I'm the CEO, not my dad

Six Years Ago — Biltmore Forest, Asheville, North Carolina Emily was in the kitchen, reaching for a glass of liquor, when she heard laughter coming from the living room. It sounded odd. Out of place. She paused, her hand hovering near the bottle, and listened more closely. There was more laughter. A soft giggle. Voices. Familiar ones. Curious, she stepped out quietly and made her way toward the sound. As she reached the doorway, her heart stopped. Her father, Andrew Cole, had his arms wrapped around Jessica—her best friend. The glass of Veuve Clicquot Brut slipped from Emily’s cold hand and shattered on the marble floor. Loud music thumped through the house, but it all faded in her ears. She stood frozen in place, eyes wide in disbelief. Her mother had just died three days ago. The grief still felt raw, like a fresh wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. And now this? How could her father move on so quickly? And with Jessica—of all people? The Cole family had been in chaos ever since her mother’s mysterious death. She was involved in an accident along Interstate 40, a route they often used to travel between Asheville and their home in Winston-Salem. Emily blinked, hoping she had imagined it. But no. It was real. They had seen her. And yet… they didn’t flinch. They just stared back at her, unbothered. Jessica even gave her a smug, almost mocking, look. Betrayal twisted in Emily’s chest. Heartbreak and confusion crashed into her like waves, one after another. Without a word, she turned around and walked outside, her legs numb beneath her. She reached the driveway, climbed into her black Mercedes-Benz GLE Coupe, and gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands. For five minutes, she sat in silence, her body shaking. She hit the wheel over and over, trying to release the pain. Then, slowly, she wiped her tears and forced a weak smile, whispering to herself. Maybe there’s an explanation, she thought. Maybe Jessica seduced him. That has to be it. My dad isn’t like that. He loved my mom. They had a bond… too strong for him to just forget in three days. At least… that’s what she believed. It was another Saturday night in Los Angeles, but for Emily, it felt like the last one she’d ever truly have. She sat at the bar across from the Beverly Hills Velvet Lounge, a half-empty glass of Louis XIII Cognac resting at her fingertips. The crimson silk dress she wore hugged her curves, the slit revealing just enough of her thigh to draw glances from strangers. But she wasn’t there to be seen. She was there to forget. “Another,” she murmured, sliding the glass forward. The bartender hesitated, then poured. It would be her sixth round. Six years. That’s how long it had been since everything crumbled—since her mother’s death, since she’d caught her father in a lover’s embrace with her best friend. The betrayal had burned itself into her memory like a brand. She never spoke to either of them again. She just packed a bag, got into her car, and left North Carolina without saying goodbye. Los Angeles had become her escape. A place to hide. A place to pretend she wasn’t shattered. But the past has a way of catching up, no matter how far you run. Now, at twenty-eight, it was her final night in the city she used as a refuge. Tomorrow, she would return home—not as the broken girl who ran away, but as a woman ready to face the ghosts she left behind. She raised the glass to her lips—but before she could take a sip, a hand gently covered hers. “That’s enough,” a calm, deep voice said. She looked up—slowly. The man standing beside her was tall, effortlessly handsome, with almond-shaped hazel eyes and a confident smirk that danced on the edge of arrogance. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a chiseled chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. “I’m Jason,” he added casually. “You look too troubled to be out here alone.” Emily blinked, too dazed to respond. Her gaze lingered on his chest for a beat too long. “I can’t feel my legs,” she whispered hoarsely before slumping back into her seat. Jason caught her just before she slipped, his expression unreadable. He didn’t flirt. Didn’t say anything smoothly. He simply let out a sigh and pried her hand from his. Then she passed out cold. The Next Morning — 8:15 A.M. The blaring alarm jolted Emily awake. She groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. Her mouth was dry. Her head pounded. Her stomach turned. The smell of stale alcohol clung to the room like fog. She peeked at the clock—8:15 a.m. Her flight to North Carolina at 10:30.she muttered, dragging herself out of bed and stumbling toward the bathroom. Oh my God. The last thing she remembered was sitting at the Velvet Lounge. Jason’s face flickered through her memory, fuzzy but unmistakable. Had he taken her home? She barely had time to wonder. The day had already begun. She rushed into the bathroom for a quick shower, then dashed into the kitchen, still half-dressed and groggy. She tried making tea but couldn’t bring herself to sip it. Her hands trembled as she switched to coffee, hoping the caffeine would help. She grabbed a slice of bread, barely able to chew as she kept glancing at the clock. With time slipping away, she stuffed the bread into her mouth, grabbed her bag, and rushed out the door, determined not to miss her flight. Flight to North Carolina Emily stared out the plane window, anxiety tightening her chest. She hadn’t set foot in North Carolina since the night everything changed. She had no intention of seeing her father—especially not Jessica. But something inside her needed closure. And she couldn’t ignore the pull any longer. As the seatbelt sign flicked on, she heard a voice behind her. “Well, well… Hello, Drunk Emily.” She froze.