I knew something was wrong.
That's what I tell myself now, standing in the sealed conference room with my life imploding around me. I knew. Deep down, in the part of my brain that handles survival instincts and self-preservation, I knew that Dominic's behavior was obsessive and controlling and dangerous.
I ignored it because I wanted to be ignored.
I ignored the signs because they felt like love.
THE WEEK HIS EX-GIRLFRIEND VISITED
Month eleven.
I didn't even know Dominic had an ex-girlfriend until she appeared in the lobby, stunning and confident and dripping in the kind of wealth that comes from old money and connections I'd never have.
Her name was Sienna. She was beautiful in a way that made me feel inadequate—tall, blonde, the kind of woman who belongs in exclusive clubs and designer boutiques. She had the air of someone used to getting exactly what she wanted from men like Dominic.
She wanted him back.
I knew it the moment she walked into his office, the way she looked at him with a combination of nostalgia and possession. The way she touched his arm like she had ownership rights. The way she laughed at his jokes with the familiarity of someone who'd spent years in his bed.
I was sitting at my desk outside his office when I heard her voice.
"Dominic, darling, I've missed you terribly. I was thinking maybe we could have dinner. Catch up properly."
My stomach dropped in a way that should have been my first sign that something was very wrong with me. Why did I care? Why did her presence feel like a threat?
He didn't invite me in to take notes. So I sat at my desk and tried to focus on work while listening to them through the glass partition.
"That won't be necessary," Dominic said, his voice cool and professional in a way I'd never heard it with me. "I'm quite busy these days."
"With that secretary?" Sienna's laugh was sharp, cutting. "Dominic, she's a child. She's barely out of university. You can't possibly be interested in someone so... young."
I held my breath.
There was a pause. A long pause. The kind of pause that suggested he was considering her words. That maybe he was realizing the inappropriateness of whatever was developing between us.
"The secretary is brilliant," he said finally. His voice had changed. It had developed an edge that I recognized as possessive. "And my personal life is not your concern, Sienna."
"I see." Another sharp laugh. "Well, when you get bored with your little office romance, you know where to find me."
She left thirty minutes later.
And I thought the worst was over.
I was catastrophically wrong.
THE REASSIGNMENT
The next morning, I arrived at my desk to find an email from HR.
Temporary reassignment to strategic development department. Second floor. Effective immediately.
No explanation. No notice. Just a sudden removal from my position as Dominic's personal assistant.
I rushed to his office to ask what was happening.
He was on the phone, his back to me, his posture rigid with tension.
"I don't care if she protests," he was saying into his headset. "Make it happen. Tell her it's a professional development opportunity. Tell her it's temporary. I don't care what you tell her, but I want her on the second floor by 9 AM."
"Dominic—" I started.
He turned, and his expression was cold in a way I'd never seen directed at me. "You've been reassigned, Bella. HR will brief you on your new responsibilities."
"But why? What did I do?"
"Nothing." He turned back to his desk, deliberately dismissing me. "It's not a punishment. It's just... necessary."
"Necessary how?"
He didn't answer. He just pretended I didn't exist, clicking through documents on his computer with absolute indifference.
I should have been relieved. I should have recognized that he was pushing me away because his ex-girlfriend's visit had made him realize the inappropriateness of his behavior. I should have taken it as a sign that whatever was developing between us was toxic and needed to be severed.
Instead, I spent five days on the second floor in complete misery.
I couldn't focus. I kept checking my email hoping for a message from him. I eavesdropped on conversations trying to figure out what he was doing. I found myself walking past his office in the evening, seeing if he was still there.
I was devastated that he'd removed me from his presence.
That should have terrified me. That emotional dependency should have been a massive red flag. Instead, I interpreted it as romantic. He was protecting me from his ex-girlfriend. He was removing me from a situation that might be complicated. He was being a gentleman.
I was completely blind to the truth: he was isolating me.
On day six, I found an email in my inbox.
Personal Assistant position reopened. Effective immediately. HR will process the paperwork.
I left the second floor and returned to his office at a run.
He was waiting for me.
The moment I walked through the door, he stood and pulled me into his arms. Not sexually. Not romantically. But possessively. Like I was something precious that he'd temporarily lost and had just retrieved.
"Don't ever leave again," he whispered into my hair.
And I didn't question why he'd removed me. I didn't ask about Sienna. I didn't demand answers about his controlling behavior.
I just held onto him and felt grateful that he wanted me back.
THE NIGHT HE WATCHED ME SLEEP
Month fourteen.
The acquisition was falling apart. Numbers that didn't add up. Debts hidden in subsidiary accounts. Red flags everywhere. Dominic was determined to make it work anyway. He said it was a test—a way to see if I could handle complex situations under pressure.
What it actually was: an obsession. Another obsession to match the one he had with me.
