Chapter One

Cade

I get out of bed, stifling the urge to throw the sheet over my head and go back to sleep. I know that I'm not a morning person, so when it comes to waking up early, I try to rip off the band-aid quickly, or else I'll spend half my morning in bed.

The oh-so-pleasant chime of my alarm keeps playing until I am standing. It's a setting my secretary put in when she was overseeing the customization of my smart home. It irritates me every morning, but it also gets the job done.

Once I am out of bed, I freshen up in the bathroom before going out for a jog. I don't bother with music or anything; I appreciate the silence.

As I jog, I feel my heartbeat and breathing accelerate, and my watch beeps, noting the change. I continue to run, slowly increasing my pace as I take the familiar turns and bends of my estate. I keep my face impassive despite being aware of my surroundings. I see the maids and gardeners going about their business, but I don't bother to acknowledge any of them.

Not like they expect me to anyway.

Being the CEO of one of the biggest oil companies in the United States, I've learned earlier that familiarity breeds contempt, and because of that, I've kept my interactions with the staff to a minimum. It's not that I don't appreciate their hard work; it's just easier this way. The less they know about me, the better.

I used to enjoy the solitude that I've wrapped around myself like an armor but these days I find myself craving for something I can't even conceptualize. I enjoy success in my work so much that it seems like I am infallible, but lately, it just doesn't satisfy me.

It feels like a complaint that would get me stoned if I ever dared to voice it, because many would kill for the life I have. But even now, I can feel loneliness creeping in, growing thicker like a suffocating fog. I carefully crafted a routine for myself – and that routine has turned into a prison.

Something has to change, I think to myself, and the thought sticks with me.

I refuse to die alone in this ridiculous mansion, surrounded by employees that barely know me. That would certainly make headlines; I can imagine the media frenzy. Even when I stay away, the tabloids find a way to concoct increasingly wild stories about me. Luckily, I have a law firm on retainer.

Thinking about those tabloids makes me feel even worse, so I try my best to clear those thoughts out of my head and finish my run. Once I get home and freshen up, I go down to the dining area to find my meal has been prepared and served.

As I sit down to eat on the long table with rows of empty chairs, I feel a familiar hollowness crawling up my chest threatening to swallow me up. And for the first time in a while, I make a decision that surprises even me: I decide to go to work in person today. I shoot a quick text to my secretary, and a few minutes later, my phone starts to ring.

"Sir? Should I ask the driver to bring the car over?" Amber Smith, my executive secretary, asks. Despite keeping her voice leveled, I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. She must have questions. I understand her surprise though. Usually, I work from home unless I have an important meeting or have to conduct a scheduled check of a branch. She must be wondering why I'm suddenly coming into the head office.

"Please do," I reply curtly. "I intend to be at the office by noon, and tardiness will not be accepted. Also, don't tell anyone else I'll be coming by the office today, I don't want a fuss."

"Of course, sir." She knows my habits well by now.

After hanging up, I return to my room to get ready for work. While in the shower, I let my mind wander, imagining the employees scurrying around when I walk in, striving for a perfection that I never asked of them. The fuss doesn't bother me; what does that is the media circus that often follows the fuss. I like my privacy and, as a businessman, there is no rule that I have to give interviews. However, this approach seems to have made the magazines and TV stations even more eager. In hindsight, I think I regret it.

My team and I have found ways to keep the press out of my life. A special garage with a secret entrance for me, non-disclosure agreements for everyone who works closely with and for me, and cars with tinted windows… All my cars have tinted windows just to keep out the cameras. It's frustrating, driving with cameras following my every move. Sometimes I feel like a caged bird. I could get a bevy of bodyguards to keep them away, and sometimes I do, but it seems like they keep getting cleverer with their tactics to get close to me.

The driver arrives by nine, and by ten, I'm ready to set off. The journey goes by smoothly, and in another thirty minutes, we arrive at the office building. I look outside the window as the car drives past the front entrance toward the secret garage at the back. Suddenly, an interesting scene catches my attention: a woman with flowing brown hair being dragged out by two security personnel.

"Stop," I mutter.

The car promptly pulls up to the curb, and I lean further towards the window to watch the scene unfold. For a moment, the girl seems like she's given up her struggle with the security personnel. She starts to leave, then suddenly pivots and sprints past the unsuspecting security men.

An unexpected laugh bursts out of my throat, and before I know it, I'm pulling on the door handle.

"Are you getting off here, sir?" my driver asks, clearly surprised.

