The CEO's Unlikely Fiancee

　　Lyra

　　The rumble of the train beneath me hums with a strange sort of anticipation. I glance at my suitcase beside me, the small black box hidden within it. A ring box. It's surreal, almost, that I'm the one planning to get down on one knee—or maybe not, if I let my nerves win. I picture the moment a dozen different ways, each one turning out perfectly. Or at least, I hope so. This wasn't the way I thought I'd feel, a mix of thrilling excitement and a faint undercurrent of fear.

　　I take a breath, exhaling as I look out the window. The winter scenery races by, a blur of gray and white, a mirror of how quickly things seem to be moving lately. Ethan and I had always talked about marriage, how we'd know when the time was right. We'd even made a little pact in college: "Let's get married once we're out of our early twenties and settled." I've held onto that promise ever since, keeping it in the back of my mind as we both pursued our careers, carved out our places in the world. Maybe he's forgotten that old promise, swept up in the flurry of his new life in New York, but I remember. I want this. And more than that, I want it with him.

　　The thought fills me with warmth, and I reach into my bag, my fingers brushing the soft velvet of the ring box. I open it, letting my thumb graze the cool metal inside, imagining the way his face will light up—or, maybe it won't. The tiniest flicker of doubt starts to creep in, and I quickly snap the box shut. No, shaking my head slightly. I'm done sitting in D.C., wondering if we're still headed in the same direction. It's time to act.

　　I run over my plans in my mind, step by step, smiling at the thought of surprising him a few days early. Valentine's Day is our designated day, but he doesn't expect me to show up now. And he definitely doesn't expect me to bring a ring and a proposal of my own. In this era, it's not so strange for a woman to propose. Besides, it feels… like us. I want him to know I'm ready for this next step. A small laugh escapes me. Ethan in the Maldives, sipping cocktails by the beach—it's all so clear in my head, like I'm already there with him.

　　I take out my phone, going over my reservation details for our trip. Months of saving for flights, the beachside villa, the whole dream getaway—it's all worth it if I get to share this with him. Valentine's Day is just the start.

　　The New York streets seemed to pulse with energy, even in the dead of winter. Excitement bubbled in me as I checked my bag one last time for the small basket of cookies I'd picked up for Ethan. They were his favorite—double chocolate chunk. I was staying in a cheap hotel just a few blocks away, but I wasn't planning to stay long; I just wanted to freshen up, look my best, and head straight to Lennox Global Logistics for a quick lunch with him.

　　After what felt like ages, the cab pulled up to LGL's sleek glass entrance. I handed over the fare and stepped out, shivering a little as I hurried through the revolving doors. My heart was already racing, but I steadied myself, showing my ID to the security guard. He recognized me from the few times Ethan brought me here and nodded with a small smile, waving me through. It felt nice, familiar, like I was already part of Ethan's world, even if I was only here as a visitor.

　　The elevator chimed as I reached his floor, and I stepped out, glancing around at the layout I'd begun to know by heart. Ethan's office was just a short walk down the hall, and I could feel my excitement bubbling over. But before I could even take a full step forward, someone turned the corner abruptly, right into me. The basket flew out of my hand and crashed onto the floor, cookies spilling across the polished tile.

　　"Oh my god," I muttered, my cheeks flushing as I looked down at the mess of crumbled cookies and smashed chocolate chunks. Thankfully, my clothes were unharmed, but my offering to Ethan was now a floor casualty. I blinked, looking up to see who had just ruined my little surprise.

　　The man before me was tall—ridiculously tall, at least a head above me—and dressed impeccably in a sharp suit that screamed custom tailoring. His light blue eyes, almost startling in their brightness, fixed on me with a frown that sent a shiver through my spine. He looked familiar… like I'd seen him on the cover of some business magazine Ethan kept around. The kind of man who looked like he owned a skyscraper or two.

　　Yet, he just stood there, watching me with a look of irritated indifference. I waited for an apology, even a polite nod—anything to indicate he noticed the cookies were his fault. But he just kept looking at me, as if the whole thing had been my mistake. Beside him, two men—one of them dressed in a similar, albeit slightly less refined suit—stood silently, almost protectively. One of them was about to speak but was silenced with a swift raise of the man's hand.

　　Was he serious? A minute passed, our gazes locked in a silent battle. He seemed used to getting his way with that unflinching stare of his, but I wasn't about to back down.

