CEO's Hidden Love Scheme

I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand. Groggily, I reached for it, squinting at the screen. Three messages from Mom wishing me happy birthday, followed by a string of heart emojis. I smiled despite myself. In all the chaos of the past few weeks—pretending to be someone I wasn't, navigating the shark-infested waters of Sterling Dynamics—I'd completely forgotten my own birthday.

The smell of fresh coffee drifted under my door. I pulled on a robe and padded into the kitchen, expecting to find Ethan already immersed in his morning emails. Instead, I found him standing by the counter, a small cupcake with a single candle in front of him.

"Happy birthday, Sophia," he said softly.

I froze. "How did you...?"

"It's in your file." The hint of a smile played at his lips. "I hope you don't mind, but I've cleared my schedule today."

"Cleared your—Ethan, you can't just—"

"I can, actually." He looked almost boyish as he gestured toward the balcony doors. "Pack something warm. We're leaving in an hour."

Before I could protest further, his phone rang. He answered it, his voice shifting immediately into CEO mode. "Sterling. Yes. No, cancel everything. Family emergency." His eyes met mine as he said the last words, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

An hour later, we were in his private jet, soaring over the city. I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching Manhattan shrink beneath us.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked.

"Montauk," he replied, not looking up from his tablet. "You mentioned once that you loved the ocean."

I had mentioned it—offhandedly, weeks ago, during a conversation I didn't think he was even listening to. The realization that he had been paying attention sent an uncomfortable warmth through my chest.

"This is unnecessary," I said, trying to sound professional. "The contract doesn't require birthday celebrations."

Ethan finally looked up, his expression serious. "This isn't about the contract, Sophia."

The beach house was stunning—all glass and weathered wood perched on the dunes. We spent the afternoon walking along the shore, talking about nothing important. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, Ethan led me back toward the house. But instead of going inside, he guided me around to the beach side.

My breath caught. A table had been set up on the sand, surrounded by lanterns that glowed softly in the gathering dusk. White linens fluttered in the breeze, and a bottle of champagne sat chilling in an ice bucket.

"You didn't have to do this," I whispered.

"I wanted to," he replied simply.

Dinner was my favorite—lobster linguine, which I'd mentioned once in passing. As we ate, watching the stars emerge over the Atlantic, I found myself forgetting that this wasn't real. That I was just a stand-in for Charlotte.

"Thank you," I said as we finished the last of the champagne. "This is the best birthday I've had in years."

Ethan's hand found mine across the table. "You deserve it."

For a moment, I let myself believe him.

---

I was back in the hospital corridor, the antiseptic smell burning my nostrils. Doctors rushed past me in slow motion. My father's hand, cold in mine. The monitor's steady beep suddenly flatlining.

"Dad!" I screamed, bolting upright in bed.

The nightmare had followed me back from Montauk. It always did this time of year—my birthday marking another year without him. Sweat soaked through my silk pajamas as I struggled to catch my breath.

The door to my bedroom burst open. Ethan stood there, hair disheveled, wearing only sweatpants. His eyes scanned the room for threats before landing on me.

"Sophia," he said, crossing to the bed in three long strides. "What happened?"

"Just—just a nightmare," I managed, embarrassed by the tears streaming down my face. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

Instead of leaving, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady under my ear.

"It's okay," he murmured into my hair. "I'm here."

I should have pulled away. Reminded myself of the contract, the boundaries, the fiction of our relationship. Instead, I let him hold me until the shaking stopped.

When I finally calmed down, he released me gently. "Try to get some rest," he said, standing.

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. After he left, I noticed he'd placed a tray on my nightstand—a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a box of tissues. Such a small gesture, but it undid me all over again.

---

"Remember, my mother can be... difficult," Ethan warned as we rode the elevator to the top floor of Sterling Dynamics.

I smoothed down my dress—conservative, elegant, expensive. "I'll be fine. I've dealt with difficult people before."

"Not like Eleanor Sterling," he muttered.

The boardroom had been transformed for dinner. The massive table was set with fine china and crystal, a chandelier casting warm light over the scene. Eleanor Sterling rose as we entered—tall, regal, with Ethan's sharp eyes and none of his warmth.

"Charlotte," she said, extending a hand. "At last we meet."

I took her hand, noting the calculating assessment in her gaze. "Mrs. Sterling. Thank you for the invitation."

"Eleanor, please." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I've been curious about the woman who's captured my son's attention for so long."

Dinner was an elegant affair, but I could feel Eleanor's questions building like storm clouds. Finally, as dessert was served, she struck.

"So, Charlotte," she said, setting down her wine glass. "Tell me about your family. Where did you grow up?"

Ethan tensed beside me. We hadn't prepared for this. The contract specified that I would play Charlotte in public, but private family dinners were another matter.

"Seattle," I answered truthfully, deciding the safest course was to stick as close to my own history as possible. "My parents owned a small business there."

"What kind of business?" Eleanor pressed.

"A bookstore."

She raised an eyebrow. "How quaint. And your education?"

"Mother," Ethan warned.

"It's a simple question, darling."

I straightened my shoulders. "I attended the University of Washington on scholarship, Mrs. Sterling. First-generation college student."

Eleanor's smile turned brittle. "How... inspiring. And now you work for my son. Convenient career path."

"She's my guest," Ethan cut in, his voice hard. "And my girlfriend. Not an employee to be interrogated."

The tension in the room thickened. I placed my hand over Ethan's, feeling the rigid set of his muscles.

"It's alright," I said softly. "I'm proud of where I come from."

Eleanor studied me for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. "Are you? Interesting."

As we left the boardroom later that night, Ethan's hand pressed protectively against my back, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just failed some test I hadn't known I was taking. And worse—that I cared far too much about what Eleanor Sterling thought of the woman her son was pretending to love.