After My CEO Forced a Kiss on Me

I needed a drink. Just one, to quiet my mind. Elliot’s words were still ringing in my head. *More than you know.*

I left the small SoHo bar around midnight. The street was dead quiet. The freezing wind bit through my thin coat. I wrapped my arms around myself and walked toward the subway. The streetlights flickered above me, casting long, broken shadows on the wet pavement.

A shadow detached itself from the brick wall.

"Leaving so early, Mira?"

My blood turned to ice. My feet stopped moving.

Castiel stepped under the yellow streetlight. His hands were casually tucked into the pockets of his dark wool coat. He looked completely relaxed. He looked like a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

"Get out of my way," I said. My voice was steady, but my heart hammered wildly against my ribs.

He didn't move. He took a slow step closer. The familiar smell of his expensive cologne hit me. It used to make me feel safe. Now, it made my stomach turn.

"You put on a good show on the bridge," he murmured. His voice was smooth and low. "But we both know it was fake. You don't want him."

"I don't want you," I snapped. I stepped to the side to walk past him.

His hand shot out like a whip. He grabbed my arm hard. His fingers dug deep through my coat, bruising my skin. He yanked me flush against his chest. The impact knocked the breath out of me.

"Let go of me!" I gasped, pushing against his shoulders.

"You belong to me," he whispered harshly.

Before I could turn my head, his mouth crashed down on mine. It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault. It was a violent reminder of his power. He forced my lips open. I shoved my hands hard against his chest. I kicked his shin. I made a muffled, angry sound of pure disgust. I fought him with everything I had.

He pulled back just enough to breathe. His eyes were dark and wild. He was breathing heavily.

"You still feel it," he said softly.

"You're sick," I spat. I wiped my mouth hard with the back of my hand.

He just smiled. It was a cold, empty smile. He let go of my arm and walked backward into the dark alley.

I stood there shaking. I watched him disappear. Then, I reached into my coat pocket. My fingers wrapped around the cold, hard metal of my phone.

The next morning, the office felt like a graveyard.

I walked to my desk. Nobody looked at me. The silence was loud and heavy. I sat down and opened my laptop. My hands were still trembling slightly.

A Slack notification popped up. Then another. Then ten more in rapid succession.

I clicked the general channel. There was an audio file. It was posted by a burner account. I put my headphones on and hit play.

It was Castiel’s voice. *You put on a good show on the bridge. But we both know it was fake. You don't want him.*

Then, my voice. But it was wrong. It was cut. Spliced. Edited. My angry protests were completely gone. The sound of me shoving him was gone. Instead, there was just the sound of a breathless sigh. The rustle of heavy coats. A muffled moan that sounded entirely different out of context. It sounded like I was giving in. Like I was desperate for him. Like I wanted it.

My stomach dropped to the floor. I felt like I couldn't breathe. The walls of my tiny basement office started closing in.

He recorded it. He edited out my fight. He made me sound like a willing participant. He was trying to destroy my reputation and isolate me. He wanted everyone to think my relationship with Elliot was a lie.

I looked up. A few people were walking past my glass door. They were staring at me. They were whispering. The girl who used to date the CEO. The girl who was cheating on her new boyfriend with her old boss.

I needed water. I stood up and walked to the breakroom. My legs felt like lead.

Kiana was there. She was standing by the coffee machine. Three junior designers were huddled around her.

Kiana was crying. Real, wet tears were streaking her perfect makeup.

"I just don't understand why she won't leave him alone," Kiana sniffled loudly. She wiped her eyes with a tissue. She was putting on a theatrical performance. "He told me she keeps throwing herself at him. I didn't want to believe it. But that recording..."

She looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. She froze. The junior designers turned around. Their eyes were full of pity for her, and deep disgust for me.

Kiana gave me a bright, poisonous smile through her tears. She was playing the victim perfectly. She loved the attention.

I didn't say a word. I didn't defend myself. I turned around and walked back to my desk. I sat down. I pressed my thumbnail deep into the center of my palm. I pushed until the skin broke and a sharp pain shot up my arm. I stared at the blank wall. I refused to cry. I refused to let him break me again.

A shadow fell over my desk.

I looked up. Sandra was standing there. She held a cup of black coffee in one hand. In the other, she held her black notebook.

She set the coffee down. She dropped the notebook next to it. She didn't look angry. She looked incredibly calm.

"HR just got three anonymous complaints about your conduct," Sandra said quietly. "They want to have a meeting at noon."

I kept my thumbnail pressed into my bleeding palm. "He edited it."

"I know," she said.

"He cornered me outside a bar last night. He grabbed me."

"I know," she repeated. She leaned forward. She planted both hands flat on my desk. Her sharp eyes locked onto mine. "Tell me you had your phone out."

I looked at her. I thought about the years I spent with Castiel. I thought about the gaslighting. The way he would twist my words until I thought I was crazy. The way he taught me that my truth didn't matter unless I could prove it. I learned to survive him. I learned to keep receipts. My paranoia was a trauma response. But today, it was my weapon.

I opened my purse. I reached inside and pulled out my phone.

I unlocked the screen. I opened my photo gallery. I clicked on the most recent video file.

I turned the phone around and slid it across the desk to Sandra.

She hit play.

The video was dark, but the streetlights illuminated Castiel’s face perfectly. The camera angle was low, pointing up from my coat pocket. It caught everything. It caught him stepping out of the shadows. It caught him grabbing my arm. It caught me telling him to get out of my way. It caught the violent, forced kiss. And most importantly, it caught me fighting back.

It was raw, undeniable proof of an assault.

Sandra watched the whole video. She didn't blink. When it ended, she let out a long, slow breath.

She looked up at me. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face.

"Then we have him," she whispered.

I let go of my palm. The tiny crescent moon cut was bleeding slightly. I didn't care. I looked at the video on the screen. Castiel thought he could still control the narrative. He thought I was still the scared, silent girl he used to own. He thought I would just take the humiliation and shrink away.

He was wrong.

"Send it to my email," Sandra said firmly. She picked up her notebook. "I'll print the HR complaints. We are going to that noon meeting. And we are going to burn him down."

I nodded. My heart wasn't hammering with fear anymore. It was beating with a steady, cold rhythm. I grabbed my mouse and attached the file.

I wasn't running this time. I was fighting back.