One Week In

The office windows stretched floor-to-ceiling, filling the penthouse suite with the soft lavender hues of an evening sky. Manhattan buzzed far below, invisible through the thick paneled glass, and the heavy door to the CEO’s office clicked shut behind Kiara Laurent with a muted finality.

Kieran exhaled slowly through his nose as he slipped off his heels the second he was alone, flexing his toes with a silent groan of relief.

Another day down. Another week survived.

Somehow, he’d done it.

Somehow, he hadn’t just survived his first week as CEO—he’d killed it.

He padded across the plush carpet toward the massive white leather chair behind the desk—the "throne," as Seraphina jokingly called it—and flopped into it with a grace that was almost automatic now. Ankles together. Knees slightly tilted. Hands folding neatly into his lap without even thinking. God, he realized with a distant flicker of irritation, even the way I sit now.

But it wasn't like it had gotten in his way.

Over the past seven days, Kieran had shown the board exactly what they didn’t even know they needed.

Every meeting, every product strategy session, every financial review—he had been sharp, prepared, decisive. Seraphina was practically glued to his side, organized and intuitive, and the two of them had already started moving like a practiced team. Even some of the older board members—the same ones her mom had warned would be hawk-eyed skeptics—had been charmed by Kiara’s poise and quick thinking.

And her mom?

Her mom had been... impressed.

Not that she'd said it outright, of course. No, her pride showed in other ways: in fewer corrections, in the slight softening around her mouth when Kiara spoke in meetings, in the way she would occasionally rest her hand lightly on Kiara’s shoulder after a long day, silent approval humming between them.

Celeste was harder to read. More clinical, more detached. She inspected Kiara daily like a specimen under a microscope—checking posture, voice, manners. Always catching the tiny slips Kieran tried to brush off. Still, even Celeste had eased a little, offering fewer of those sharp, cutting notes at the end of each day. Her approval came in micro-doses: a nod, a “Good,” a rare smile tugging at her mouth when Kiara remembered to adjust the pitch of her laugh or the angle of her wrists when gesturing.

But Kieran?

Kieran was laughing inside.

He was still nonchalant about all of it. Still thought they were overreacting.

Yeah, he was doing fine—but it wasn’t because of all this corset-and-curls training. It was because he was smart. He _knew _Euphorica. He knew business. He could have walked into that boardroom wearing cargo shorts and a backward baseball cap and still outsmarted half the old men sniffing around for weakness.

The rest of it—the clothes, the makeup, the careful primping—was just... noise.

Necessary noise, for now, but not what really mattered.

That’s why he didn’t feel guilty when, every night after crawling out of another torturous day wrapped in shapewear and satin and stilettos, he shut the door to his penthouse bedroom, peeled everything off, and spent a good forty minutes jerking off to porn.

Not even special porn. Not even “pretty girl” porn. Just the same grimy stuff he used to watch—just now with a lingering, uncomfortable awareness that if he caught sight of himself in the mirror afterward, it would wreck the whole high.

Seeing Kiara—seeing himself—sweaty and flushed with an obvious cock jutting out between soft, smooth thighs, his bra askew, hair mussed?

Yeah, no thanks.

He’d learned early in the week to avoid the bathroom mirror entirely during those sessions.

And the pills?

Please.

It had been over a week since he’d bothered with the stupid pill planner Celeste had carefully organized for him. Half of them were vitamins anyway, and the rest were probably useless supplements Vivienne had ordered on some doctor’s advice. He didn’t need "metabolic boosters" or "hair/nail support." He wasn’t some frail princess who was going to collapse without a daily magnesium intake.

Skipping them was just efficiency.

Same with tucking.

He’d made an effort early on—he really had. But seriously, nobody had noticed a thing when he’d stopped. Not Celeste, not Vivienne, not even Seraphina, who spent hours at his side every day.

He wasn't wearing skin-tight latex bodycon dresses to work—he wore chic skirts, tailored trousers, flowing blouses. Tucking was ****. Not tucking was invisible.

