Contracted To The CEO I Hate

Eliana's POV The bill has a crease down the middle. I don’t remember folding it. My thumb presses over the line anyway, dragging slowly across the paper like I can smooth it out, like I can erase the number sitting at the bottom if I try hard enough. It doesn’t change. It never does. I stare at it longer than I should, eyes tracing the same digits over and over until they stop looking like numbers and start looking like something else entirely—something heavier. Something impossible. A quiet breath leaves me. I drop the paper back onto the table. The apartment is too silent this morning. Not peaceful—just empty. The kind of quiet that makes everything feel louder than it is. My thoughts. My heartbeat. The ticking clock on the wall. I press my fingers briefly to my temple, squeezing my eyes shut. Not now. I don’t have time to break down right now. My phone buzzes against the table, sharp enough to make me flinch. I glance at the screen. Hospital. My stomach tightens instantly. For a second, I just look at it. It rings again. And again. I already know what they’re going to say. I pick it up anyway. “Hello?” “Miss Eliana?” The nurse’s voice was calm. Too calm. Like she’s said this exact thing a hundred times before. “We need to talk about your father’s treatment plan.” My grip tightens around the phone. “I made a payment last week,” I say quickly, before she could continue. “Yes, we received that. But his condition is progressing faster than expected. The doctor recommends we begin the next phase immediately.” Of course, he does. There’s always a next phase. Always something more. “How much?” I ask, even though every part of me tells me not to. There’s a pause. Then she says it. And just like that, the air feels heavier. My gaze drifts back to the bill on the table. Different paper. Same problem. “Miss Eliana?” “I’ll handle it,” I say, the words coming out steadier than I feel. “Just … give me a little time.” Time. Like that’s something I actually have. “Of course.” The call ends. I lower the phone slowly, staring at nothing for a moment. My chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on it, but I ignore it. I have to. There’s no room for anything else right now. Just solutions. Just survival. --- The mirror in my room is cracked in the corner. I’ve learned not to look at that part. I focus on the center instead as I pull on my shirt, smoothing the fabric down over my waist. I pressed it last night, carefully, like it mattered more than anything else. Maybe it does. Maybe today matters. I reach for my bag, then pause. My eyes lift. Just for a second. The reflection staring back at me doesn’t look ready for anything. Dark circles sit under my eyes like they’ve made themselves at home. My hair is neat, my clothes are fine, but none of it hides the exhaustion. I tilt my head slightly. “You’ll be fine,” I mutter. It doesn’t sound convincing. But it’s all I’ve got. --- Outside, the world feels too normal. Cars pass like nothing’s wrong. People move like they don’t have a weight sitting on their chest. Conversations drift through the air—light, easy, careless. I adjust my bag on my shoulder and start walking. This job matters. Not because I want it. Because I need it. Every step feels heavier than it should, my mind already running through everything that could go wrong. What if I don’t get it? What if I mess up? What if— No. I shut the thoughts down. I don’t have the luxury of doubt. --- When I finally reached the building, my steps slowed. I don’t mean for them to. They just do. The structure rises above me, all glass and steel, sharp edges and clean lines that reflect the sky like it belongs there. People walk in and out like this place is just another stop in their day, like it doesn’t feel… intimidating. I stand there a second too long. My grip tightens on my bag. Then I exhale and force myself forward. If I stop now, I won’t go in. And I don’t have the option of walking away. --- I didn’t see him until I hit him. One second, I’m walking too fast, trying to make up for lost time— The next— My shoulder slams into something solid. The impact knocks me off balance, my foot slipping slightly against the polished floor, but a hand catches my arm before I can fall. “Careful.” The voice is low. Calm. Annoyingly calm. I look up— And for a second, everything else fades. Not because he smiles. He doesn’t. But because his eyes are already on me. Steady. Focused. Like he’s been standing there long enough to notice everything. Including me. Something tightens in my chest. I pull my arm out of his grip. “I was watching where I was going,” I say, brushing invisible dust off my sleeve. “You’re the one standing in the middle of the walkway.” One of his brows lifts slightly. No reaction. No apology. Just… observation. “Interesting,” he says. I frown. “What is?” He doesn’t answer. His gaze lingers—just long enough to feel intentional—before he steps aside. “Go