After My CEO Forced a Kiss on Me

I stared at Elliot. The silence in his office felt heavy. The smell of cedar and rain usually calmed me, but right now, my heart was racing.

"Someone else?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper.

Elliot nodded slowly. "Me."

I blinked, confused. "You?"

"We stage it," he said. His voice was perfectly even, like he was discussing the weather. "Castiel thrives on your isolation. He thinks he can corner you because you are alone. So, we show him you aren't."

"But you're my therapist," I said. "Is that even allowed?"

"It's unorthodox," Elliot admitted. He leaned back in his leather chair. "But my job is to help you heal. Right now, you need a shield. Let me be your shield, Mira."

I looked at his hands. They were large and calm, resting on his knees. I thought about Castiel's cold eyes in the atrium. I thought about my windowless office in the basement. I had spent my whole childhood feeling like a placeholder, waiting in the background. Castiel made me feel like property. I was so tired of shrinking.

"Okay," I said softly. "What do we do?"

He laid out the plan. It was simple. Public moments. Just enough to send a clear message. I told myself it was strictly clinical. A therapeutic exercise. Elliot was just playing a part to help a patient. I ignored the strange flutter in my chest when he looked at me. I was used to being unchosen. I wasn't going to fool myself into thinking this was real.

We started the very next day.

At noon, I walked out of my office building. Elliot was waiting by the corner. He wore a dark wool coat that made his shoulders look broad. He handed me a cup of coffee. As I took it, his fingers brushed mine. The warmth seeped right through my skin. I saw my HR director walk by. He looked at us, stopped for a second, and then kept walking.

Elliot smiled at me. It was a soft, easy smile. "You're doing great," he murmured.

"I feel like I'm on a stage," I whispered back, looking at the pavement.

"Just look at me," he said quietly. "Only me."

I looked up. His dark eyes held mine. For a second, the loud street faded away. I felt entirely safe. I quickly looked down at my coffee. *He's just acting,* I reminded myself. *Don't be stupid.*

On Friday night, we took it a step further. We went to a small Italian restaurant in SoHo. Castiel lived exactly two blocks away. It was a massive risk.

When we stepped out of the restaurant, the night air was freezing. I shivered in my thin coat. Elliot stepped closer. He placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me down the sidewalk.

I froze for a split second. Castiel used to grab my waist to steer me. His grip always felt like a leash. He wanted everyone to know I was his. But Elliot’s touch was completely different. It was firm, but light. A steady support. A choice. I could step away if I wanted to.

But I didn't want to. I leaned back into his touch, just a fraction.

"Cold?" he asked softly.

"A little," I lied. My skin was burning where his hand rested.

We walked to the corner. I scanned the dark street, half-expecting Castiel to step out of the shadows. He didn't. But I knew his neighborhood. People talked. Word would get back to him.

The final blow landed on Sunday. I went to brunch with Sandra. Elliot met us there for the last twenty minutes. He sat next to me in the booth. Our shoulders pressed together. Sandra pulled out her phone with a huge grin.

"Smile!" she chirped.

She snapped a photo. In the picture, Elliot wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking right at me. His eyes were dark and intensely focused. Sandra posted it to her Instagram story. I knew Castiel followed her account. I knew he would see it.

Monday morning, the air in the office felt thick.

I walked to my desk in the basement. I expected a new pile of impossible tasks. I expected an email firing me. But there was nothing.

Instead, Castiel started appearing.

At ten o'clock, I went to the breakroom for tea. Castiel was standing by the window. He didn't have a mug. He wasn't talking to anyone. He was just standing there. When I walked in, he turned.

His eyes locked onto mine. The cold, patient CEO was gone. His stare was raw and heavy.

"Good morning, Mr. Pierce," I said evenly. I turned my back to him and poured hot water into my cup.

He didn't answer. He took a step closer. I could smell his expensive cologne. It used to make me feel safe. Now it made my stomach turn. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my hands steady.

"You look tired, Mira," he said. His voice was too soft. Too intimate.

"I had a busy weekend," I replied. I picked up my mug and walked past him. I didn't look back.

At noon, I waited for the elevator. The doors slid open. Castiel was inside, completely alone.

"Going up?" he asked. His voice was flat.

I stepped in and pressed my floor. The doors slid shut. The silence was deafening. He stood way too close to me. I watched his reflection in the polished metal doors. His jaw was clenched tight. He was breathing a little too fast. The polished mask was slipping off his face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the elevator dinged. The doors opened. I stepped out instantly, leaving him in the box.

The real break happened on Wednesday afternoon.

We had a marketing sync in the glass boardroom. Castiel sat at the head of the long table. Kiana wasn't there today. He was reading a printed report, looking bored and completely untouchable.

Sandra leaned over to me. She didn't know the whole truth about my past with Castiel, but she knew I hated him. She also loved a little drama.

"That brunch spot was amazing," Sandra whispered. It was loud enough for the quiet room to hear. "We should go again this weekend. Bring Elliot. He’s so sweet."

The room went dead silent.

I looked at Castiel. He stopped reading. He didn't look up right away. He just stared blindly at the paper in front of him.

His hands were resting on the table. He was holding a thick silver pen. I watched his fingers tighten around it. His knuckles turned bone-white. A hard muscle jumped in his jaw, ticking wildly.

Slowly, he raised his head. He didn't look at Sandra. He looked right at me. His eyes were black with fury.

"Is there something you want to share with the group, Sandra?" Castiel asked. His voice was dangerously low. It scraped against the quiet room like a blade.

"Just weekend plans, Mr. Pierce," Sandra said smoothly.

Castiel's grip on the pen tightened.

There was a sharp *crack*.

The silver pen snapped in half.

Black ink spilled all over his fingers. It dripped onto the pristine white report. A few people at the table gasped. Castiel didn't even flinch. He didn't look at the mess on his hands. He just kept his eyes locked on mine. The tug-of-war was pulling tight, and he was finally losing his grip.

"Let's stick to the agenda," he said. His voice shook, just a fraction.

I sat back in my chair. I pressed my thumbnail into my palm. But this time, it wasn't to hide my fear. It was to hide my smile. He was bleeding out of his armor. And for the first time in my life, I was the one holding the sword.