We worked through the night. Ninety-six hours straight with no more than twenty-minute power naps. My eyes burned. My hands cramped. My brain felt like it was made of static and desperation.
Around 3 AM on the fourth day, my body finally gave up.
My head hit the stack of documents on my desk, and I was asleep before I could register what was happening.
I don't know how long I slept. But I woke slowly, consciousness seeping back into my body like water filling a container. My mind was fuzzy, my body was heavy, and something was wrong with my feet.
My heels were gone.
I blinked, trying to understand why my feet were bare on the cold floor. Had I taken them off? I didn't remember taking them off.
That's when I realized I wasn't alone.
Dominic was sitting in the chair across from my desk, illuminated by the city lights streaming through the windows. He was still in his white dress shirt from the day before, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded. He looked tired in a way that suggested he hadn't slept at all.
He was watching me sleep.
I should have been horrified. I should have been scared. I should have called security immediately and filed a harassment complaint and reported him to HR.
Instead, my first thought was: How long have you been sitting there?
"A while," he said, answering the question I hadn't asked. His voice was rough with exhaustion and something else. Something darker. "You looked cold. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable."
I registered then that his suit jacket was draped across my shoulders. When had he done that? While I was sleeping? Had he touched my hair? Had he leaned close enough to smell my shampoo?
The thought should have repulsed me.
It didn't.
"This is inappropriate," I said, because I knew I should say it. I knew on some level that this was crossing professional boundaries and psychological manipulation and everything that HR training warns you about.
But I didn't move. I didn't stand up. I didn't create distance between us.
"Extremely inappropriate," he agreed. His eyes were dark, hungry, consuming. "But I stopped caring about appropriate a few months ago, Bella. The moment I realized I was obsessed with you."
He said it like he was stating a fact about the weather. Like obsession wasn't a warning sign but a declaration of love.
My heart raced.
"We shouldn't—" I started, but he cut me off.
"Shouldn't what?" He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, bringing his face closer to mine. "Shouldn't acknowledge what's happening between us? Shouldn't admit that you felt relieved when I brought you back to my office? Shouldn't recognize that you don't actually care about Marcus or your normal life because you're addicted to this?"
He reached out and took my hand. His skin was warm, his grip possessive but not painful.
"Shouldn't realize that you'd rather be here, exhausted and covered in my jacket, than anywhere else in the world?"
I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to deny his words. I wanted to prove to him that I had agency and self-respect and the ability to make healthy decisions about my own life.
I couldn't.
Because he was right.
In that moment, with my feet bare on the cold floor and his jacket around my shoulders and his eyes burning into mine, I understood the truth: I didn't want to leave. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to stay in this moment forever where he was watching me like I was the only thing that mattered in the entire world.
"I'm your boss," he said, as if reminding me. "There's a hierarchy. A power imbalance. Technically, this is sexual harassment."
"Then don't—" My voice came out as a whisper.
"Don't what? Don't touch you? Don't make you feel seen in a way that no one else ever has? Don't remind you that you belong to me?"
He stood, pulling me gently to my feet. My legs were shaky. My body was responding to his proximity in ways I couldn't control.
"Come on," he said. "I'm taking you to my apartment. You need real sleep. And I need you where I can see you."
I should have refused. I should have called a car and gone home to my tiny apartment and started looking for a job somewhere else because this was clearly the beginning of something dark and controlling and obsessive.
I took his hand.
THE REALIZATION
Three years.
I've spent three years pretending I didn't see the signs. Three years of making excuses for his behavior. Three years of convincing myself that obsession was love.
But the truth is: I didn't ignore these moments because I was blind.
I ignored them because I didn't want to see them.
I ignored the way he isolated me from Sienna. I ignored the way he removed me from his presence as punishment. I ignored the way he watched me sleep like I was something precious that might disappear if he wasn't vigilant.
I ignored all of it because being observed was the closest thing to love I'd ever experienced.
My father died when I was young. My mother worked two jobs to keep us afloat. I learned early that love meant absence. Love meant being taken for granted. Love meant having to fight for acknowledgment.
And then Dominic appeared, and he saw me completely. He knew me better than I knew myself. He was obsessed with every detail of my existence.
And I mistook that obsession for love because I'd never experienced real love before.
The worst part isn't that he's obsessed with me. The worst part is that I'm obsessed with being obsessed over.
I want him to watch me. I want him to know my patterns. I want him to remove me from situations where other people might see me because it makes me feel like I belong to him.
I'm not a victim of his obsession.
I'm a willing participant in my own captivity.
And standing here in this sealed conference room, with his ultimatum before me and his promise of destruction behind me, I finally understand why I can't leave.
It's not because he's threatening to destroy me.
It's because I don't know how to exist without being destroyed by him.
The question isn't whether I'll agree to his seventy-two-hour game.
The question is: why did it take this long for him to demand it?