My Ex’s CEO Friend Treats Me Like His Prizefighter Wife
Fuzzy Melissa
Introduction
"Her brain's broken. She doesn't remember you. You take care of her." — The most ironic line I've ever heard, right before I blacked out.
So, I, the infamous "Steel Rose" of the boxing world, decided to play along. I moved into his friend Jordan's—the billionaire's—penthouse and started acting like a scared little bunny who's even terrified of the coffee machine.
But this act… is spiraling out of control.
The way Jordan looks at me is unbearably tender, while the way my ex looks at him is burning with jealousy. My amnesia is fake, but Jordan's feelings… seem terrifyingly real.
Now, my "best friend" is hanging on my ex's arm, waiting to see me fall. What they don't know is: my fists are hard, but my acting skills are even harder.
But the biggest problem is—when Jordan's lips meet mine, I can't tell if this is just part of my revenge plan… or if I'm the one falling for the act.
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Fuzzy Melissa
Chapter 1
BAM!
The moment that heavy punch connected with my temple, I felt the entire world spinning out of control. Damn it! This new sparring partner was hitting way too hard!
Everything went black as my body collapsed backward, completely out of my control. Being knocked down was such a foreign feeling to me—I was the 'Iron Rose' of women's boxing, undefeated in my entire career!
"Holy shit! Rebecca!"
Brad Martinez's voice cut through the chaos. I could feel someone scrambling onto the ring, stumbling over themselves.
The crowd below erupted into commotion, camera flashes exploding beneath my eyelids like fireworks. I laughed bitterly to myself—great, tomorrow's headlines would read: "Iron Rose Knocked Out by Unknown Sparring Partner."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I couldn't control my strength!" The bear-sized sparring partner was shouting frantically in my ear. "She suddenly didn't dodge—I thought she could take that punch!"
"What the hell is wrong with you? She's our club's star attraction!"
Brad was kneeling beside me, his voice laced with fury. But wait... his tone sounded more like he was worried about money than worried about me?
I struggled to open my eyes, but my head was pounding mercilessly.
"Her breathing is weak, and her heartbeat's irregular. Call an ambulance, now!"
That was Jordan Connor's voice, his hand gently checking my pulse. Strange—why did Jordan's touch make me feel so safe?
"Oh my God, Rebecca won't be seriously hurt, will she?" Jennifer Taylor's voice drifted over, but I caught the barely concealed excitement in her tone. "She's supposed to headline Madison Square Garden next month. If something happened to her..."
What?! I raged internally. Here I was, lying unconscious and possibly dying, and Jennifer's first thought was about the fight? And that tone... was she actually hoping something would happen to me?
"Shut up! Now's not the time to worry about fights!" Brad snarled.
I felt Jordan carefully cradle my head, his movements so gentle they made me want to cry. "Where's that ambulance? She needs to get to the hospital for a CT scan immediately!"
Everything after that was a blur—ambulance, stretcher, harsh emergency room lights...
Hours later, I finally regained full consciousness in a VIP hospital room.
My head still felt like it was splitting open, but my thoughts were crystal clear. Everything that had just happened replayed in my mind over and over.
When Brad rushed onto the ring shouting "What the hell," the urgency in his voice wasn't from concern for my safety—it was worry about his cash cow being damaged! And Jennifer, my supposed best friend, I distinctly heard the excitement in her voice. Was she actually hoping I'd get hurt? Wanting to take my place?
Three years! Three whole years! Every time I brought up marriage, Brad would say "Not yet, career comes first." Every time I wanted him to act like a normal boyfriend—dinner dates, movies—he'd make excuses about club business. And like an idiot, I kept believing he truly loved me.
For the past six months, Jennifer, my so-called best friend and manager, had been cozying up to Brad more and more frequently under the guise of work. Did they think I was blind? Just yesterday I saw Jennifer texting Brad about "late-night training plan discussions" that went until 2 AM!
I sneered inwardly—today's fall was perfectly timed. It let me see exactly what kind of people you really are.
The hospital room door opened, and Brad and Jordan walked in one after the other.
"Rebecca! You're awake!" Brad immediately rushed to my bedside, but I could read relief rather than genuine concern in his expression.
I blinked, putting on my most confused expression: "You... who are you?"
Brad's face changed instantly: "What? Rebecca, you don't recognize me? I'm Brad!"
"Brad?" I furrowed my brow, making my voice sound as weak as a frightened animal. "I... I don't remember anything. Where am I? What happened to me?"
Jordan quickly stepped to the other side of the bed, and the worry in his eyes looked genuine: "The doctor said you might have a mild concussion. Temporary memory confusion is normal."
I turned to Jordan, deliberately filling my eyes with innocent curiosity: "Then... who are you?"
Brad and Jordan exchanged glances, and I caught the flash of panic in Brad's eyes.
Then I heard the most ridiculous words of my entire life: "He... he's Jordan, your... your boyfriend."
What the hell?!
My mind exploded with shock, but I maintained my innocent expression: "My boyfriend? Really?"
I saw Jordan look at Brad in shock, his lips moving as if he wanted to object.
