My Ex Became My CEO Boss

To dodge overtime, I'd cultivated a reputation as a wife-obsessed madman.

Every day, rain or shine, I clocked out on the dot to go home and cook for my wife and kid. If I didn't, my wife would discipline me. My colleagues all thought my life was a living hell.

I never imagined the tables would turn so spectacularly. My ex-girlfriend, Victoria Borstein, just bought our company.

She was flipping through everyone's attendance records when her eyes landed on me. A smile that didn't reach her eyes played on her lips. "The entire company, and you're the only one who never works overtime. The reason being you have to go home and cook for your wife and kid?"

A coworker next to me immediately jumped to my defense. "Please, Ms. Borstein, you have to understand. His wife's temper is notoriously bad."

He then pulled up my sleeve, revealing a fresh scrape on my arm.

Victoria's face instantly darkened.

Without a word, she grabbed me and dragged me into the CEO's office, slamming me against the back of the door.

Her eyes were rimmed with red, and she growled through clenched teeth, "Asher Sterling, we only broke up two years ago. Were you in that much of a hurry to marry a woman like that?"

Out in the world, your identity is what you make it.

My persona at the office was simple:

The ultimate simp. Married, with a kid.

Every other sentence was about my wife and child.

Because of this, I was the only person in the entire company who could leave on time every single day. Everyone knew the scoreif I was late getting home, dinner would be delayed, and my wife would beat me.

I didn't care about overtime pay or comp days. I had zero ambition, a perfectly chill, non-competitive employee. My colleagues loved having someone so utterly non-threatening around.

My real happiness began after I clocked out.

A few drinks with the guys, checking out some hot girls, enjoying life.

Life was peaceful, uncomplicated.

Until our company was acquired.

And the new CEO was my ex-girlfriend.

Honestly, the day Victoria Borstein descended upon our office, my brain short-circuited.

Perfectly styled curls, an expensive designer suit, and a gaze that could freeze hell over. She was no longer the girl from two years ago; she radiated the powerful, sophisticated aura of a queen.

A flock of assistants trailed behind her. She walked like she had her own personal soundtrack.

I run this town, I do as I please, the world is at my feet. I run this town, I never, ever look back.

Every eye was on her.

The next second, I let out a massive sneeze.

Was she trying to fumigate the office with that perfume?

Every head swiveled in my direction.

To maintain my "married dad" persona, I was currently sporting a puffy black down jacket with a pair of tacky, floral-print oversleeves.

Victoria's gaze landed on me, and she let out a small, contemptuous scoff. "If I recall correctly, this is the only employee in the entire company who never works overtime."

She made a show of flipping through the work logs in her hand. "What's the problem? Is the overtime pay not good enough? We offer a bonus, comp time, and we even reimburse your cab fare. Mr. Sterling, do you have a problem with the company?"

"No, Ms. Borstein," I replied, my face a blank mask.

An older colleague, seeing the new boss was singling me out, rushed over to smooth things over. "Ms. Borstein, you don't understand, Asher has it really rough."

My stomach dropped. Oh no. But it was too late.

My colleague grabbed my sleeve and yanked it up.

A prominent scrape was on full display.

...The truth was, I got wasted with my buddies at a bar last night and took a spill on my way out.

"You see, Ms. Borstein? Asher has to be home on time every single day to cook for his wife and kid. If he's late well." She trailed off, looking at me with profound pity. The implication hung heavy in the air.

My toes curled in embarrassment. But I'd made my bed, and now I had to lie in it.

I closed my eyes, resigned to my fate, and nodded. "That's right. If I don't get home on time to make dinner, my wife beats me."

I looked up and met Victoria's incredulous gaze.

"And that, Ms. Borstein, is why I don't work overtime."

The papers in Victoria's hand crumpled, her knuckles turning white. A vein pulsed at her temple.

She stared at me, her fury barely contained. "Say that again. Who beats you?"

"His wife! Ms. Borstein, you have no idea, the woman is a monster!" another colleague chimed in, and suddenly the whole office was buzzing with sympathy for me.

My older colleague was a notorious gossip. Most of the "evil deeds" of my fictional wife were a product of office rumor-mongering.

But I couldn't deny it now.

I just lowered my head and picked at my fingers, feeling the burn of their collective pity.