　　Clearing my throat, I finally murmured, "I'm expecting an apology."

　　Those piercing eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. His gaze drifted down to the crumbled remains of the cookies. Then, without even looking back, he spoke in a low, commanding voice to one of the men behind him. "Clean this up and replace it with… something better. Make sure it's high quality."

　　The man beside him, presumably his assistant, nodded and looked at me with a polite smile. "May I have your name and contact information? We'll ensure you're compensated for… the inconvenience."

　　I raised an eyebrow but kept my chin high, giving the assistant my details as his boss walked off without another word. The assistant's name tag read "Anthony," and he took down my information with meticulous care, offering a small nod of apology as he finished up.

　　Once they were gone, I let out a small, irritated sigh, rolling my eyes. How infuriatingly rude—and arrogant. He obviously had authority here, but he could've at least bothered with an "excuse me." I muttered a few choice words under my breath as I looked at the now-crumbled remains of my basket, swallowing my annoyance. At least the man, whoever he was, had arranged for a replacement.

　　Don't let him ruin your mood, I told myself. I was here for Ethan, not some corporate tyrant with a designer suit and a serious superiority complex. Taking a deep breath, I shook off the encounter, squared my shoulders, and continued down the hall toward Ethan's office. Just seeing him would make everything better, I reminded myself with a smile.

　　I opened the door with a soft click, feeling a rush of excitement, ready to surprise him. But as the door swung open, my entire world shattered in an instant.

　　I froze.

　　My heart lurched violently in my chest as I took in the scene in front of me. There was Ethan, seated at the edge of his desk, leaning forward with his tie in someone else's hand. That "someone else" had her back to me, but I knew who it was instantly: Clarissa. She was dressed in a tight, short skirt that hugged her curves and a crisp white blouse that was almost a little too crisp for a normal workday. Her hand gripped Ethan's tie, pulling him close, and her fingers were tangled in his hair, clinging to him like she needed him to breathe. Their mouths were crushed together, a messy, hungry kiss that spoke of desperation and lust.

　　I felt a cold, hollow ache settle in my chest, followed by a wave of nausea. My skin felt like it was prickling, like it wasn't even mine. I wanted to look away, to erase this image from my mind, but I was rooted to the spot, watching as she kissed him—no, as they kissed each other like they couldn't get enough.

　　The lipstick she wore was smeared across his mouth, her lips leaving smudges on his cheeks and chin. The very same lips she used to laugh off my presence when Ethan introduced me at company events. I could feel my throat tighten, the disbelief morphing into something darker, something hotter, as I saw him close his eyes and respond to her kiss like he was savoring it. His hands gripped her waist, fingers pressing firmly against her hips, as if grounding himself in her touch.

　　How many times had he told me she was "just a colleague"? How many times had he laughed off my concerns, brushed away my questions?

　　After what felt like an eternity, they pulled away from each other, and Ethan, glancing around, said in a low, urgent voice, "You need to go before anyone sees us." His tone wasn't guilt-ridden or panicked—he sounded amused, as though this was a game, an exciting thrill to hide.

　　Clarissa laughed, her voice low and rich, and her thumb brushed across his lips, wiping away the smudge of her lipstick. "Anyone, huh?" she said with a smirk, and there was a sarcastic lilt to her voice as she added, "Or do you mean your girlfriend?" Her fingers lingered, tracing his jaw as she kissed his neck, savoring the contact. Ethan let out a soft sigh, his eyes heavy-lidded as he leaned into her touch.

　　"Soon," he murmured, cupping her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. "I'll break up with her soon. Just…haven't gotten the chance."

　　That was the last straw. The anger, the betrayal—it surged through me like fire, breaking me free from the numbness. I slammed my hand against the door, the sound loud and jarring in the quiet room. Clarissa startled, her eyes going wide as she spun around. Ethan's head snapped up, his face blanching as he met my gaze. He looked like he'd been slapped, his mouth hanging open, panic flashing across his face.

　　"Well, one of us found out," I said, the words leaving me before I could think.

　　Ethan stood abruptly, his hands raised as if to placate me. "Lyra, it's not—"

　　I didn't let him finish. I stormed toward him, my heart pounding, and before I even knew it, I lifted my hand and slapped him, the sound echoing in the stillness. His cheek reddened instantly, and he staggered back, looking at me in shock and confusion.