No one could tell. No one would tell.

Still, despite the corners he was cutting behind closed doors, Kieran had played the part like a pro.

He wore the corset every day, tightening the laces with Celeste’s help each morning.

He stayed cinched up even during long meetings when the boning dug into his ribs and made breathing shallow.

He wore the shapewear religiously, slick and compressing under every outfit, smoothing him out into the subtle curves Celeste demanded.

He practiced his makeup every morning, slowly getting better at it under Audra’s perfectionist eye. His looks had improved so much that even the women at Euphorica sometimes paused, openly admiring his eyeliner flicks or the artful way he shaded his cheeks.

His wardrobe, curated ruthlessly by Celeste, had become a second skin: flowy blouses, cinched-waist dresses, pencil skirts that accentuated hips he barely had but now carried as if he did. He learned how to move in them naturally. Walk, turn, sit. Smile a little softer. Nod just a little more eagerly.

Subtle. Natural.

Mechanical, sometimes.

But effective.

He hadn’t slipped once in public. Not once.

And the board had noticed.

Vivienne had made sure he knew: murmurs were spreading about Kiara Laurent, the poised, beautiful new CEO who somehow managed to channel both Jean’s ruthless brilliance and Vivienne’s unshakeable grace.

The members who had doubted the sudden emergence of a "second daughter" were starting to believe.

Kiara Laurent wasn’t a question mark anymore.

She was a rising star.

Kieran stared out the office window, arms folded across his waist, feeling the press of the corset bones under his elbows.

One week in, and he felt...

Smothered.

Successful.

Smug.

He didn’t need all this. He didn’t need corsets and makeup and vitamins to be CEO. He didn’t need to turn into some Barbie doll version of himself to hold the top job.

He was killing it because he was smart.

Because he was Jean Laurent’s blood.

Not because he was wearing highlighter or batting mascaraed lashes.

A knock sounded on the door—Seraphina.

Kieran straightened instinctively, smoothing his skirt over his thighs, turning with a soft, welcoming smile that came automatically now.

Ankle over ankle. Chin tucked delicately. Hands folded.

Kiara Laurent, CEO, radiant as ever.

And behind it all, Kieran smirking in the shadows of his mind.

They have no idea.

The door to the CEO's office creaked open with a soft click, and in swept Seraphina—punctual as always, holding a slim leather portfolio and a high-end tablet tucked beneath her arm.

Kieran's gaze lifted automatically, taking her in without meaning to.

Today, Seraphina wore a high-waisted pencil skirt in a deep navy that clung to her hips like a second skin, the hem brushing just below mid-thigh, tasteful but still almost scandalous. She paired it with a soft, ivory silk blouse, the fabric slightly sheer, teasing the subtle outline of a lacy cream bra underneath if the light caught just right. Her curves filled the blouse beautifully—D-cup territory, easy—and the top was tucked neatly into the skirt, emphasizing the hourglass flare of her body.

Her makeup was as flawless as ever: a delicate dusting of bronzer across her cheeks, a soft pink gloss on her lips, long lashes fanning up from her deep brown eyes. Her hair, glossy brown waves, cascaded down her back like something out of a shampoo commercial.

Kieran had learned by now that this was Seraphina’s casual work look.

He shifted slightly in his chair—ankles crossed neatly at the knee, posture upright and composed without even thinking about it. His skirt tugged taut over the thighs he still couldn't fully believe were his, the gentle pressure of the corset beneath his silk blouse constantly reminding him to sit tall, shoulders back, chest lifted.

Today, Kiara Laurent was dressed in a soft blush pink pencil skirt that hugged the slight curves Celeste and the shapewear had worked so hard to coax out of Kieran’s lean frame. Paired with it was a white blouse, high-necked, showing off her delicate wrists.

His makeup was polished but light for the day: soft foundation, subtle contouring to emphasize cheekbones, a touch of rose gloss on his lips, and a whisper of champagne shimmer over his eyes.

