AFTER MY EX BETRAYED ME, I DRUGGED THE CEO AND STOLE HIS FORTUNE

Jane's POV

I pushed open the door to Robert's hotel room, and the smell hit me instantly—a mix of whiskey and expensive cologne.

I found him slumped in a chair by the window, half-empty bottle dangling from his hand, eyes glazed over, shirt unbuttoned halfway.

He was laughing to himself, low and bitter, like he was sharing an inside joke with his demons.

"You know what the funny part is?" he slurred, raising the bottle to his lips and missing. It spilled down his chin, but he didn't seem to care. "She was a model. A goddamn model. Gorgeous, perfect, every man wanted her. And she chose my best friend. My fucking best friend!”

He chuckled again, this time broken. "I gave her everything. The house, the cars, the life. And she still said I wasn’t enough. Said I was boring and too obsessed with her”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, eyes bloodshot. "And now look at me. Hiding in hotel rooms, throwing up meetings just so I can drink myself into forgetting."

He paused, voice softening, trembling. "I hate women. They ruin everything. Pretty faces, sharp tongues, hollow promises. They're poisonous. All of them!”

I cleared my throat gently, just enough to announce my presence. "Mr. Robert... Do you need anything? Or should I find another room to stay in for the night?"

He jerked at the sound, turned to me slowly, squinting like I was a ghost. Then he laughed—a low, tipsy chuckle that made my stomach twist.

"Oh, look who it is. My ugly little assistant," he said, stumbling to his feet, nearly falling over in the process. "Always hovering. Always serious. Do you ever smile?"

I didn’t respond. He was drunk. Not himself. But then, something shifted in his eyes.

"You know what I hate the most?" he said, voice quieter now, like a confession. "The fact that I noticed you. The first damn day. You walked in with that tight bun and those oversized glasses, looking like you had something to prove. And I laughed. But then..."

He stepped closer, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath. His eyes searched mine.

"Then I saw you handle my entire schedule in under twenty minutes. I saw how you watched my meetings like you were reading minds. And those ideas I always drop in the trash like they’re nothing? I use them, Jane. I use all of them."

My breath caught.

"I argue with you," he went on, "just to see your face get all serious. You chew on your pen when you're thinking. You bite your lip when you’re trying not to curse me out. You're... you're beautiful."

My heart was thudding. This couldn’t be real. He didn’t mean any of this. Not sober, anyway.

"But I can’t," he said, eyes suddenly glassy. "I won’t. Feelings make you stupid. They make you weak. I fell in love once, and she laughed in my face. I won’t be that man again. I won't."

He turned away, wiping at his eyes, and I slowly moved toward the door, overwhelmed by the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

Just as my fingers touched the handle, I felt his hand wrap around my wrist.

"Don’t go," he whispered.

And before I could speak, before I could think, he pulled me toward him, his mouth crashing into mine.

It was desperate, messy, but full of a raw hunger neither of us could hide anymore.

We made love like we were both trying to forget. Or maybe trying to remember something we never had.

But when morning came, reality did too.

The sun slipped through a crack in the curtain and I sat up slowly, the sheets tangled around my legs.

Robert was still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, oblivious to the chaos brewing inside me.

I slipped out of bed carefully, my body sore as I moved silently around the room, scanning every corner for surveillance cameras and I sighed in relief when I realised there was none.

I reached for his hand, lifted it gently, and pressed his thumb against the sensor on his phone. It unlocked instantly.

I navigated to his private banking app, my fingers steady despite the storm in my chest. The password? His ex-wife's birthday.

Once in, I moved fast. Transferred a substantial sum to an untraceable account I had set up weeks ago. I had fantasized about this moment too many times not to be prepared.

I got dressed quickly, shoving my essentials into my purse. My passport. My burner phone. Backup ID. All ready. All planned.

But just as I reached for the door, something stopped me. A very crazy last minute decision.

I turned, crossed the room again, and dug through the trash can.

My fingers found it—the used condom from last night. I wrapped it carefully in tissue and shoved it deep into my purse, my hands trembling.

I bolted from the room, my heels clicking against the marble floors of the hallway.

Outside, I quickly flagged down a taxi with a wave of my arm and slid into the back seat, adrenaline flooding my veins.

"Airport," I told the driver, my voice steady. "Fast as you can."