The CEO Who Begged Too Late

The internship ended, and I broke up with him.

Owen Maxwell looked at me, a hint of an almost-smile playing on his lips. “Miss Sterling, is this really necessary?”

The cold, sharp light of the high-rise office outlined his defined profile. “All this because I helped her close a client instead of you?”

I nodded. “Of course it’s necessary. I’m breaking up with you.”

He propped his chin on his hand, one eyebrow faintly raised.

“Have you even kept count of how many times you’ve done this, Harper?”

1

I paused.

He was lounging in his oversized leather chair, the picture of practiced ease.

“The eighth? Ninth? Or the tenth?” He let out a low chuckle, his usual air of control fully intact. “Stop the drama. We’ve known each other for twenty years, Harper. You can’t leave me.”

Seven years old when we met, twenty years of ingrained understanding—he genuinely believed I was essential to him, and he to me.

I shook my head. “There’s no such thing as ‘can’t leave.’ Everyone survives just fine without anyone else.”

“Oh, that’s your take, is it?” His lip curled, a touch of amusement in his eyes. “Fine. Don’t regret it.”

“Never.” I turned to walk away, just as Willow Davis pushed the door open.

She was holding a file.

“Owen, the Launchpad project… I, I’m still a little unsure about the proposal. Could you possibly look over the strategy again?” Willow’s voice was soft and gentle, the perfect pitch of vulnerable appeal.

Owen gave a noncommittal response, his attention still fixed on me.

In the past, I would have coldly demanded, Your project. Why should Owen drop everything for you?

But having this same fight, again and again, had simply exhausted me.

I started to leave, but Willow reached out and lightly touched my arm.

“Harper, please don’t misunderstand. Owen and I are just colleagues,” she said, a troubled look on her face and wide, innocent eyes. “I’m inexperienced, and this project is critical for my conversion to full-time, so I only asked Owen for some guidance. Please don’t fight with him over these small things. He stayed up several nights helping me outline the strategy, and it made his stomach problems flare up again…”

I couldn’t stop myself. “Oh, ‘ordinary colleagues’ who text each other every night for ‘details’?”

“‘Ordinary colleagues’ who insist he accompany you to every client dinner?”

“‘Ordinary colleagues’ who make him test-drive your new car?”

“‘Ordinary colleagues’ who call to ‘report on work’ specifically on our anniversary?”

“Are you brainless or just have no boundaries? Since you know you’re the intern his mother pulled strings for, not his girlfriend, did that basic professional boundary you’re supposed to keep with colleagues just fly out the window?”

Willow froze, her face instantly draining of color. She lowered her eyes, her long lashes fluttering as if she’d been subjected to some unimaginable cruelty.

“Harper Sterling.” Owen got to his feet, pulling a tissue from his desk and holding it out to Willow. He sighed. “I know you’re headstrong, but do you always have to pick on someone who’s just trying to get by?”

Willow’s lips trembled, and her eyes quickly filled with tears.

The sound of her heavily suppressed sobs echoed in the quiet office.

Suddenly, a profound, crushing flatness settled over me.

I turned and left his office.

2

I slept for a few hours in my apartment and woke up deep in the night.

I checked my phone, and the first thing I saw was Willow’s latest Instagram story.

“The project is finally gaining traction. First time being brought to a high-end dinner like this—a little nervous! Thank you for the mentorship and believing in me. A scholarship kid from a small town truly understands that connections are never a shortcut, but a ladder to growth.”

The accompanying photo:

A high-angle shot from a sophisticated restaurant window overlooking the city lights. A woman’s hand, clearly Willow’s, is holding a slender Champagne flute. Next to it, a masculine hand, also holding a glass.

On that hand, he was wearing the custom-made watch I gave him.

At that moment, my phone buzzed.

“Send me the final proposal for the Launchpad project. I’ll make sure it’s solid.”

Seven hours. It took him seven hours, after finishing dinner with someone else, to finally think of me.

I stared at his profile picture for a while—the one I’d chosen for him, a picture of the stray cat we adopted together.

He hadn’t changed it in all these years.

I tapped the screen, then blocked the familiar number.

A half hour later, I went downstairs for a coffee. The local deli owner looked at me. “Woah, sweetie, why are your eyes so red?”

I mumbled, “Too many late nights.”

“You young people need to watch your health even when you’re chasing a career,” the owner said, recognizing me. “Still, that Owen Maxwell is quite the success. Running the core family projects right out of school. He’s set, but you’re working until dawn just to be in the same building as him. I get tired just watching you.”

I ripped open the coffee packet. “Actually, I put in a transfer request, Ma’am. I’m moving to the divisional office in a few days.”

The owner looked surprised. “But the Group’s HQ is here. The division is in California. What about you and Owen?”

“Career and a relationship. I know which one to prioritize.” I took a sip of my coffee. “The opportunities are better out west. The moment the transfer is finalized, I’m gone.”

She didn’t press further.

My phone buzzed again. It was my best friend, Savannah, telling me to meet her at the yoga studio.