I felt like a tragic hero from a soap opera.

Victoria's jaw was clenched tight, her expression growing darker with every whispered comment. Finally, she'd had enough.

"That's enough," she snapped, her voice cutting through the chatter. "I understand the situation. Everyone, get back to work."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me and tried to slip away, but a hand suddenly clamped down on the back of my neck, grabbing the hood of my jacket.

"You," she said, her voice like ice. "Come with me."

Victoria dragged me by the arm, the air around her crackling with murderous intent.

"Ms. Borstein, where are you taking me? Couldn't we have talked back there?"

"What? Does the boss need your permission on where to conduct a meeting now?"

"...Right. You're the boss. You're the biggest."

The second we were inside her office, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang.

The next thing I knew, I was pinned against it.

Her eyes were dark, burning into me, her chest heaving.

I slowly turned my head away. "Ms. Borstein, this is highly inappropriate."

"Hah. Ms. Borstein?" she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her. "When things were good, you called me 'baby.' Now that you've got someone new, it's 'Ms. Borstein.'"

Okay, I take back what I said about her being mature. She was just as childish as ever.

"Should I call you 'boss' then?" I tried to create some space between us. "Boss, I'm a married man. I have a wife and a child. What you're doing right now constitutes workplace harassment."

Victoria froze for a second, then let out a cold, humorless laugh and released me. "Asher, you dump me, and two years later, you're in such a rush that you marry a piece of trash like that?"

I had no response. I just offered a polite smile.

She slumped into her office chair, tugging at the collar of her blouse, looking utterly defeated. "Who was it that swore they would never, ever get married?"

"You know what they say. You don't know what you're missing 'til you meet the one," I spouted, pulling the clich out of thin air.

"And your 'one' beats you?"

"..." I was speechless.

She continued, her voice rising. "Everyone in your office knows your wife hits you. Every day you practically sprint out of there, terrified of being late with dinner. You said that, didn't you?"

"...Yes, that's what I said."

"Then why are you still defending her?"

"...She's nice to me when she's not hitting me."

Victoria stared at me, her eyes a mixture of pain and anger. "What happened to you? The old you wouldn't have blinked while kicking me to the curb. And since when do you cook? I used to thank God you didn't burn the kitchen down. It's only been two years. Where did that ruthless bastard I knew go? You told me you were against marriage, but you managed to have a kid with this psycho in two years? What, was I just the wrong season for you?"

I silently retracted my earlier thought about being a tragic hero.

Clearly, she was the one auditioning for the part.

"Ms. Borstein," I interrupted.

She looked up at me, her expression pitiful, as if she were waiting for an explanation.

Unfortunately, I had none to give.

I curved my lips into a small smile. "It's quitting time. I should get home and start dinner."

"Asher Sterling!" she seethed, her voice shaking with rage. "I hate you."

"Hate away. Just don't dock my pay."

"Goodbye, Ms. Borstein."

I closed the office door gently behind me and walked away without looking back.

The next few days were quiet. Victoria didn't bother me again.

I was secretly pleased. It seemed the "married dad" persona was also an effective ex-girlfriend repellent.

Until one rainy afternoon, when I was stranded on a street corner, unable to hail a cab.

A Porsche pulled up beside me.

The window rolled down. Victoria was leaning back in the driver's seat, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Pouring rain, and your dear wife didn't come to pick you up?"

"She's busy with work," I said dismissively.

"Hah, how busy can she be?" she sneered. "A happy wife means a happy life, haven't you heard? A miserable wife brings a miserable life."

"Right, right. Not everyone can be as enlightened as you. You must have taken a masterclass in wifely duties."

My retort seemed to hit a nerve. She frowned. "Asher, with that sharp tongue of yours, how could anyone possibly bully you?"

I was in no mood to argue. I just opened the door and slid in. "Let's go. South Orchid Apartments."

"Who said I was giving you a ride?"

Still playing tough. She'd already circled the block three times. And I'd already spotted two large boxes in the back seat: a limited-edition giant Gundam model and a complete Barbie doll set.

"You've already bought presents for my kid. Still want to pretend you weren't going to give me a lift?"