on.” Like he’s allowing it. Something about that annoys me more than it should. “I was already going,” I mutter, walking past him. I don’t look back. I don’t have time to. --- The waiting area is full. People sit in neat rows, files in their hands, conversations low and tense. Some are rehearsing under their breath. Others stare straight ahead like they’re trying not to think. I take an empty seat. My fingers tighten around my file. The air feels thick. Heavy. A door opens. A girl steps out. Her eyes are red. She’s crying. No one says anything, but I feel it—the shift in the room. The tension tightening, the silent realization settling over everyone. This isn’t going to be easy. Another name is called. Another person goes in. Time stretches. Each second feels longer than the last. I press my lips together, forcing myself to breathe normally, even when it feels like my chest is too tight. You need this. The thought repeats in my head, steady, constant. You need this. “Miss Eliana?” I stand immediately. My legs feel fine. Too fine. Like they’re moving on their own as I walk toward the door. I push it open. And step inside. --- The room is colder than I expected. Not temperature-wise. Just … atmosphere. A man sits behind the desk, flipping through a file. He looks up as I approach, his expression unreadable. “Took you long enough,” he mutters. I ignore that. “Good morning,” I say, placing my file in front of him. “My name is Eliana.” He didn’t respond immediately. Just look at me. Then down at the file. Then back at me again. Something about the way he watches makes me straighten slightly. Like he’s measuring something. “You’ve worked as a waitress,” he says. “Yes.” “And you think you can handle this position?” I meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” A pause. Then— A faint smirk. Not mocking. Not kind either. Just … interested. He closes the file. “You’re hired.” I blink. “Sorry… what?” “I don’t repeat myself,” he says, already standing. “You start tomorrow.” Just like that. No long questions. No pressure. No struggle. It feels too easy. Too fast. But I don’t question it. I can’t afford to. “Thank you,” I say quickly, before he changes his mind. He doesn’t respond. Just gestures toward the door. Dismissed. When I step out of the building, I don’t stop walking this time. I should feel relieved. I got the job. After everything—the pressure, the waiting, the way that girl walked out crying—I should feel like something just shifted in my favor. But all I can think about is the number from this morning. It hasn’t changed. It’s still there. Waiting. I tighten my grip on my bag as I move past people who don’t look twice at me, blending into the same crowd I came in with. Nothing about me stands out. Nothing about today looks different from the outside. And maybe that’s the problem. Because for me … everything just got heavier. A job means responsibility. Responsibility means expectations. And expectations mean I don’t get to fail. Not now. Not when it actually matters. I slow down when I reach the road, glancing at the flow of cars before stepping off the curb. My mind drifts—back to the interview, the way it ended too quickly, too easily. No real questions. No pressure. Just… you’re hired. It doesn’t sit right. But I don’t question it. I can’t afford to. “Congratulations.” The voice comes from behind me. Calm. Familiar. I stop. Turn slightly. And there he is. The same man from earlier. Standing like he has nowhere else to be. Like running into me again isn’t strange at all. I narrow my eyes a little. “You follow everyone you bump into, or am I just special?” One corner of his mouth moves—barely. “Neither.” That answer somehow makes it worse. I cross my arms lightly. “So … what, you just hang around buildings giving random congratulations now?” His gaze lingers for a second—not intrusive, not intense, just present. “I was in the meeting room next to yours,” he says simply. “Hard not to hear.” That makes sense. Annoyingly. I exhale, some of the tension easing out of me. “Right.” A pause. Then.. “Still doesn’t explain why you care.” I don’t know why I said that. Maybe because he doesn’t look like someone who wastes time on strangers. He studies me for a second. Not in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Just… like he’s deciding something. Then— “I don’t,” he says. Flat. Honest. And somehow, that lands harder than if he had lied. I blink. “Wow. You’re really good at this whole conversation thing.” “Am I?” “No.” A beat. Then—unexpectedly— he almost smiles. Not fully. Just enough to make me pause. “Then I’ll work on it,” he says. Like it’s not a joke. Like it’s something he actually means. I shake my head slightly, turning away. “Good luck with that.” And this time, I don’t stop. I don’t want to see him again before I leave. And honestly? That’s fine with me. Because right now, I have bigger problems. And none of them look like a man I’ll probably never see again.