“Go on, clear your head,” the owner said, waving me off. “You’ve been strung too tight lately.”

3

I got to the yoga studio twenty minutes later.

Savannah told me to change, and as I was stuffing my bag into a locker, I heard a familiar voice from the adjacent lounge area.

“I said relax, Maxell. Why are you still glued to your phone?”

“Got blocked,” came Owen’s dismissive voice.

“By who? Who dares to block you, Mr. CEO?”

“Who else? My high-maintenance princess.” His voice held a note of weary inevitability.

“Harper Sterling,” the other person realized. “Honestly, with her firecracker temper, I don’t know how anyone but you puts up with it.”

Owen let out a low laugh.

“My own doing. What can I do? I deal with it.”

“What was it this time?”

“I helped Willow with a project.”

“That’s it?” The friend sounded incredulous. “Harper really has the smallest heart.”

“But truly,” another voice cut in, “when we talk privately, we all agree. If we were choosing a girlfriend, we’d pick someone like Willow—gentle, understanding, considerate, a real caregiver…”

I didn’t stay to hear more. I headed straight to the meditation area.

When I met up with Savannah, I saw her arguing fiercely with Willow, who was wearing the yoga studio’s front-desk uniform.

Of course. The universe found a way. Willow was working here part-time.

“We booked VIP Room 3. Why did you assign us to a public class? You know Harper hates crowds!” Savannah demanded.

Willow’s face was bright red. “Tonight is overbooked, and the system had a glitch…”

“Then switch us! What do you mean you can’t switch us?”

Willow saw me, as if I were a lifeline. She rushed forward. “Harper, I know I made a mistake with the booking, but I’ve already messed up twice tonight. If I make another error, I’ll lose this job… You, you don’t need the money, do you? Just help me out and manage in the public area tonight. Please?”

I unrolled my yoga mat without looking up. “Are you confused? I don’t like public classes. You made a mistake. Why should I make accommodations for it? I didn’t fill out the form incorrectly.”

“I’ll pay you the difference between the VIP and public class! I’m begging you, as a colleague…” Her tone was near-pleading. “I’m not like you. I need this money for rent and a down payment. This job is important to me…”

“If it’s so important, why did you mess up? And why should someone else bear the consequences of your mistake?” My tone was impatient.

“If Savannah hadn’t noticed, we would have been fighting for floor space in the crowded class. Now, I’m not even in the mood for it. I haven’t even filed a complaint, and you want me to pay for your error?”

Savannah backed me up. “Seriously, that’s an insane demand.”

Despite the fact that Willow was clearly in the wrong, her expression shifted to one of deep humiliation.

“So you people with money and influence, you really think you can look down on everyone else…”

She abruptly snatched the reservation sheet from the desk and rushed out, nearly colliding with a group of men entering the studio.

“Willow?” one of them, sharp-eyed, called out.

“What’s wrong? Who upset you?”

Willow shook her head, but her tear-filled eyes immediately sought out Owen, who was standing behind the group.

“What’s going on?” Owen walked toward us.

“She messed up the reservation, canceled our VIP room, and refused to switch us, insisting we squeeze into the public class,” Savannah explained.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Willow muttered, head bowed.

“It’s just a misunderstanding, everyone here is connected,” someone tried to smooth things over. “You two ladies can’t just pay for another VIP slot?”

“It’s not ‘just’ a misunderstanding! You know Harper hates crowds! She almost had an anxiety attack at the company retreat because the ballroom was too packed.”

Owen looked into the room and saw me. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “Did you touch her?”

I scoffed. “You hope I touched her, don’t you? I wouldn’t give the studio the trouble.”

He walked closer, softening his voice. “Enough. It’s not like there was a scene in the public area. Why are you fighting? She didn’t do it on purpose. Take your anger out on me, not someone who’s just trying to make it. It’s not easy for her just starting out.”

“Mr. Maxwell, do you truly think your face is the only thing that matters? I’m taking my anger out on you? Are you blind or deaf? The person who messed up is the victim in your story?”

“It’s fine, Owen. I’ll try to coordinate and see if there are any other empty VIP rooms.” Willow sniffled, gently tugging his sleeve. “I don’t want my commission for tonight. Don’t, don’t cause any trouble…”

Seeing her play the role of the martyr, my temper flared.

“Who asked you to play the good Samaritan? You’re the one who made the mistake, yet you’re acting all self-sacrificing. Where do you get the nerve?”

“Harper Sterling.” Owen’s voice went dangerously low. “That’s enough. Don’t take it too far.”

He turned to Willow. “Book them another VIP room. Put the cost on my personal tab.”

“No need,” I said, gathering my mat and handing it to Savannah. “Owen can donate to charity on his own time. Savannah, let’s go.”

“Tch, what a temper,” someone muttered under their breath.

4

Savannah and I walked out together.

“I’m sorry, Harp,” she said, frustrated. “I should have just let it go and booked another VIP room myself. Then you wouldn’t have had to deal with Owen again.”

