CEO's Girl Chapter 3

The city’s elite had gathered at the Sterling Innovations annual gala, a shimmering event held on the rooftop of the city’s most prestigious hotel. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of power-brokers discussing market trends. Edward, a dark-suited figure against the backdrop of a thousand twinkling lights, moved through the crowd like a predator, his expression a mask of professional disinterest. He nodded to acquaintances, offered brief, precise answers, and kept his distance.

Elizabeth, by his side, was a vision in a sapphire-blue gown that flowed like water. She was an anchor in the storm of people, her quiet dignity attracting a different kind of attention. She had a gentle word for everyone, a genuine smile that seemed out of place in this cold, calculated world. Edward watched from the corner of his eye as she navigated the room with an ease he hadn’t thought her capable of. She was a different person here than the quiet phantom in his home.

His attention was pulled away by a potential client, and when he finally turned back, Elizabeth was at the open bar, a glass in her hand. A server was speaking to her, a little too close, a little too familiarly, and Edward felt an unfamiliar prick of irritation. He strode over, and the server quickly moved on.

"What are you drinking?" he asked, his voice low.

"The bartender called it a 'Blue Moon,'" she said, holding up the glass. "It's very sweet." She took a sip and her eyes widened. "And very strong."

Edward frowned. He was a man who preferred a simple glass of scotch, a drink whose power was transparent. He took the glass from her and smelled it. The sugary sweetness was a cover for a potent mix of liquor. He knew Elizabeth rarely drank. "It's a full bar," he said, taking the glass away. "Stick to wine."

He was too late. Over the next hour, he saw her talking and laughing with a group of women, her movements becoming more animated, her voice a little louder. The quiet grace was gone, replaced by a reckless, uninhibited joy. She was no longer the polite wife, but a woman with a mischievous glint in her eyes. When she stumbled slightly while trying to balance on the heel of her shoe, Edward’s annoyance turned to a reluctant protectiveness. This was a liability he couldn’t afford.

He took her arm, his grip firm. "We're leaving."

"Already?" she giggled, her words slightly slurred. "But the moon is so pretty!" She gestured toward the huge glass windows overlooking the city. "Look, Edward, it's so big and round! Like a… like a cookie!"

Edward fought the urge to roll his eyes. This was mortifying. He pulled her toward a secluded terrace, the crisp night air a welcome relief. She leaned against the railing, her head tilted back as she stared at the sky.

"Why are you so serious all the time?" she asked, her voice soft but direct. "You’re like a rock. A very handsome rock, but still a rock."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. The Elizabeth he knew would never say such a thing. “I’m a CEO, Elizabeth. I can’t be… soft.”

“Why not?” she challenged, turning to face him. Her eyes, usually so reserved, were now wide and sparkling. “It's not a weakness to feel things. To show them.” She reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, her touch surprisingly warm. "Even rocks can be beautiful when they're polished."

She leaned in, and before he could process what was happening, her lips were on his. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, but then she pressed closer, her small hand moving to the back of his neck. Edward's mind went blank. The cold, logical part of his brain screamed at him to pull away, to push her back, but he didn't. He felt the soft pressure of her lips, the delicate scent of her perfume, and for a fleeting moment, he was no longer a CEO, no longer a man in a business marriage. He was just a man, being kissed by a woman. The taste of her was a sweet, intoxicating mix of champagne and something he couldn't name. It was brief, and then she pulled away, a small, triumphant smile on her face. She blinked slowly, as if coming back from a distant place, and then her eyes drifted shut. Her head drooped against his shoulder, and she was asleep.

The next morning, the silence in the penthouse was suffocating. Elizabeth woke up in her own bed, a throbbing headache her only companion. The memories of the night before were a hazy, fragmented film reel, but one clear, sharp image remained: Edward's face, so close, and her own reckless audacity. She had kissed him. The shame was a physical weight in her stomach. She avoided him all morning, hiding in the kitchen, meticulously cleaning a spot that wasn't there.

Edward, however, seemed to have no such compunction. He found her standing by the coffee machine, her back to him.

"Good morning," he said, his voice a low rumble.

She flinched. "Good morning, Edward." Her voice was a bare whisper.

"Headache?" he asked, a hint of something she couldn't place in his tone.

"Yes. I… I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what came over me." She turned, avoiding his gaze.

He reached out and gently tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His eyes held a spark of a hidden fire, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You kissed me, Elizabeth. Not the other way around."

She felt a hot blush creep up her neck. "I know. It was unprofessional and completely inappropriate. I apologize."

"Inappropriate?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I believe your exact words were, 'You’re like a very handsome rock.' I'm still trying to figure out if that was a compliment or an insult."

She was mortified. He wasn't angry. He was… teasing her.

"I didn't mean it," she mumbled, trying to pull away.

"You also said my fortress could use some softening," he continued, ignoring her attempts to retreat. "You seem to know an awful lot about my fortress. And you seemed quite comfortable dismantling it." He let her go, stepping back with that same unsettling, amused half-smile. "Just so we're clear, my fortress is very much intact. But… I'm willing to concede that rocks can be polished."

He walked away, leaving her standing there, a cup of coffee growing cold in her hands, her heart pounding a new rhythm against her ribs. He hadn't just acknowledged the kiss; he had claimed it. And for the first time since she had met him, she had a secret with him—a shared, silent memory that was theirs alone.

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