure. “Jade? The car is waiting for the CEO,” a junior assistant called out, peering through the cracked door. “He’s already at the hotel for the conference prep,” Jade replied, her voice steady, vibrating with a practiced authority that didn’t betray the roar in her ears. “I’m taking his personal items to him now. Ensure the Q3 projections are on his desk by two.” “Of course, Miss Sinclair.” The door clicked shut. Jade took a shuddering breath and reached into her pocket. She wanted to look. She needed to know. But the sound of approaching voices in the hallway the high-pitched laughter of the marketing team forced her hand. She shoved the test deeper into her pocket, grabbed the high-end paper bag containing Lucian’s fresh change of clothes, and hurried toward the private elevator. The descent felt like a fall from grace. The St. Regis was a monument to the kind of wealth that didn’t need to scream. It whispered in marble floors and gold-leafed ceilings. As Jade swiped the keycard for the Presidential Suite, the scent of expensive sandalwood and lingering steam met her. It was a scent she knew intimately one that usually signaled the start of a long night or the end of a complicated negotiation. Jade stopped short in the foyer. The living area wasn’t empty. A woman legs long and draped in nothing but a tousled silk sheet was lounging on the velvet sofa, scrolling through her phone with a bored expression. She looked like a classic Ashford conquest: blonde, young, and utterly temporary. Then came Lucian. He emerged from the bathroom, droplets of water clinging to the sculpted, bronze lines of his chest. A white towel was slung low on his hips, held by little more than luck and the sharp angles of his pelvic bone. He didn’t look like the ruthless CEO who had dismantled three competitors in the last fiscal quarter; he looked like a predator in his natural habitat, relaxed and lethal. His eyes, dark as obsidian and just as hard, flicked from the woman on the couch to Jade. There was no embarrassment in his gaze, no flicker of shame. There was only that infuriating, lazy arrogance. “You’re late, Jade,” he said, his voice a low baritone that sent a traitorous shiver down her spine. He didn’t look at the woman on the couch as he jerked his chin toward the door. “Out. My secretary has work to do.” The girl pouted, her lips cherry-red and glistening. “But Lucian, you said ” “I said ‘out,’” he repeated, his tone dropping an octave. The woman gathered her discarded dress and heels, casting a sharp, envious glance at Jade as she scurried past. Jade kept her gaze fixed on a point just above Lucian’s shoulder, her posture rigid. She was used to this. She was the one who cleaned up his messes, who scheduled the “breakup” flowers, who maintained the fiction of his playboy lifestyle. But today, with the weight of the plastic stick in her pocket, the scene felt like a slap in the face. “I have your clothes, Mr. Ashford,” Jade said, her voice clinical. She reached into the bag, her fingers brushing against the fine wool of his suit. “If that’s all, I’ll head back to the office to finalize the Stirling merger files.” “Stay.” Lucian stepped into her personal space. The heat radiating off his damp skin was suffocating. He smelled of sea salt and power. “I have a meeting with the board in twenty minutes. Fix my tie. I can never get the Windsor knot right when I’m in a hurry.” It was a command, a reminder of the “service” part of her contract. Jade stepped forward, her movements mechanical. She took the silk tie from the bag and draped it around his neck. Her fingers brushed the cool fabric and then the warm, damp skin of his throat. The proximity was an assault on her senses. Every time she touched him, she was reminded of the night she had signed her life away the night her mother’s coughing fits had become so violent that the prison doctor told her she wouldn’t survive the month without private care. Lucian had been her only door. And he had opened it, for a price. Angered by the memory, and by the blonde who had just vacated the room, Jade pulled the knot of his tie tighter than necessary. Lucian didn’t flinch. Instead, he chuckled a low, vibrating sound that she felt in the soles of her feet. He caught her wrists, his grip firm and unyielding. “Careful, Jade,” he murmured, leaning down so his breath fanned her ear. “If you strangle me, who’s going to pay for your mother’s specialists? Who’s going to keep the Ashford Group from swallowing your father’s old associates whole?” “I’m sure you have a waiting list of candidates in the lobby who would be happy to take over my duties,” she retorted, her voice dripping with a sarcasm she usually suppressed. “I’m just worried one of your ‘appointments’ might leave you with a gift that even the best Ashford lawyers can’t litigate away. Penicillin can only do so much, Lucian.” His eyes darkened, playful warmth vanishing into territorial hunger. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Jade,” he murmured, lips inches from hers. “You’re still my favorite. The others are just noise.” “I’m a contract holder, not a fan,” she whispered, pushing back. As he reached to pull her closer, the secret she’d been carrying slid from her pocket. The plastic stick clattered onto the marble floor like a gunshot. Jade froze. She hadn't even checked the result yet, but its presence was a confession. Lucian’s facade stripped away, replaced by the cold strategist. He picked up the test with two fingers, holding it to the light. “Jade,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Why is this in your pocket?” “It’s nothing, I” “Did you take your birth control?” He stepped toward her, intimidating and tall. “I was clear: no complications. No strings.” “I followed your instructions,” she snapped, her pride igniting. “But no method is a hundred percent. Or did you skip biology while being groomed for the throne?” Lucian pinned her against the dresser, holding the test like a weapon. “I don’t believe in accidents. Is this your play for a marriage certificate?” The accusation stung. “I know what I am to you, Lucian a monthly bill. If I’m pregnant, it’s my nightmare, not my ambition.” Lucian’s jaw tightened. He looked at the result window, keeping it hidden from her view. “You’re not leaving until we decide how this is handled.” Suddenly, his phone buzzed a distinctive ringtone. His father. The real shadow of the Ashford family was calling. Jade realized that regardless of the result, her life had just become infinitely more dangerous.