THE ICE-COLD CEO IS OBSESSED WITH ME

CHAPTER 2:MONDAY BLUES

SARAH’S POV

Monday mornings always felt like a f*****g curse.

The shrill sound of my alarm pierced through the silence of my room like it had a personal vendetta against me, dragging me unwillingly from the only place that ever gave me peace. My hand shot out from beneath the soft duvet, blindly searching for my phone on the bedside table until my fingers slammed against it. I pressed the snooze button. Silence.

For a moment, everything was still again. Silence.

Peace. Heaven. Then five f*****g minutes later, BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! louder and far more annoying than before. “Oh for f**k’s sake!” I groaned into my pillow. “Who the hell invented Mondays? I groaned into my pillow. “Ugh. I buried my face deeper into the pillow, seriously debating whether education was worth this level of suffering. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. Mondays should honestly be illegal,” I muttered. Who in the world thought it was a good idea to start the week this early?

I lay there for a few more seconds, staring blankly at the ceiling above me. The chandelier hanging there sparkled faintly as the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the long cream curtains ,like life was somehow beautiful. What a scam. Another Monday. Another week. Another exhausting cycle of pretending I wasn’t slowly losing my damn mind.

My name is Sarah Evans. To the outside world, I probably look like the luckiest girl alive. Rich parents. A beautiful mansion. The best private school in the city. Designer clothes. Luxury cars, Money falling out of everybody’s pockets. Basically the kind of life people online cried over, a life that most people would kill to have. But honestly? It was all bullshit, a perfect lie. A beautiful, expensive, suffocating lie. A golden cage, a life decorated so beautifully on the outside that no one ever cared to look at what was rotting within.

The mansion I lived in looked like something ripped straight out of a billionaire fantasy magazine. Giant white walls, marble floors, huge sparkling windows, towering walls and elegant pillars a symbol of wealth and status. Fancy chandeliers hanging everywhere like we were royalty or some shit.People admired it whenever they drove past. Some slowed their cars just to stare at it. But to me, it was nothing more than a prison dressed in white marble. I lived inside it feeling like a trapped f*****g bird.

I still remembered what Father said the day we moved in. “My little princess deserves a castle. I let out a bitter laugh as the memory crossed my mind. ”Princess. Please. Life wasn’t Disney. There were no happy endings. No magical love stories. No prince charming. Just pressure. Expectations. Perfection. And enough emotional damage to last three lifetimes. Every single day felt like I was some expensive doll people kept dressing up and showing off. Smile, Sarah. Sit properly, Sarah. Act like a lady, Sarah. Study harder, Sarah. Be perfect, Sarah.Be perfect. Be the daughter they wanted.

Jesus f*****g Christ. At some point, I stopped feeling like a person and started feeling like a performance.Somewhere in the middle of trying to please everyone, I had lost myself. Or maybe I had never really been given the chance to find myself in the first place

With another groan, I dragged myself out of bed.

The cold marble floor hit my feet and I nearly cursed the entire bloodline of whoever invented tiles. I shuffled toward the mirror and froze. “Holy shit.” I looked like death after a bad breakup. My curls were fighting for survival in every direction possible. Dark circles sat proudly under my eyes like permanent accessories. I looked exhausted. Dead inside. Like life grabbed me by the throat and said, “You know what? f**k you specifically.” For a moment, I just stared at myself. The girl in the mirror looked familiar. But distant. Like someone I used to know before life started beating the absolute crap out of me. “My life is a f*****g mess,” I whispered. Not just my appearance. Everything.

I grabbed my brush and dragged it through my curls. Big mistake. It got stuck halfway. I stared at it. The brush stared back. “You know what? Fine. Stay tangled then.” I yanked the brush free aggressively and threw my hair into a messy bun.

Hopeless. That word followed me around like a stalker. I walked into the bathroom, and instantly, my shoulders relaxed. The bathroom was the only place where nobody expected anything from me.

No fake smiles. No rich-family nonsense. No pretending. Just silence. I turned on the shower and steam quickly filled the room.

The scent of lavender and vanilla wrapped around me softly, almost comforting enough to make me emotional. Almost. I stepped under the hot water and closed my eyes. God. Finally. For a few precious minutes, I could breathe without feeling like somebody was watching me. The water slid down my skin, washing away the exhaustion clinging to me like a damn parasite. If emotional trauma could disappear this easily, life would be so much easier. Too bad life liked being a b***h.

When I finally stepped out, I wrapped a soft white towel around myself and walked over to my wardrobe. I stared at rows of expensive clothes that honestly meant absolutely nothing to me.

After a moment, I picked a black flared skirt, a fitted white top, and white sneakers. Simple. Safe.