　　"How dare you," I hissed, the words thick with hurt and anger. "You told me she was 'just a colleague.' You lied to me, Ethan. Let's see how well that goes over when your boss finds out just how professional you two have been."

　　Clarissa scoffed, crossing her arms with a smirk. "Please. As if anyone would believe you," she sneered. "You barged in on us. It's your word against ours."

　　I barely registered her. I was staring at Ethan, who looked both guilty and furious. There was a glint of fear in his eyes, a slight twitch in his jaw as he realized how much I could ruin for him. I gave him a hard, unyielding stare, feeling the weight of the betrayal, the humiliation, the heartbreak pressing down on me like a crushing weight.

　　I took a shaky breath, struggling to keep the tears from falling, refusing to let them see how deeply he had hurt me. "I trusted you," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "And this is what I get?"

　　I didn't wait for his answer. I turned and walked out, my steps heavy, holding onto every ounce of my anger like it was my lifeline. Once I was far enough away, I let the tears fall, my heart shattering with each step. They didn't deserve to see me break. I would pick up the pieces on my own. And they would pay for every single one.

　　I didn't wait for the elevator. I couldn't stand to be trapped in that box, surrounded by reminders of this place and of him. Instead, I took the stairs, each step echoing in the silence, and the faster I went, the more my heels dug into my feet.

　　The signs had been there, plain as day, but I'd clung to my trust in him, to the version of him I thought I knew. I'd believed him when he said she was just a colleague. Just a colleague—how stupid did I have to be to believe that? I held onto it all so tightly, like it was the last bit of truth left, because I'd poured my whole heart into him. All my trust, my honesty, my loyalty. What a fool I'd been. A pathetic, hopeful fool. I thought I had something real with him, but now that illusion lay in pieces, as shattered as my heart.

　　Men were scumbags. Cheating, lying, idiotic scumbags. All of them. All they cared about was convenience, fun—how long had he been fooling me, while planning his little forbidden romance right under my nose? My mind flashed back to my plans, the ones I'd spent weeks crafting, imagining the look on his face. The proposal, the Valentine's Day surprise, the weekend getaway. All of it made me cringe now. It wasn't just stupid, it was humiliating. I was so grateful I hadn't gone through with any of it yet.

　　The stairs seemed endless, stretching down like a twisted version of my thoughts. Down and down I went, but it felt like I'd never reach the bottom. Every step felt heavy, weighed down by my spiraling thoughts. Everything I'd believed, my whole view of romance, my faith in people, in love—all of it was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I clenched my fists as I walked, pressing my nails into my palms. My plans, my heart, my dreams of building something genuine—they all felt like a joke.

　　Finally, I reached the ground floor, wiping away a stray tear that had slipped down my cheek. I took a deep breath, willing myself to look composed, to at least pretend I wasn't falling apart. But then, as I stepped out, I saw him, the guy from earlier, standing by the lobby doors. He was holding the biggest, most lavish gift basket I'd ever seen, filled with expensive chocolates, perfumes, delicate wrapped cookies, and God knows what else. In his other hand was an enormous bouquet of roses, crimson and perfect, the petals so bright they almost glowed.

　　"Ms. Lyra!" he called, smiling as he spotted me. I took in his badge again—Anthony, yes. He looked relieved to see me, apologetic even. "I'm so sorry about the earlier mix-up," he said, holding out the basket and flowers with a polite smile. "Please, accept these with our apologies for the inconvenience."

　　Something inside me snapped, the anger welling up hotter than before. Without a second thought, I reached forward, yanked the basket from his hands, and let it crash to the ground. Expensive trinkets scattered everywhere, chocolates and perfumes tumbling out across the floor, the loud crash grabbing the attention of people nearby. Anthony's face was a picture of shock, his mouth falling open as he watched the chaos.

　　Next, I grabbed the bouquet from his other hand, the roses pressing against my palm as I clenched them. I stared at them for a second, feeling a mix of fury and bitterness boiling over. Then I flung them onto the floor with as much force as I could muster, scattering petals across the lobby floor. I looked at Anthony, my voice low but seething.

　　"Tell Ethan to shove all of this," I spat, my voice trembling with anger, "right up where it belongs."

　　The bouquet lay in a messy heap, red petals scattered across the sleek lobby tiles like tiny splatters of blood. Anthony just stood there, blinking in shock, unsure of what to say, the polite smile gone from his face.

　　Without another word, I turned and walked away, my head held high even as my heart felt like it was in pieces.