"Yes, Jordan is your boyfriend." Brad continued this absurd lie, speaking faster now. "I'm your boss. Just call me Brad."
Boss? I nearly burst out laughing. Three years as his girlfriend, and overnight I'd become an employee? Brad Martinez, you're quite the piece of work!
"Boss?" I looked even more confused. "What kind of work do I do?"
"You're a... you're a boxer." Brad stammered. "But now you're injured and need to rest."
I looked at Jordan, gazing at him with my most clear, innocent eyes: "Jordan, are you really my boyfriend? How... how long have we been together?"
Poor Jordan opened and closed his mouth, unable to make a sound. He looked more tortured than I did.
They said a few more words before leaving the room, claiming they wanted to let me rest. But through the glass door, I watched Brad drag Jordan into the stairwell.
Although I couldn't hear what they were saying, from Brad's urgent gestures and Jordan's hesitant expression, I could guess what they were discussing. That bastard Brad was actually trying to get Jordan to help him maintain this lie!
Sure enough, Jordan returned alone shortly after, his expression heartbreakingly complicated.
"Rebecca, the doctor says you can be discharged." Jordan's voice was hoarse. "I'll... I'll take you home."
Home? I sneered internally. Which home?
I pretended to sleep the entire way as Jordan helped me leave the hospital, get in the car, until...
At 2 AM, when the elevator doors opened to Jordan's penthouse apartment, I couldn't help but gasp.
This place looked like something straight out of Architectural Digest—floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Manhattan's glittering nightscape, imported Italian marble floors gleaming warmly under the lights.
"This place is beautiful!" I widened my eyes, pretending to be amazed. "This is really our home?"
Jordan gently helped me inside: "Yes, you should rest well. We can talk more tomorrow."
I looked around, but inside I was sneering coldly. There wasn't a single trace of female presence in the entire apartment, let alone any couple photos.
Brad had told such an unprofessional lie!
"Jordan." I deliberately looked confused. "Why aren't there any photos of us? How long have we been together?"
Jordan was clearly stunned, stammering: "Well... you're still recovering, don't think about complicated things."
"But I can't remember how we met, when we got together..." I continued pressing, letting longing for love show in my eyes.
When I saw the way Jordan looked at me, my heart clenched painfully. That look... as if I really was someone precious to him. Why did a stranger's care move me more than my three-year boyfriend's "love"?
"Rebecca, you're tired. I've prepared the guest room for you to rest." Jordan's voice was hoarse.
"Guest room?" I looked even more confused. "Aren't we a couple? Why would we sleep separately?"
Jordan's face turned red instantly: "You're... you're injured and need independent rest space."
I nodded obediently: "Okay, you're right."
Jordan led me to the guest room and closed the door before leaving.
Lying on this luxurious bed, touching my throbbing temple, the corners of my mouth curved into a cold smile.
"Brad Martinez, for three years you treated me like a cash cow, and now you want to pawn me off on someone else?"
I clenched my fists, feeling an unprecedented thrill surge through me.
Since you've created such an absurd lie, I'll play along and see how long you can keep up this act!
I thought about the way Jordan had looked at me—that gentleness was something Brad had never given me. Maybe... this accidental "boyfriend" would be more interesting than my real one.
Brad, you want to play games? Then let's play.
Only this time, I'm making the rules.
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Her CEO Stalker and Her Second Chance Mate
“Where is that slut of yours, Creedon? Must be a hell of a lay. The coffee is going to be cold,” Michael complained. “What's the point in keeping her around? She's not even your breed.”
Not his breed?
“You know me, I like nice accessories, Besides, she is smarter than she looks."
An Accessory?
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“She’s mine! She is no concern of yours. I can fuck her, breed her, or cast her aside, remember who's in charge here. “If I want to use her as a cum bucket, I will." His anger explosive.
Breed me? Cast me aside? Cum bucket? I think not!*
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Someone, please, come mop up the word vomit this woman has just spewed.
“I have her under control, Trisha, back the fuck off.”
**Control? Oh, hell naw! ** He hadn't met the take no bullshit southern bitch I could be.
Rage brewed as I elbowed open door.
Well, here goes everything.
The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate
"You're like a sister to me."
Those were the actual words that broke the camel's back.
Not after what just happened. Not after the hot, breathless, soul-shaking night we spent tangled in each other's arms.
I knew from the beginning that Tristan Hayes was a line I shouldn't cross.
He wasn't just anyone, he was my brother's best friend. The man I spent years secretly wanting.
But that night... we were broken. We had just buried our parents. And the grief was too heavy, too real...so I begged him to touch me.
To make me forget. To fill the silence that death left behind.
And he did. He held me like I was something fragile.
Kissed me like I was the only thing he needed to breathe.
Then left me bleeding with six words that burned deeper than rejection ever could.
So, I ran. Away from everything that cost me pain.
Now, five years later, I'm back.
Fresh from rejecting the mate who abused me. Still carrying the scars of a pup I never got to hold.
And the man waiting for me at the airport isn't my brother.
It's Tristan.
And he's not the guy I left behind.
He's a biker.
An Alpha.
And when he looked at me, I knew there was no where else to run to.
About Author
Fuzzy Melissa
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