Lonely CEO Fell in love with Her Voice—Before Ever Seeing Her Face…
What are you talking about? He asked, his voice tight.
Maeve closed her eyes, letting a harsh, shuddering breath escape her lungs.
I’m not just an anonymous crisis counselor on a hotline.
My real name is Maeve, but my last name used to be Donovan.
I am his ex-wife, she whispered.
The moment those words left her lips, Nolan’s entire universe violently collapsed.
Donovan was not a stranger.
He was the treacherous, manipulative co-founder whom Nolan had ruthlessly excised from the company five years ago.
It had been a bloody, unforgiving corporate war.
A sickening wave of absolute betrayal surged through Nolan’s chest.
It instantly transformed the vulnerable man who had just opened his heart back into a cold, heavily fortified executive.
So, it was all just a brilliant performance, Nolan growled.
Every single syllable dripped with bitter tension.
You patiently listened to me bleed for 3 months. You listened to my panic attacks.
He let out a hollow, humorless laugh.
Did you take notes? Was this just a sick game to spy on your ex-husband’s enemy?
Hearing the deeply wounded accusation in his voice, Maeve did not lash out in anger.
She did not offer a pathetic, desperate defense.
She slowly raised her head.
Her bloodshot eyes harbored an unfathomable depth of sorrow.
I never saw you as an enemy, Nolan, she whispered.
Then what am I? He snapped back, his voice rising above the howling wind. A project? A joke?
A mirror, she answered instantly.
The sheer certainty in her voice made him freeze.
I answered your calls every night because the man you are today is exactly who I was five years ago.
Both of us are violently thrashing around, drowning under a thick sheet of ice that nobody else can see.
Nolan clenched his jaw.
You don’t know anything about my ice.
I know everything about it, she said softly.
She shivered slightly.
She wrapped her arms tightly around her own frail shoulders as the ghosts of her past surfaced.
He psychologically abused me. He manipulated my mind until I completely lost my sanity and every last shred of my dignity.
He made me believe I was completely worthless, just like your impostor syndrome makes you feel every single day.
Nolan stared at her.
The burning anger in his chest slowly warred with a profound, aching shock.
You were the one who finally overthrew him, Maeve continued, her voice trembling.
You ruthlessly stripped away his power and his platform.
She paused, letting a single, silent tear slip down her hollow cheek.
But in the end, the proud, invincible man who defeated him is walking around with the exact same bleeding wounds that I am.
The wind died down for a brief, heavy moment.
Why didn’t you tell me? Nolan asked.
The harshness had finally drained from his tone, leaving only a quiet, hollow ache.
Maeve looked away, staring back at the dark puddle.
How could I tell you? she asked bitterly.
Hello, Nolan.
I am the collateral damage of the man you destroyed.
You would have hung up the phone.
She took a shaky breath, her voice breaking. And I couldn’t risk losing you because those calls, they weren’t just your oxygen, Nolan.
She looked back into his eyes, completely stripped of all her defenses.
They were mine, too.
The glowing red light of the recording software pulsed on her computer screen.
It looked like a slow, rhythmic heartbeat in the pitch-black room.
Maeve sat paralyzed in her worn desk chair.
Her violently trembling fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She closed her burning eyes, but the memory of yesterday afternoon immediately suffocated her.
It started with a heavy, arrogant knock on her apartment door.
Then came the chilling smirk on her ex-husband’s face when he forced his way inside.
Donovan didn’t come to demand money.
He didn’t come to threaten her with physical violence.
He came with a psychological weapon.
Did you really think I wouldn’t find out, Maeve?
Donovan had whispered.
He had leaned casually against her kitchen counter, meticulously inspecting his expensive watch.
My disgraced ex-wife playing the midnight therapist for the great Nolan Reed.
He let out a dark, booming laugh.
It’s almost too perfect.
Maeve’s blood had run completely cold.
Leave him alone, she pleaded, her voice shaking. He has nothing to do with us.
Donovan’s eyes narrowed into sharp, calculating slits.
He has everything to do with me, he sneered.
Next week is the annual shareholder meeting.
The board is already whispering behind his back. They think he’s overworked.
They think he’s finally losing his grip.
He stepped closer, his large shadow swallowing her small, fragile frame.
But they need concrete proof to vote him out.
And you, my sweet Maeve, are going to give it to them.
He tossed a sleek, black USB drive onto her cheap dining table.
It hit the wood with a heavy, sickening clatter.
I want the audio files.
I want every single recording of his pathetic midnight panic attacks.
I want to hear him crying about his impostor syndrome, his delusions, his agonizing weakness.
Donovan smiled, a cruel, soulless expression.
I want the board to hear exactly how mentally unstable their precious CEO really is.
Maeve had backed away, utterly sick to her stomach.
I will never do that, she gasped. I don’t even record the calls.
Donovan’s smile vanished.
His eyes turned dead and completely ruthless.
Then you better start tonight.
He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out his phone.
He turned the screen toward her.
It was a picture of a little boy with bright eyes laughing as he swung in a sunlit playground.
Leo, their 7-year-old son, the son Donovan had ruthlessly taken full custody of during their brutal, heavily lawyered divorce.
“I already bought the plane tickets, Maeve.
Switzerland is beautiful this time of year, and their boarding schools are extremely strict regarding visitations.” He pocketed the phone.
“If you don’t give me that audio file by Friday morning,” he leaned in so close she could smell the cold mint on his breath, “you will never see Leo again, not even in pictures.” The devastating memory shattered as her phone suddenly vibrated on the desk.
The caller ID lit up the dark room, casting a pale glow across her tear-stained face.
Anonymous.
It was Nolan.
It was 2:15 a.m.
He was calling for his oxygen.
Maeve stared at the glowing green answer button on her phone.
Right beside it, on the bright computer monitor, the red record button waited.
A heavy, agonizing tear slipped from her cheek and splashed onto the plastic keyboard.
Her chest heaved with quiet, violently suppressed sobs.
She was standing on the edge of an impossible, horrifying abyss.
If she pressed that red button, she would completely destroy the man she had fallen in love with.
She would strip away his armor and hand his worst enemy the very knife needed to slit his throat.
But if she didn’t, she would lose her little boy forever.
The phone kept vibrating, buzzing violently against the cheap wood of her desk.
Nolan was waiting in the dark, trusting her with his life.
With a trembling, hesitant hand, Maeve reached out.
The numbers on the massive digital screens of the boardroom bled a violent, relentless red.
Company stock was in a terrifying, unprecedented freefall.
Nolan stood completely still at the head of the long mahogany table.
He stared blankly at the blinking intercom speaker in the center of the room.
A distorted, grainy audio file was playing on a continuous loop.
It was his own voice.
It was the ragged, trembling confession of a man drowning in panic, terrified of his own shadow, admitting he was a complete fraud.
The file had been anonymously uploaded to the board of directors’ highly secure internal network right at dawn.
The verdict was swift and completely merciless.
Nolan was immediately suspended from all executive duties.
They called it a mandatory leave of absence pending a thorough psychological evaluation.
But in the ruthless corporate world, it was a public execution.
What Nolan didn’t know was the horrifying truth behind the leak.
Maeve had never pressed that glowing red record button.
Donovan hadn’t even waited for her to make that impossible choice between her son and her lover.
He had simply used her as a psychological distraction while his hired professionals hacked directly into the crisis hotline’s centralized server archives.
But Nolan didn’t know about the hack.
He didn’t know about the blackmail, or the threats, or the little boy named Leo.
