Page 14 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

I lie on my bed, wishing my mother could answer my questions. She was a smart woman, working multiple jobs to keep us afloat, all while being a single mother. We never spoke about my father, since he left after she fell pregnant with me.

“Some things are better left unsaid,” is what she said every time I enquired about him.

Eventually, I learned to stop enquiring. The man ditched us with no explanation. Talking about someone keeps their memory alive, and my father has never deserved the attention.

My mother on the other hand…

I take it relatively easy for the rest of the day, tidying away my mother’s belongings, adding some of her clothes to my closet in the process.

Weekends are for relaxing, not overthinking, but I spend the rest of my Saturday spiraling and eating Chinese food on the couch.

When Sunday morning rolls around, I wake up thinking about my boss, and the way he fucked me over his desk. Closing my eyes, I picture it happening all over again, and as the image grows stronger, I feel inclined to slip a hand under my pajama shorts and finger myself, imagining his cock inside of me again, sending me to heaven and back.

Nothing about that man is holy, but I like that about him. Mr. Moretti wears a warning, but I acknowledge the warning and go in for a taste anyway. Where’s the thrill in doing what you’re supposed to? Some rules are meant to be broken. There’s no excitement in following the crowd and behaving, and my boss thinks that too.

I wonder if his rebellious personality links to the crow tattoo in any way…

The weekend rolls by in a flash. By the time I have finished completing all my weekly errands, the sun’s setting and I’m back on the couch eating leftover Chinese food from the night before, Sunday Scaries taking a toll as I prepare for what could be my worst week yet.

I was supposed to quit before I acted on my desires. Working alongside Mr. Moretti is hard. The jealous looks I receive from employees on a daily basis can make me feel isolated, and people are already gossiping about us on a daily basis. Continuing to work for Mr. Moretti after we broke the boundary of professionalism is a recipe for disaster, but there’s more to this man than expensive suits and power.

My mother never spoke for the sake of speaking. If she told me to stay away from the crows on her deathbed, something dangerous could be at large here, and now I’m questioning everything, including my mother’s death, and if she was ever truly sick…

4

OPHELIA

My alarm blares the following morning, being a real pain in the ass. Reaching across to my nightstand, I switch it off, collapsing back into bed. I spend ten more minutes bed rotting, contemplating my life, and tear away the covers when the hand on my clock veers dangerously close to me being late for work.

The uneventful weekend was needed. Dynamics between me and Mr. Moretti are going to be awkward as fuck, this week jam packed with drama as we navigate our professional relationship after the intimate moment we shared on Friday.

I shower, dress, eat two mouthfuls of Greek yogurt and lock up, saying a silent prayer to myself in the elevator, wishing myself a good week.

I rush over to the subway, heels clopping on the sidewalk as I grab onto the railing and throw myself down the stairs. After ten minutes of me clutching onto the railing, holding my breath inside of a very crowded subway carriage, I take my stop and head back onto the street, heart thumping in my chest, nerves binding together in my stomach.

Working as Mr. Moretti’s executive assistant comes with many perks as I have access to rooms most people don’t, and in those rooms are important filing cabinets. If I can stick my nose into them enough, I may uncover something related to the crow tattoo.

Glancing at the time on my watch, I make a quick diversion and grab a cappuccino from the coffee shop first.

“Please tell me why you’re wearing a blue satin button up and matching heels.”

“Yeah,” I cringe, slamming my palms on the counter. Oh, where to begin. “I decided to rebuke the letter of resignation…”

“After Mr. Moretti bent you over his desk on Friday.”

“First up,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “Please whisper if you’re going to mention desk and Mr. Moretti in one sentence. Secondly, the resignation letter was nowhere to be found in my purse.”

“What?” asks Sapphire, reading my face. “You think Mr. Moretti took it?”

“Well, I was in the process of handing him the envelope when I spilled the coffee…”

Lines appear between Sapphire’s brow as she studies me across the counter. “You’re like a closed book today with a lock on it. Sleeping with your boss is bad, even if you’re planning to resign. I’m afraid you’ve entered very dangerous territory, Phee, by going back on your word and being his assistant even after you ruined the professional boundary,” she says, making coffee, the espresso machine roaring between us. “No matter how much attention Mr. Moretti may have given you, this man does not⁠—”

“Love is a Disney gimmick. I’m not delusional.”

“I know,” says Sapphire. “But we’re talking about Mr. Moretti, billionaire CEO and founder of Moretti Global. Not only does this man have all the money in the world at his fingertips, he uses his good looks and charms as valuable assets. It would be easy to fall in love with him.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not falling for any of it.”