I should ignore the drama and take my secret route as planned, but for some reason, I want to see it to the end. A feeling of excitement starts in the pit of my stomach, instantly chasing off the ennui that's weighed on me for the past few days.

"Yes, Hendricks," I reply, pushing open the door. "It's my company after all. I'll take whichever entrance I damn well please."

I walk into the lobby, grateful that no one seems to be paying me any attention as I leisurely make my way to the elevator, watching the scene at the front desk.

"...you didn't even call to check! How do you know that he isn't free?" The brown-haired woman is saying to the obviously flustered receptionist while doing a crazy dance to evade the persistent security men. "I'm not going anywhere! I'm just going to live here, in your lobby, until I can see your CEO!"

All that fuss just to see me? Interesting.

"Does your CEO have two heads? Is he secretly a man-fish hybrid? What is so wrong with him that he is hiding from the world?" she continues, swerving gracefully to evade a guard's grasping hand. "I only need a few minutes with him. I promise!"

She does have a colorful vocabulary, I think to myself with a soft snicker. I step into the elevator, repressing the urge to walk over and identify myself. I want to know why she's so desperate to meet me, but my curiosity about the woman doesn't mean I want to be noticed yet. Even as the elevator doors slide close, I realize that I'm definitely going to see her again. Even if it means breaking the rules I set for myself.

Back in my office, I ask my secretary to call reception and instruct them to let her up. For a second, she blinks at me like I've just told her I'm retiring to take up ballet.

"You're willing to grant an interview, sir?"

"I didn't say anything about an interview," I reply, holding her gaze squarely. "I just asked you to let the lady up."

"Are you sure?" she asks, her brows furrowing as she searches my face. After working with me for five years, she knows how much I detest the media, so I understand her concerns.

"Yes, I'm sure," I reply, keeping my impatience out of my voice. With each passing second, the chances of the fascinating brunette getting caught and thrown out keep getting higher.

"I'll send her right up, sir," my secretary says before walking out of my office.

A few minutes later, the brown-haired woman steps inside cautiously, her gaze sweeping across the room before resting on mine. Surprise flashes in the luminous brown-green depths of her eyes, but it disappears quickly, replaced by a defiant blankness. I can't help but notice how gorgeous she is up close. She possesses a mesmerizing beauty: long brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and cherubic features that almost lend her an angelic look. If I hadn't witnessed firsthand the scene in the lobby, I wouldn't have thought her capable of such fierceness. Such fire.

"Hello, sir, I'm Abigail Winston from Opaque Magazine," she says, stepping forward to my desk.

She sounds nothing like the raving woman in the lobby. Her voice is surprisingly soft and warm, with a little musical lilt that makes me want to listen to her talk for a long, long time.

"I see you made quite a ruckus just to see me, Miss Winston," I say, leaning forward in my seat while keeping my eyes fixed squarely on hers. "I wonder why?"

"I'm really sorry for causing a scene," she says, her tone apologetic yet firm. "It was the only way I could get your attention."

I've seen many cower from my gaze but she doesn't seem intimidated. That makes me even more curious about her. "Now you have my attention, Miss Winston. Can you keep it?"

"I surely hope so," she replies, her lips tilting in the barest hint of a smile. But it disappears so quickly that I might have imagined it. "Our magazine would like to do a profile story on you and your journey through the business world.."

"And what do I get in return?"

Abbie's hazel eyes meet mine with unwavering resolve. "Your avoidance of the press is only feeding the rumor mill. Wouldn't it be nice to have all those questions and accusations to rest once and for all? To show the world the real you?"

Her response intrigues me. It's not the usual offer of publicity; there's a genuine desire to unearth something deeper.

But I don't care about her intentions, whatever they are… I just want to see more of Abbie Winston. I'm not sure why, but she stirs something within me, a sense of excitement that I haven't felt in a while.

"I'll do the story," I say quietly, searching her eyes. Her face lights up and I watch, with pleasure, the play of emotions on her beautiful face. "But on one condition…"

Her eyes narrow slightly with suspicion, but as always, the emotion is fleeting. It's almost as if she's constantly reminding herself to remain behind a wall of indifference, like a defense mechanism.

"What condition, sir?" she asks, her eyes never leaving mine.

I lean back in my chair and slowly fold my arms over my chest, never taking my eyes off hers.

"Come home with me tonight."

She gapes at me, her expression caught somewhere. between shock and disbelief. "Excuse me?"