Caught, the tips of her ears turned red. She looked away, clearing her throat. "I did the math. The kid isn't yours, is it?" she asked, her voice full of false confidence. "You married a divorce? Is the little freeloader a boy or a girl?"

"He's mine," I said, my voice serious. "My son."

I paused, then delivered the final, crushing blow. "He's only a little over a year old, though. Too young for a Gundam."

Victoria's hands tightened on the steering wheel. She took a sharp breath, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled. "Asher, we broke up two years ago and your son is over a year old. Are you telling me you got with her the second we broke up?"

Her eyes were already starting to glisten.

I sighed. "Maybe we should drop it. I'm afraid you're going to start crying."

She slammed her foot on the gas, and the car shot forward.

The rest of the drive was silent. By the time we reached my apartment building, she looked like an angry, puffed-up blowfish.

Before I got out, I said, "Let's just let the past be the past. I'm happy to see you're a big-shot CEO now. Goodbye."

The first thing I saw when I got home was the overturned cat food bowl.

And lying next to it, my fat cat, giving me the dirtiest look imaginable.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. The rain was bad, I was only a little late. Don't be mad, Your Majesty."

I opened a can of wet food and mixed it into his kibble, then placed it reverently on his little dining stand.

A few minutes later, my phone rang.

It was Victoria, her voice cold. "You forgot the presents for your kid."

I glanced at my cat, who was busy inhaling his dinner. "It's fine. He'd probably just break them anyway."

"Asher," she said, her voice suddenly serious.

"Yeah?"

"Divorce your wife. I'll be your wife instead."

I was stunned for a few seconds, then laughed. "Ms. Borstein, you're harassing me again."

"Then sue me! I'm going crazy!" Her voice suddenly shot up, filled with a raw, desperate frustration. "I'm downstairs right now, looking at the light in your window, thinking about you living with another woman and I just want to come up there and shoot her."

Such a drama queen. Always with the threats.

"You seem to be forgetting, your highness," I said drily, "You're back from the States. We have gun control here."

"...Can you be serious for one second?"

"Fine, go ahead. The sooner you're done, the sooner you can go home."

"Divorce her. I'll raise the kid. I promise I'll treat him like my own. If you don't believe me, I'll go get sterilized right now."

Silence from my end.

She grew more agitated. "The kid can have your last name, and I'll take the kid's last name. How about that?"

"Impressive," I finally said, wanting to applaud. "Why don't you just take my wife's last name?"

The other end of the line went silent.

A few seconds later, I heard a sniffle, then her voice, laced with venom. "Asher Sterling, you don't even treat me like a human being."

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I let out a long breath.

They say you'll be haunted for a lifetime by the thing you couldn't have when you were young. But sometimes, a single moment can set you free from that obsession.

It's true for things, and it's true for people.

A memory is just a memory. It has no power.

When Victoria and I were at our best, we were both fresh out of college.

We were young, broke, and running on love alone.

We were crammed into a tiny rental, inseparable the moment we got home from work. From the living room to the bedroom, from the bedroom to the bathroom. We were disgustingly, intoxicatingly in love.

By the time we finally collapsed into bed, I was too exhausted to even move.

She would lie beside me, twirling a strand of my hair, her eyes sparkling. "Baby, I have to be honest with you. I'm actually a down-and-out heiress. I ran away because I hated the life my father planned for me. You're so amazing, you don't mind that I'm poor."

"And even though I love being crammed in this tiny apartment with you, when we get married, we'll have to get a big mansion, right? Do you like sports cars? Oh, no, that's a bad idea, they're too fast. We'll get you a chauffeur instead."

I was so tired my head was spinning. I just assumed she was delirious, murmuring "uh-huh, sure" to whatever she said.

After all, I was with her for her looks. For a beautiful woman, being poor was a plus.

So I never took her words seriously.

Until she started acting strange.

She was always frowning, lost in thought. She started taking calls in secret, hiding her phone.

My conclusion was immediate: she was cheating on me.

I could handle a poor, beautiful woman. I could not handle a dirty, unfaithful one.

One night, while she was asleep, I secretly jotted down the number that had been calling her so frequently.

Worried the other guy was being played, I even sent him a message, telling him Victoria had a boyfriend.

To my surprise, he asked to meet.

The person who showed up was Victoria's father.