The Dark Secret of the CEO by Sofia de Orellana

Chapter 1

“…Isn’t it taking too long, Sir?”

“She’ll wake up. Soon. …Isn’t my daughter so pretty already?”

“Yes, yes…”

I hear someone chuckle, a deep voice. After a couple more seconds of struggle, I finally manage to open my eyes. Oh, crap, it’s bright…

“Good morning, my Sleeping Beauty.”

A silhouette appears above me, blocking the light. I blink a couple of times, trying to distinguish those facial features. A smile like a shark amongst a greyish, perfectly combed beard, and two piercing, ice-cold blue eyes. …Who’s that? I can’t help but keep blinking repeatedly, my eyes dry as hell. Where the heck am I? What’s going on? I want to move. My body’s so damn heavy… What’s that weird smell, too? I try to move my head, look around. This place is so… white. All monochrome, white and metal. Sanitized and cold like a hospital. No, wait. It looks like it must be cold, but I don’t feel cold at all. Nor hot. Just… neutral. So weird…

I do feel something hard and sturdy underneath me. I’m not on a bed. A table?

“Can you hear us?”

I turn my head, finding another man on my right, seated and staring from behind his glasses. I do hear them. I want to answer, but… my throat hurts! It hurts so much, like it’s completely dry, and raspy. I want to talk, but I don’t even know how to breathe! I can’t feel any air moving through my lungs, my throat… I try to inhale, but it feels empty, like my organs are moving for strictly nothing.

“Answer us,” the man insists. “Can you hear us?”

He’s wearing a white coat and scrubs? I just nod by reflex.

“I… I-I do.”

The air I finally feel seems so strange in my lungs, my throat. My own voice sounds different. Deeper, raspier.

“Good.”

“Give me your hand, Dear,” gently says the bearded one next to me. “Let’s have you sit up first.”

I feel his cold hand grabbing mine, and very gently, he helps me sit up. My body feels so heavy, I thought I’d get a bit dizzy or something, but there is none of that. Just some strange… nausea. I try to ignore it and sit up, to finally realize where exactly I am…

“Is this a… mortuary?” I mutter, a bit confused.

I’ve never been into one, but there’s no mistaking it. I’ve seen enough crime shows for that. Those rows of chrome cupboard doors with numbers on them, and this aseptic, cold hospital atmosphere, without any patients… I look down, and notice I’m sitting on a silver table, like one they put the bodies on. Except that I’m very much awake and alive, and not naked nor covered by just a sheet like I’d imagine a corpse to be. Instead, I’m actually wearing a long-sleeved black dress I’ve never seen before…

“What the…”

“Seems like you’re a quick one,” says the guy in the doctor outfit. “Yes, this is a morgue. Your death was pronounced at thirty-four minutes past one this morning, and it’s now… ten in the evening.”

“My… death? But I’m not…”

“Oh, no, you’re dead. According to the humans standard, you were dead the minute your heart stopped beating, although you were formally pronounced dead a few minutes later. But you did die at around one o’clock this morning.”

no

all this time, staring at me like a proud father looking at his child, which seems incredibly strange given the situation. I don’t understand anything that’s going on. Not only do I feel… extremely weird, but those two are making it even more uncomfortable. There’s a man in a white coat giving me a lecture about my supposed death right now, and another staring at me with… a creepy expression. What the heck is

Asks the creepy

got a British accent… Or is it Scottish? His blue eyes look as if he’s scanning me. I slowly shake my

hell, and… I’m feeling somewhat sick. Nauseous. But… who the heck are

Richard,” says the

guy behind him waves with a bored

two-day beard. I turn my eyes to Richard. I feel such a strange… sensation towards him. As if I know him, like a long-lost parent. Have I met him before? Even if my mind wasn’t so fuzzy, I don’t think I could remember. No, I wouldn’t have forgotten someone with such a strong… aura. I’m attracted to his eyes every time I try to look elsewhere. He

eyes still

throat hurts,”

drink, and it’s… strangely filling. It tastes vaguely familiar, a bit sweet and salty at the same time. I frown. The smell is… a bit off. Or perhaps because it’s new. I drink, I keep drinking. No, I just can’t stop myself. I push all my thoughts aside and drink more

“…Good girl.”

a bit, I feel a bit better, but also… even more confused. He’s visibly the man in charge, so I turn to him for answers. The nausea’s getting worse, but I try to

on?” I mutter.

“Do you remember?”

slowly pulls down my sleeve, revealing the blood-stained bandages around my wrists… I shiver. I remember. Vaguely, but I have a feeling. The pain, the loneliness. The rain against the windows, the neon lights from the billboards, and the darkness of my room… The bathtub overflowing. The lukewarm water, and that pain… The one in my chest, deeper and worse than the one dripping down my wrists. …It’s like a

“I… I…”

to kill myself. No… I fucking did. I grab my other sleeve, to find the same bandage, the same blood stains on the other side. Ice runs down my spine,

“Hera.”

his blue eyes again. He smiles, with a hint of warmth, but more importantly,

child,” he mutters. “You will be alright. This is

What did

I start to feel… sleepy. Why am I

feel better when you wake up

have no choice but to obey. My whole self dives into sleep before I can resist

slept… I’m not in a proper bed either, but leaning in a comfy leather armchair, a blanket covering me. There’s a strange, heavy buzzing in the background. I grimace. I’m still feeling crappy, but it’s a bit

“Good evening, darling.”

my head. In the seat facing me, Richard Heartgraves, again. He’s looking at me with that

I mutter. “Where…

the Atlantic ocean,” he says, glancing outside. “We will land in London in a

frown. “Why

“Is there a problem?”

a dream, or in a weird daze. I look down, to notice I’m still wearing the same black dress as before. It looks simple, but I can tell when a piece of fabric is expensive. That kind of lace and embroidered top isn’t one you’ll

I finally ask. “Why… Why did

questions, and about as many wild guesses floating in

save

he smiles. “I only took

way of saying it, but he’s obviously avoiding my real meaning… My eyes fall

wine that I drank earlier, was

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