“Why should I let it go?” I walked quickly. “Just because she knows how to look pathetic, her mistake becomes someone else’s problem?”

“Besides,” I stopped walking. “I broke up with him this afternoon.”

Savannah walked silently beside me.

“You don’t believe me?”

She sighed.

“To be honest, Harper, no one will believe you’ve actually broken up with Owen Maxwell for good.”

“And anyway,” she looked at me. “Can you actually let him go?”

Sitting in the cab on the way back, Savannah’s words echoed in my mind.

Can you actually let him go?

I asked the driver to pull over a block from my apartment. I needed to walk.

The first time I saw Owen was on this very tree-lined avenue.

I had just been brought back to the city by my aunt, and the neighborhood kids always pointed and whispered about me.

“Heard her parents divorced and neither of them wanted her?”

“Her mom ran off, and her dad doesn’t care about her…”

“Tsk. A rootless wild child.”

That evening, I avoided everyone, walked to the river embankment, and climbed over the rail.

I thought that if I were gone, my aunt wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.

I don’t know how Owen appeared, but he grabbed the back of my jacket and held on for dear life.

From that day on, the seven-year-old boy constantly trailed me, as if he was afraid I’d find another opportunity to jump.

The change in my family made me sensitive and stubborn. I bristled, I yelled, I cursed, I even shoved him, but he never got angry.

And he never left.

When the Maxwell adults called him home, he’d look up at them with his small face and say he couldn’t leave, because he had to stand guard, to make sure his particular star didn’t burn out or fall into the river.

Idiot, I thought.

In elementary school, some girls laughed and called me a rootless wild child. Owen charged at them like a small leopard.

“Who said she doesn’t have a family?!” His face was scratched, but he yelled, head held high, “My home is her home!”

The crowd dispersed, and I looked at him coldly. “Your home isn’t my home.”

“It will be,” he tried to smile, but winced from the pain of his injury. “You’ll marry me later, won’t you?”

The wall around my heart cracked right then. I reached out and helped him up from the ground.

Two small, dirty hands clasped together, and they stayed that way for twenty years.

Until our sophomore year in college, when Willow Davis came to the Group for an internship.

She was a scholarship student funded by Owen’s mother. Because she showed decent aptitude, she was placed in the corporate summer program.

The first time I saw her was after the celebration party for Owen’s first independent project. I went to his apartment with a gift, planning to surprise him, but I heard him talking to Willow in the hallway.

“This, this is just a small token of my appreciation—a scarf I knitted for you myself.” Willow’s voice was humble. “It’s certainly not as expensive as what Harper gives you, but… it’s the result of several all-nighters.”

“Thank you. Sincerity is the most precious gift,” Owen said.

A spark of raw anger shot through me. I pushed the door open. “What do you mean, ‘not as expensive as what I send’? Send what you want, but why do you have to step on me? Are things I buy with money suddenly void of sincerity?”

“I, I didn’t mean that.” Seeing me, she jumped, quickly trying to explain.

Owen walked her out.

“What’s the big deal?” He closed the door, smiling as he ruffled my hair.

“I don’t like her.”

“Her family has had a rough time—father passed away, mother is often sick. It wasn’t easy for her to get into a top university and land this internship. My mom asked me to mentor her.”

He said it would only be a few months.

But those few months became the period when we argued the most.

Willow would always show up during my dates with Owen, either asking for advice on a proposal or needing him to introduce her to clients or handle a difficult account executive.

When I gave her the cold shoulder, she would just lower her eyes and remain silent.

Everyone who saw us assumed I was bullying her.

Even Owen thought I was overreacting.

“It’s just a small favor, Harper. Why can’t I help her out? I don’t like her. Why are you always so jealous?”

But she just got under my skin.

She called him away on his birthday, claiming her project had an emergency she couldn’t handle.

She ruined a client meeting and made Owen go bail her out, while I waited for him at the restaurant until the food was cold.

She’d hound him every night to help her revise her presentations; sometimes, I’d be standing right behind him, and they would be so focused they wouldn’t even notice.

Everyone told me not to be petty.

She has a hard life. Just help her.

But the splinter in my heart couldn’t be pulled out.

I’d fought, given him the silent treatment, and broken up with him.

But every time we separated, I’d suffer from insomnia, and inevitably, I’d be the one to swallow my pride and ask to reconcile, even trying to convince myself to be more accommodating.

Savannah was right. I couldn’t let go. It was true.

Twenty years of entanglement was rooted in my very marrow; every attempt to peel it away was agonizing.

I feared the pain, so I compromised repeatedly.

Until last month. My critical project was maliciously attacked by a rival firm and ended up in a stalemate. I called Owen over a dozen times; no answer.

I fought alone until past midnight, relying on my own years of networking to barely stabilize the situation. Afterward, I learned he was preparing a crucial presentation for Willow and had his phone on silent.

He had no idea my project was about to collapse.

In that moment, I suddenly felt that breaking up, actually, might not be that hard.