Emotionally stable-looking. I let my damp curls fall over my shoulders naturally before facing the mirror again. Okay. Slight improvement. I still looked tired, but at least now I looked like a tired girl with decent fashion sense. Progress. I sprayed perfume onto my neck and wrists. The soft floral scent hit me instantly. A familiar scent. A reminder of the version of me that used to believe life could actually be beautiful before reality punched me in the face repeatedly.

I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs. The smell hit me before I even reached the kitchen. Fresh pancakes. Honey syrup. Freshly brewed coffee. Orange juice. I blinked in surprise. Mom was hardly ever home long enough to make breakfast. Dad was usually already gone before sunrise. So there was only one person it could be.

“Nanny?” I stepped into the kitchen and there she was, flipping pancakes like the domestic goddess she was.Morning sunlight wrapped around her while she hummed softly. Honestly, she carried this entire house emotionally.

“Good morning, my dear.” “Morning, Nanny.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You look exhausted.” “That’s because life is beating my ass.” She laughed warmly. “Sarah.” “I’m serious.” “You’re dramatic.” No. I was depressed with good eyeliner. Huge difference. She placed pancakes in front of me and my soul almost left my body. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered after taking a bite. “This is sooo sooo good.” She smiled proudly. “Of course it is.” I loved this woman. Actually loved her. Nanny wasn’t staff to me. She was family. She was comfort. She was the closest thing to home I had. After breakfast, I washed my plate and stepped outside, not forgetting to greet Nanny goodbye.

The cool morning air brushed against my skin gently. The driveway stretched ahead of me, polished and spotless as always. In the next block stood Mr Duke, carefully washing he's beloved white GLS like it was a newborn child. The SUV looked expensive enough to pay off somebody’s entire existence. The SUV gleamed beneath the morning sun like something out of a luxury magazine. Its bold chrome grille shone brilliantly. The three pointed star at the center stood proudly like a crown. Its massive frame radiated quiet authority. Power. Elegance. Everything about it screamed wealth. Mr Duke loved that car almost as much as he loved his children and his wife.

“Good morning, Mr. Duke,” I called. He turned with his usual warm smile. “Good morning, Miss Sarah. How are you today?” I shrugged. “Alive unfortunately.” He burst into laughter. See? That’s the thing. Everybody laughed. Nobody realized I meant half the s**t I said. Dramatic. That was what everyone thought. No one ever saw beyond the sarcasm. Beyond the eye rolls. Beyond the tired jokes. No one ever noticed the pain. What's there too love about this dang life. I forced a smile and began walking toward the bus stop already annoyed about existing.

The ride to Royal Woods High usually took about thirty minutes by car. Walking? Forty-five minutes.

Maybe longer if I moved at my normal lazy pace. I hated walking. Absolutely hated it. By the time the bus finally arrived, my irritation had already begun building. Then I saw how crowded it was. Fantastic. The bus ride to Royal Woods High was thirty minutes of pure psychological warfare. And today? It was packed. Absolutely f*****g packed.

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Just what my deteriorating mental health needed.”

I squeezed inside anyway. Big mistake. The air felt hot enough to cook chicken. Somebody smelled like expired cologne. A baby screamed near the front. Someone’s elbow kept attacking my shoulder like we had personal beef, a loud conversation behind me drilled into my brain.

And the driver? The driver was driving like Satan himself promised him a reward for every pothole he hit. Every bump nearly sent my soul into another dimension. I gripped the seat tightly. “I swear to God if this bus kills me before graduation—” I wanted to scream. Seriously can't a girl board a bus in peace. By the time we finally arrived at school, I was already spiritually exhausted.

Royal Woods High stood tall ahead of me like some rich-kid paradise. Tall gates. Perfect lawns.

Fancy buildings. Students everywhere laughing like life didn’t suck. Some arrived in luxury cars worth more than normal people’s houses. Others walked through the gates looking disgustingly confident. Meanwhile, I was one inconvenience away from committing arson. I slipped my headphones on and started walking letting the music fill the silence in my head. Maybe today would pass quickly. Maybe today would be different. To most people, this was a dream school. To me? Another battlefield. Another place where I had to pretend.

Then I saw him. Mr. Wilson. The gatekeeper from hell. “Good morning, Mr. Wilson,” I said flatly. “What’s good about the morning?” Oh my God.

This man woke up angry every day for recreational purposes. “Your ID.”I stared at him. “Are you shitting me right now? You literally see me every damn morning.” “And I’ll still check it every morning.” This man acted like Royal Woods High stored government secrets. I handed him the ID aggressively. He examined it for ten unnecessarily long seconds before giving it back. “You’re clear, Sarah.” “Wow,” I deadpanned. “Thank f**k. I was worried my criminal empire would finally get exposed.” I said sarcastically.