The Overbearing CEO Is A Clingy Puppy

I walked out of the bookstore with a satisfied grin, the fresh scent of printed pages wafting from the paper bag clutched to my chest. I hadn’t even bothered to check the name of the novel—I just saw the words “CEO” and “Romance” on the cover and tossed it into my bag like it was the holy grail. Call me obsessed, but after a 12-hour shift at the hospital filled with blood, cranky patients, and a fellow nurse who chewed gum like she wanted to fight me with her jaw, this was my guilty pleasure.

The evening breeze swept across my skin as I walked home, soothing my sore muscles and tired bones. The soft hum of city noise felt oddly peaceful for once. I loved this time of day—the world just slowing down, letting me disappear into fiction.

And when it came to fiction, I had a type: overbearing CEOs with control issues, mafia bad boys with tattoos and trauma, and stalker lovers who'd probably be jailed in real life. But in books? God-tier entertainment. I loved watching them fall helplessly in love with the unsuspecting, slightly chaotic female lead. It never got old.

I reached my compound and waved at Granny Lian, my neighbor’s eighty-something mother, who was humming as she watered her flowers in her frilly pink robe. “Good evening, Granny,” I called out.

She squinted up at me with a smile. “Still working too hard, my dear?”

“You know me,” I laughed. “Saving lives by day, reading smut by night.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as I slipped into my apartment.

I tossed my bag onto the chair—knocking it off balance, oops—and headed straight to the kitchen. A cold glass of water. Heaven. I chugged like I’d crossed the Sahara and wiped my mouth dramatically before dragging myself into my room.

My bed was calling like a siren. I flopped onto it, face-first, groaning with the kind of exhaustion that only romance novels could fix. With a weak hand, I reached into my bag, pulled out the book, and placed it lovingly beside my pillow like it was my boyfriend. I didn't even look at the title. All that mattered was that it was mine.

The last thought I had before passing out was, Please let the male lead be the jealous, possessive kind with crazy eyes.

••••••••••

Something touched my shoulder.

I stirred.

Another nudge.

I cracked one eye open, annoyed. “What—”

I froze.

It was… daylight?

My brows furrowed. “What the—wasn’t it nighttime when I passed out?”

But then I noticed something much worse than oversleeping.

This wasn’t my room.

My ceiling wasn't cracked. My beige clurtains were gone. My cluttered shelf filled with romance novels and half-dead succulents? Also gone. In their place stood tall, sleek walls painted in an expensive shade of wealth. I was surrounded by unfamiliar furniture, crystal vases, velvet curtains… and people. Strangers.

“Wha…?” I whispered, my heart rate skyrocketing.

Three people—two men in suits and a woman in a sleek black dress—stood around the bed, looking at me like I’d grown two heads.

“Who… who the hell are you?!”

I reached under my pillow for my book. My comfort, my escape. Gone.

I yanked up the pillow. Nothing. I tossed the sheets. Still nothing. My book—the very reason for my existence—was missing. “No, no, no. Where’s my novel?!” My voice cracked.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and in walked him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cold. And too handsome to be real. His sharp black suit hugged his frame like it was stitched by the devil himself. His dark hair was slicked back effortlessly, and his eyes—icy gray—pierced right through me. His jawline looked sharp enough to cut diamonds, and there was a permanent frown etched onto his face like someone had offended him at birth.

“Is she awake?” His voice was smooth, deep, and chilling. “What happened?”

I blinked. “I—what?”

My mind spun. I didn’t know where I was, who these people were, or what this ridiculously hot man was doing looking at me like I owed him a baby.

Panic set in.

KIDNAPPING. This had to be a kidnapping. Rich psychopaths were real, right? I started talking before my brain could catch up.

“Look, I think there’s been a mistake,” I blurted out. “I’m just a broke nurse. I have no family, no inheritance, no sugar daddy. I only have student loans and a dead goldfish, okay?! Kidnapping me won’t get you anything. Except disappointment.”

Silence.

They all stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

The icy man didn’t move. Then, without a word, he walked over and sat beside me on the bed. Calm. Controlled. Terrifying.

I immediately scooted back until my back hit the headboard. “Don’t touch me. Who are you?! Why did you bring me here?!”

The woman in black frowned. “What are you saying, Lia? Why would we kidnap our own family?”

Lia?

The man finally spoke again. “You must have hit your head harder than we thought. I’m your husband.”

I laughed.

Then stopped.

“No. Nope. I’m not married. I’ve been single for years. And not even the fun single. The ‘talks to my cat while watching reality TV’ kind of single.”

He raised a perfect brow. “You really don’t remember me?”

“I don’t remember any of you! I don’t even remember signing up for this weird cult family cosplay!”

He stood and began calmly introducing everyone—names, connections, fake smiles—and I just… stared. Like I’d been abducted by aliens in Gucci.

Then, needing air, I jumped out of the bed and flung open the nearest door.

Thank God—it was a bathroom.

I stumbled inside and locked the door, rushing to the mirror.

And screamed.

Black hair. Pale skin. My face… wasn’t my face.

I leaned in closer, trembling. “What the hell…”

Then it hit me.

No.

No no no.

“Did I just… enter the novel?”

My knees gave out.

I passed out cold on the bathroom floor.