Chapter 4
1386 Words
BELLE'S POV
Black Enterprises feels different on the executive floor.
Colder.
Quieter.
Sharper around the edges.
Every assistant I pass has a perfect bun, a perfect suit, and a perfectly terrified look in their eyes — which tells me everything I need to know about Eros Kingston and his standards.
My boss.
God help me.
I breathe through the wig. My borrowed brown eyes blink behind the contacts. My fake name sits heavy on my badge:
Belle Anderson — Executive Assistant
When I step into his office, it’s empty.
Thank God.
I need a moment to settle the panic in my chest.
His space is like him — sleek, dark, too expensive for oxygen. A glass wall overlooks the city, and his desk is spotless except for a tumbler of whiskey and a file labelled:
'PERSONNEL — CONFIDENTIAL'
Please, Lord, let that not be about me.
I set my bag down, pull out the training materials I was given yesterday…
And then the door swings open.
Eros Kingston walks in like sin wrapped in a suit.
Dark hair. Cold eyes. A presence that forces the air to kneel.
I freeze — every muscle, every thought, every breath.
He glances at me once.
Just once.
And it’s enough.
My blood stops.
“Morning,” he says, voice deep enough to vibrate my bones.
I nod. “G–Good morning, sir.”
His eyes flick over me again, slower.
Something sharp flashes in them.
Recognition?
Suspicion?
God, no. Please, no.
But then he just walks past me, drops his keys on the desk, loosens his tie, and begins flipping through documents like I’m invisible.
I force myself to breathe.
I survived the first thirty seconds.
That’s something.
***
If someone asked me how my first month working with Eros Kingston was, I'd describe it in one word—hell.
Phones ringing.
Emails exploding.
Eros barking orders without looking up once.
I run — literally run — across the office three separate times.
Eros Kingston is a robot. From the way he works obsessively to the way he loves very detail to be beyond detail. moves fast, talks fast, and expects faster. The only difference between him and a machine is his love for coffee. He drinks coffee like it’s air.
The only words he ever uttered were from one command to another. Nothing more than that. In fact, the only time he had come close to knowing about my perisnla life was when he asked for my name on the first day. After that, he didn’t care about who I was or what I did outside the office so far as I did my job thoroughly.
I had initially thought the pay was too good to be true, but now I understand why I was offered thousands of dollars to be his assistant. My life has been consumed with him and not in the romantic way.
Being his personal assistant, I have to make sure he attends all his meetings on time, nothing clashes, I have to set up meetings and also follow him everywhere. My duties don't end there, I also have to plan his to manage his private time. He couldn’t afford to rest more than 4 hours in a day.
The first week I got the job, I had thought I'd be fired since I made so many mistakes, but he only glared at me and walked away. Maybe because he saw how pitiful my situation was, there could be no other reason. It was definitely not because he remembered me, he couldn’t... While he was burned deep into my subconscious, I was just an insignificant one night stand to him.
That was what I had to tell myself. To focus on my duties and leave whatever personal feelings I had in the past where they belonged.
But all through the chaos, I feel… watched.
Not directly, not obviously.
But every now and then, I catch his reflection in the glass wall — just a flicker of his eyes sliding toward me.
Like he’s checking something, searching.
I push the wig tighter and force my eyes down.
I can do this. I must do this. For my child, my siblings, my rent, and my life.
***
By nine p.m., the entire executive floor is empty.
Except for us.
I’m packing up documents when the door bursts open again — Eros stumbling inside, coat half-off, tie gone, hair messy, eyes glassy with alcohol.
My heart drops.
He is drunk.
Ruined.
Dangerous.
“Sir?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
He just sways.
I rush toward him without thinking and catch his arm before he falls. He’s heavy, solid, and burning hot.
Up close, he smells like whiskey and something darker — something familiar. Something from "that night."
He leans into me. Too close. Too trusting.
“Belle,” he slurs.
My name on his lips makes heat explode through my body.
“We need to… get you home,” I say quickly.
I loop his arm over my shoulder, guiding him out of the office, down the private elevator, and into his penthouse suite above the building.
He’s half-conscious, half-muttering things I can’t make sense of.
But one sentence is clear:
“You smell like… her.”
I freeze in the hallway.
Her?
Who was this woman that he was referring to? His current lover or a past lover?
I shook my head at the idle thoughts. it didn't matter who he was referring to, and it was not of my concern. Knowing more than was necessary was only going to hurt me.
I swallow hard and push him inside the penthouse.
I drop him on the couch — well, try to.
He grabs my hand instead. Not aggressively, just… instinctively.
"Sorry sir, but I need to go." I say to him as I try to pull away, but his grip is strong.
"Stay." He moans in a sensual way.
"I can't. " I reply.
"Why can't you?"
"It's more of like I shouldn’t. You're my boss and I'm your employee. We shouldn't be in such a compromising situation. "
Ha! As if she hadn't literally had s*x with him before
But that was before she started working for him. Now, there was an obvious line she could not cross.
"Liar." He whispers.
He stretched out his hand and grabbed a hold of my wig. Before I can react—he pulls. Hard.
I gasp as the wig slips off my head and falls to the floor. I try to save it but it is too late. My red hair spills out like fire.
My breath breaks.
Eros goes still. Very still.
His eyes widen, pupils blown, breath uneven.
His hand lifts — slowly, like he’s touching a hallucination — and he tucks a stray red curl behind my ear. “Beautiful,” he whispers.
I can’t breathe.
I need to get the wig. I need to run. I need to—
He pulls me closer till our faces are inches apart. And then— his lips brush mine.
Soft, accidental, drunk but electric.
Fire shoots through my body, and my knees go weak.
I pull back instantly, heart in my throat.
"Wait—." I start, but my words are cur short because he kisses me again, but this time harder than the first.
He pushed his tongue into my mouth, and I accepted it, unable to think straight. I kissed different men after him, but nothing had ever blurred all my senses.
At that moment, all my self reasoning was out of the window. All I want is to let him take me just like that night... wait, that night.
I pushed him back as images of our night together 17 months ago flash through my mind. This time, it's different. He’s not a random stranger anymore. He is now my boss and the secret father of my child.
He blinks… slow. Confused, he was already forgetting what he had just done
I grab the wig, put it back on, step away, breathing like I just out ran death.
Eros sinks back onto the couch, already half-asleep, completely unaware.
But I’m not.
My lips are still trembling from the ghost of his kiss. The kiss he won’t remember.
The kiss I’ll never forget.
- Writer
