Choosing The Assistant Over The Ruthless CEO

Dessie POV

The phone buzzed against my palm, vibrating like a trapped insect.

It was Craig. Again.

I stared at the screen. Seeing his name used to make my heart jump; now, it just made my stomach turn.

I pressed the block button. It felt final, like cutting the wire to a bomb.

I was done. No more explanations. No more listening to his gaslighting. I had heard enough truth in that hallway to last a lifetime.

I sat at my desk, trying to force my brain to focus on the code for the legacy system handover. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but my mind was nothing but a static noise of pain.

The door to my office flew open. It didn't just open; it slammed against the wall with a violence that made me flinch.

Chanel marched in. She wasn't wearing the sweet, innocent mask today. Her face was twisted, ugly with entitlement.

"You think you can just ignore him?" she screeched.

I didn't stand up. I didn't give her the satisfaction.

"Get out of my office, Chanel," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "I'm working."

"Working on what? Ruining my life?"

She threw her designer bag onto my desk. It knocked over a cup of pens, sending them clattering across the wood. "I know what you did."

"And what is that?"

"You poisoned me," she claimed. Her eyes were wide, manic.

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and toxic. "I was pregnant. With Craig's baby. And you slipped something in my drink at the gala."

I looked at her. The lie was so big, so audacious, it almost took my breath away.

"You were never pregnant," I said. "And I haven't been near a drink of yours in my life."

"I lost it!" she screamed. She started to cry, but there were no tears. It was a performance. "I had a miscarriage because of you. You killed our baby because you're jealous."

For a second, I felt a flicker of doubt. Not about the poisoning, but about the pregnancy. If she had been pregnant...

Then I remembered Craig's voice in the hallway. Strategic play. Partner with teeth.

He didn't want a family. He wanted an empire. Chanel was just another acquisition.

"Stop acting," I said. "Craig isn't here to applaud."

"He believes me," she hissed, leaning over the desk until I could smell her expensive perfume. "He hates you, Dessie. He thinks you're a monster."

"I don't care what he thinks," I said. "Now leave, or I'm calling security."

She grabbed her bag. "You'll pay for this. My father will make sure you never work in this industry again."

She stormed out. The silence she left behind was heavy and suffocating.

That night, I sat on the floor of my hotel room. The TV was on, muted. I saw Chanel's face on the local news.

The chyron read: Heiress Allegedly Targeted by Jealous Ex-Wife.

She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. She looked fragile. Broken.

I looked at the coffee table. There was a set of mugs sitting there. I had packed them by mistake. They were interlocking hearts. His and Hers.

I picked them up. I walked to the wall.

I threw them as hard as I could.

They shattered. Ceramic shards exploded across the carpet. It wasn't enough. I wanted to break everything.

The next morning, I went to the office to finalize my resignation. I had to get out.

There was a crowd at the entrance. I thought it was a press conference for the new merger.

Then I saw the signs. Baby Killer. Monster.

Chanel stood at the back, wearing sunglasses, watching like a director observing a scene.

I tried to turn around, but someone shouted, "There she is!"

The first egg hit my shoulder. It smelled rotten. Sulfur and decay.

Then a stone. It struck my shin. Sharp, blinding pain shot up my leg.

"Murderer!" a woman screamed. She threw a handful of garbage-wet coffee grounds and trash. They slapped against my face, wet and slimy.

I covered my head with my arms. I couldn't see. I could only hear the roar of their hate and smell the garbage they were pelting me with.

My stomach heaved. My head throbbed. I was drowning on the sidewalk.

"Back off!"

A voice boomed over the crowd. A body shielded mine.

It was Elek. He took the brunt of a tomato meant for my face.

"Security!" he roared. "Clear this mob! Now!"

The company guards finally moved in, pushing the people back to create a perimeter.

Elek grabbed my arm. "Dessie, come with me."

We made it into the lobby. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I wiped slime from my cheek.

Chanel walked in through the revolving doors. She looked pristine.

"Oh dear," she said. "The public is very upset."

"You orchestrated this," Elek growled. "You're sick."

"I have proof," she said. She pulled a folded paper from her clutch. "A lab report. The toxins in my system caused permanent damage. I can never have children now."

She held it up like a trophy.

I looked at her. I looked at the fake report. I looked at the satisfaction in her eyes.

She didn't care about a baby. She cared about winning. She used the one thing I had actually lost-my child-and turned it into a weapon to destroy me.

I felt something inside me die. It wasn't my love for Craig. That was already gone. It was my hope for justice. My belief that truth mattered.

I looked at Elek. "I can't stay here."

"I know," he said.

"I'm leaving," I whispered. "For good."

I looked at Chanel one last time. My eyes were dry. My heart was ice.

"You win," I said. "You can have him. You deserve each other."

I turned my back on the lobby, on the company, on the life I had built. I walked toward the elevators, leaving a trail of dirty water and eggshells on the marble floor.