Fatal Flirtation: The CEO’s Unraveling

TAXX CLUB PENTHOUSE

Sebastian Hartwell's private lair crowned the skyscraper—a steel-and-glass fortress where he exiled himself after late-night benders. Tonight, its sterile silence shattered when Clara Morgan stumbled in, dragged by a man whose grip felt like handcuffs.

THUD!

The door crashed against the wall as Sebastian kicked it open. He spun Clara around, pinning her against polished wood that smelled faintly of whiskey and regret.

"Mr. Hartwell—"

His mouth devoured her protest. Clara's back protested as the doorknob dug into her spine. Why save Ethan Windsor? she screamed internally. Now this hurricane will tear me apart.

Just as his fingers slid under her sweatshirt, Sebastian froze mid-assault.

He jerked away like she'd electrocuted him. For three heartbeats, he stood trembling, forehead pressed to the doorframe. Then—without a word—he yanked a down comforter over her.

"Stay put."

The bedroom door slammed. Clara collapsed onto the mattress, gasping. Did the great Sebastian Hartwell just... blue-ball himself?

······

Alexander Han nearly sprayed vintage Bordeaux when Sebastian's call flashed on his phone. Julian Lorimer peered at his Roleo. "Eighteen minutes? Didn't know he could finish that fast."

Alexander hit speaker. "Problem, prince?"

"Why. Are. There. No. Condoms. Here?" Each word sounded like gravel crunching under a tank.

Julian choked. "Why would your monk-cave have rubbers? Planning a solo party?"

"Move your ass. Delivery. Now."

"How many?"

"Two boxes."

Dead air. Alexander met Julian's widened eyes. He's protecting her. The realization hit like a bullet. 

Those rumors about Clara's "fertility crisis" had truly gotten under the demon's skin.

······

Sebastian returned to find Clara asleep—tear stains glistening on her cheeks like crushed diamonds. Against his will, his thumb brushed a stray droplet away. When did her tears become my kryptonite?

Her phone blazed to life on the pillow:

[Vivian Sterling]:

• Bruce wants dinner 👀 Misses you? 

• You alive? Please tell me you're not with that Hartwell demon!

Sebastian snatched the phone. One press of Clara's thumb unlocked pandora's box.

[Sebastian]: 

Who?

[Vivian]: 

Huh??? Did you finally drink your brain cells away? IT'S VIVIAN! Your soul-sister!

[Sebastian]: 

This is "that Hartwell demon."

Radio silence.

A call to Alexander confirmed it: "Vivian Sterling. Starlet. Bruce Sterling's sister. Bruce runs Sterling Capital. Clean-cut. Yale. Why? Jealous?"

Sebastian hung up. Bruce Sterling. The name tasted like rust.

······

Clara woke expecting agony. Instead, she found... absolutely no new aches. Miracle or mirage?

Sebastian leaned in the doorway, sweatpants hanging dangerously low. He tossed loungewear at her. "Ms. Morgan, put this on, wash up and Breakfast. Now."

The dining table overflowed: Belgian waffles, congee, smoked salmon towers. Sebastian pulled out a chair. "Sit."

"Should I—"

"Play Victorian scullery maid?" His eyebrow dared her to object. "Sit."

Clara buttered sourdough toast—edges precise, coverage immaculate—and offered it. Sebastian's jaw unclenched. He actually took it without scowling.

As she gulped orange juice, suddenly realizing her phone was missing—she must have left it in the VIP booth last night.

Noticing her confusion, Sebastian slid her phone across the table.

"Ms. Morgan, someone messaged you."

"Who?" Balancing a juice box in one hand, she swiped open the screen, curiosity piquing at the top chat with Vivian Sterling.

The message "That Hartwell devil." came into view.

Her choked mid-sip, juice threatening to spill.

Sebastian hauled her against him, sealing their mouths. Cold-pressed orange flooded his tongue as he swallowed her gasp.

"Clumsy," he murmured against her lips, thumb wiping her chin. No disgust. Only possession.

Clara gaped, hand flying to her mouth—odd, for a man with OCD. Did last night turn him chemically altered?

He shoved the phone to her mouth. "Tell Vivian you're mine."

"Huh?"

"Voice message. Now."When he hit record, Clara stared into his obsidian eyes—a command sharper than knives. Voice trembling: "I belong to Sebastian Hartwell···"

Three seconds later:

[Vivian]: !!!HOLY CRAP ARE YOU KIDNAPPED???!!!

Sebastian pushed back his chair, thumb and forefinger pinching Clara Morgan's baby-soft cheek. "I need to attend a transnational video conference, so I'll leave first. "

His thumb branded her cheekbone. " Don't be late tomorrow, Ms.Morgan."

Clara nodded like a wind-up toy. "Understood."