My Online Lover Became My CEO

After enduring three years of bullying from Christine, the most popular girl in school, I used her photos to start an online relationship with a powerful CEO.

He was gentle and generous, his only flaw being how clingy he was.

Soon, with my quick wit, I managed to get a considerable amount of living expenses from him.

The day I decided to disappear, I casually asked, "What would you do if I suddenly vanished?"

He fell silent for two seconds, then said in a low voice, "You really shouldn't try."

I didn't think anything of it. I just blocked him and deleted his contact.

Later, Christine and I both got internships at a multinational corporation.

The day I reported for duty, the Chairman of the corporate headquarters happened to be on an inspection tour.

I stood at the back of the crowd, looking up, and saw a face that shouldn't have been there.

My mind went blank for about three seconds.

Then I saw his gaze fall on Christine.

He paused for a moment, then strode towards us.

His name was Maximilian.

Maximilian, 32 years old, was the current CEO of the Maximilian Group, with a net worth exceeding ten billion dollars.

He was wearing a dark gray suit I'd picked out for him myself. His broad shoulders were straight, cuffs meticulously folded, steps steady and controlled. He was like an unsheathed blade.

I lowered my face slightly, my heart pounding a bit too fast.

Mr. Davies, our manager, whispered to us, "Mr. Maximilian rarely visits. Just act normal; he won't bother with interns."

Before he could finish, Maximilian slowed his pace.

A cufflink suddenly came loose from his sleeve, bounced twice on the floor, and rolled to Christine's feet.

Maximilian stopped. More accurately, he stopped right in front of Christine.

They stood face to face, one cold, one captivating, no more than an arm's length apart.

His secretary, Mr. Stone, was already bending down to pick it up.

Maximilian raised a hand to stop him.

Christine's eyelashes fluttered. She understood, bent down, picked up the cufflink, and, blushing, handed it over. "Mr. Maximilian, your..."

Maximilian wasn't in a hurry to take it.

He lowered his eyes and took a small step closer to Christine.

A fragrance that blended oud and citrus wafted over.

I knew that scent.

Last fall, I'd tried it bottle by bottle at a duty-free counter, eventually bought it, and sent it to him by mail.

I pursed my lips, subtly averting my gaze.

Maximilian stared at Christine's face for a long time.

Something churned in his eyes. It was hard to tell, like rediscovery mixed with a hint of hurt.

Christine held out the cufflink, waiting for a while, then couldn't help but softly call out, "M-Mr. Maximilian?"

Maximilian snapped out of it, took the cufflink, his fingertips brushing her palm, and said in a low, slightly hoarse voice, "Christine."

Christine's face turned completely red. "Yes, I'm Christine, Mr. Maximilian"

Maximilian didn't speak, just stared at her face for a moment longer before turning and walking away.

Only then did I dare to exhale, my back drenched in sweat.

I slumped back into my desk chair, pulled out my phone, and searched "Maximilian."

My screen filled with financial news.

I slowly took a breath.

I'd been in an online relationship with Maximilian for two whole years, using Christine's photos and name.

In high school, Christine had loudly spread rumors that my mom, who worked as a housekeeper for her family, had stolen things from them. It caused a huge stir throughout the school.

My mom lost her job too.

I hated her guts. So, I stole Christine's photos and started messing around online using her name everywhere.

Got caught cursing someone out? I'd say my name was Christine.

Reported for idling in an online game? I'd say my name was Christine.

Basically, if anything went wrong, I'd throw Christine under the bus.

But Maximilian was an unexpected twist.

By the time he found me, I was already deeply involved.

For two years, he'd call every night. His voice was deep, and he spoke slowly, able to sweet-talk anyone into submission.

Many times, his voice changed, and he'd say things that made my ears burn, and I'd call him shameless.

He'd just chuckle softly and sweet-talk me.

Later, when he suggested we meet, it suddenly hit me: I was using Christine's name and Christine's face.

I scrolled through our SnapChat messages, finding that first "My name is Christine."

I couldn't sleep that night. Tossing and turning, I eventually pulled the blanket over my head and cried for a long time.

After crying, I looked at my swollen eyes in the mirror and realized something.

I was plain-looking, from an ordinary family. I didn't have Christine's face or her background.

Someone like Maximilian could never be interested in someone like me.

I sent a "Sorry" and deleted him.

On the third day of no contact, he sent an email: "Christine, don't leave me."

But I wasn't Christine. I closed the email and didn't reply.

A colleague next to me tapped my shoulder. "Hey, what are you thinking about?"

I snapped back to reality.

Christine had already come over to my side, her voice soft. "Kaitlyn, everyone wants coffee from that new place. Could you run out and get it?"

"It's just three blocks away. You can bike there, it won't take long."

It was standard for senior employees to pick on interns.

Christine had managed to get the senior employees on her side on the very first day, no doubt because of Maximilian's obvious attention to her earlier.

I looked at her, then at the others behind her, all watching expectantly, and nodded. "Okay."

Christine smiled, satisfied, and turned to everyone. "Don't be shy, guys."

"Kaitlyn's mom used to be our housekeeper, and Kaitlyn's been with her mom since she was little. Running errands is second nature to her."

"If you need anything later, just ask her."

I didn't say anything.

I stood up to grab my bag and bumped into someone.

I looked up. It was Mr. Stone, Maximilian's secretary.

He impatiently shoved me aside. I wasn't prepared, and my knee hit the corner of the desk, making me gasp in pain.

He didn't apologize. He strode over to Mr. Davies. "Which one is Ms. Christine? Mr. Maximilian needs to see her."

Christine rushed forward. "I am! I'm Christine. What is it?"

Mr. Stone sized her up, becoming a little more polite. "The CEO's private office needs a temporary assistant. Mr. Maximilian wants you to fill in for a while."

Christine froze for a second, her voice rising. "Me? Mr. Maximilian sent you for me? He said it himself?"

"Yes. Pack your things and come with me."

Christine covered her mouth, then couldn't help but walk around me in a circle. "Kaitlyn, move aside. I'm going up to the thirty-sixth floor!"

"You keep working hard. Maybe in another ten years or so, we can be colleagues on the thirty-sixth floor."

I moved aside, my knee still throbbing with pain.

Christine walked away in her high heels, and the colleagues behind me erupted in chatter.

"Could this Christine be the future CEO's wife?"

"Hey, Kaitlyn, you came with Christine. Do you know what her relationship is with Mr. Maximilian?"

I shook my head. "No idea."

By the time I returned with the coffee, it was almost eleven.

My knee had scraped raw, and my pants rubbed against it when I biked, causing a searing pain.

I went in and handed out the coffees one by one. Not a single person said thank you.

I returned to my desk, lifted my pant leg for a look, and saw a patch of blood seeping through.

I casually pulled a bandage from my bag, put it on, and lowered my head to continue organizing files.

At two in the afternoon, Mr. Davies assigned a task.

Organize five years of supplier interaction records into a table, due before closing today.

Skylar, the intern sitting opposite me, rolled her eyes. "That's too much work. One person can't finish it."

Mr. Davies glanced at me. "Kaitlyn, you do it."

There was no room for discussion.

I nodded, opened a folder, and started flipping through.

The data was messy, the timelines all wrong, and some files were scanned images, impossible to directly copy.

I bent my head, typing it in, word by word. Nothing played in my headphones; all I could hear were my colleagues chatting in the office, occasionally punctuated by talk of Christine being moved to the thirty-sixth floor.

"I heard Christine went to a meeting with Mr. Maximilian this afternoon."

"Really? How could an intern understand anything sitting in there?"

"Well, Mr. Maximilian is clearly interested in her. What she understands isn't important."

I didn't look up, continuing to input data.

Around six, the table was done. I sent it to Mr. Davies, who didn't reply.

I shut down my computer and walked out. When I reached the elevator, the doors opened, and Maximilian stood inside.

Two assistants were with him, holding files, heads bowed as they spoke to him.

My steps paused for half a second. Maximilian looked over too.

The moment our eyes met, I lowered my head, quickly stepped in, and stood in the farthest corner, my back to him.

The elevator was silent for a few seconds, then the assistants resumed their report.

Maximilian's voice resonated: "Mhm."

Low, concise, a tone I knew so well.

I stared at my reflection in the elevator doors, unmoving.

Seventeenth floor, thirteenth floor, ninth floor.

"Stop." Maximilian spoke.

An assistant pressed the stop button. My back tensed.

"What's your name?"

I didn't move until an assistant nudged me. Only then did I realize he was asking me.

I turned around, not looking at him. "Kaitlyn."

Maximilian was silent for two seconds. "Which department?"

"Operations, intern."

"Look up."

I pursed my lips, looked up, met his gaze for a second, then immediately looked down.

In that single second, I saw his expression clearly: he hadn't recognized me.

His eyes showed no ripple of emotion, just the ordinary gaze one would give a stranger.

It made sense. I had used Christine's face, Christine's voice, Christine's name.

He had never known what I looked like.

"Mhm." Maximilian retracted his gaze. "Continue."

The elevator resumed its descent. On the first floor, he walked out first.

I stood in the elevator for a few more seconds before stepping out.

When I reached the company entrance, the night breeze swept over me.

I stood there for a while, pushing down that heavy feeling in my chest, then got on my bike and rode back to the dorm.

The next day, Christine came back to get her things, looking like a completely different person.

She was wearing a new light pink dress, her hair freshly styled, makeup more elaborate than yesterday. Standing next to her desk, she made the surrounding female colleagues fade in comparison.

"Where did you all go for dinner last night? Why didn't you invite me?" she asked, her tone sweet, as she sat down in her chair.

"You're on the thirty-sixth floor now. How could we dare invite you?"

Christine smiled, a hint of restrained pride in her voice. "Oh, I was just helping out. Mr. Maximilian's schedule is too packed, and the secretary's office is understaffed."

"You attended a meeting with Mr. Maximilian yesterday?"

"Mhm. I was sitting outside taking notes, and Mr. Maximilian came out, looked at me, and told me to come in and observe for a while."

"Wow"

I didn't look up, continuing to organize the files in my hand.

Christine's voice came closer. "Oh, by the way, Kaitlyn, Mr. Davies said that table you made yesterday had the wrong format. Could you redo it today?"

I stopped and looked at Mr. Davies.

He nodded. "Refer to last quarter's template for the format, and redo it."

I didn't ask what was wrong with the format.

I had checked that table three times yesterday; there were no issues.

But Mr. Davies had already averted his gaze.

I closed the file and reopened yesterday's table.

Christine was happily chatting with someone next to me.

At ten in the morning, she took a call, stepped out, and returned with a smile on her face, tidying her desk. "I'm going up now. I probably won't be back this afternoon, so don't wait for me."

"Mr. Maximilian called you?"

"Mhm. He's going to discuss a contract and he's taking me with him." She turned and left after that.

I watched her retreating figure, then brought my gaze back to my work.

After redoing the table, I sent it again. This time, Mr. Davies replied, "Okay."

I saved and closed the file, then took a sip of water.

My phone vibrated.

It was a new email, sender: MO.

My finger paused on the screen.

MO was Maximilian's old email alias. I knew it because I had sent him dozens of emails.

But I had a new email address; he couldn't possibly know my new address.

I opened the email. The content was short.

"Yesterday in the elevator, you had a small mole behind your left ear when you looked down."

"Christine doesn't."

My phone almost fell to the floor.