He looked the part.

He moved the part.

And it was almost second nature now.

Almost.

Seraphina offered a quick, warm smile—professional but easy—and set the portfolio down on the desk between them.

"Morning, Kiara," she chirped, her voice sweet and confident, sliding effortlessly into their friendlier tone now that formalities were long gone.

"I've gone over the supplier agreements and I think there are a few things we need to renegotiate if we want to keep our production margins where we want them..."

Kieran nodded smoothly, adjusting his posture to lean in attentively, legs crossed just a little tighter. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear with a trained feminine grace.

But as Seraphina started to talk, pacing slowly as she highlighted points from her tablet, Kieran’s focus began to slip.

God, she was hot.

The way her skirt pulled just slightly across her full, round ass with every step, the way her blouse strained faintly against her chest when she gestured with her hands...

It was hypnotic.

And it wasn't just the physical.

Seraphina had this presence—bright and eager but competent. The kind of woman who could smile at you sweetly while also completely reorganizing your life without missing a beat.

Kieran had noticed it almost immediately after his first few real days with her.

At first, he thought it would wear off. That the stress of CEO life would kill the attraction.

It hadn't.

If anything, it was worse.

Now, half the time she was talking to him, Kieran’s mind was running away with him.

Like now.

He watched her mouth move, glossy and soft and inviting, and somewhere in the back of his brain a door swung open and flooded him with images:

Grabbing her by the waist, pulling her close, pressing his mouth against that perfect pink mouth. Feeling those tits against his chest, those long legs wrapping around his hips.

Getting a good grip on that incredible ass—he'd seen a peek the other day when she bent over to grab a file—and it was better than his imagination could handle.

And then...

God.

Pushing her down across the desk, hiking up that tight little skirt, tearing those lacy panties aside—he knew they were lace—and plunging into what had to be a tight, dripping little snatch.

Ramming into her until she was moaning and gasping against the polished oak, right here, where anyone could walk in—

“—Kiara?” Seraphina's voice snapped sharply into his fantasy.

Kieran blinked hard, heart thudding painfully against the corset digging into his ribs.

He straightened automatically, smoothing his skirt, blinking like he’d just been slapped awake.

"Uh, yeah?" His voice came out in the soft, honeyed cadence that was now Kiara’s signature tone—trained, automatic, flawless.

Seraphina smiled a little, clearly amused but too polite to comment.

"I was asking if you want to review the budget adjustment proposals now, or save them for after the product launch strategy meeting."

Kieran cleared his throat delicately—a little trick Celeste had **** him to practice to cover nerves without ruining Kiara’s poised image—and nodded smoothly.

"Let’s go through them now," he said sweetly, folding his hands atop the desk like a perfect princess CEO.

"I want to stay ahead of everything."

"Good," Seraphina said, beaming. She tapped the tablet awake again and turned back to business, launching into a summary of the numbers.

Kieran leaned forward attentively, fixing his gaze on the screen—but his mind was still rattling, a low pulse of frustration and heat lingering under the surface.

He shifted slightly, feeling the corset creak faintly, the skirt tug at his thighs.

Focus, idiot.

He had survived the first week without a slip.

He wasn’t going to blow it now because his brain was short-circuiting over his assistant’s rack.

Still, as Seraphina's voice filled the room again, smooth and melodic, Kieran’s fingers unconsciously twined together in his lap, squeezing lightly as he fought to keep his imagination caged.

It was going to be a long, hard day.

And in more ways than one.

Seraphina leaned forward slightly, planting her palms on the desk between them as she angled the tablet screen toward Kiara.

"Okay, so first up—manufacturing costs. Last quarter, we saw a six percent increase across all product lines. We can partially attribute that to the new organic sourcing policies, but..." She trailed off, eyes expectant.

Kieran nodded immediately, his focus sharpening.

He smoothed a hand over the front of his skirt—partially a feminine, delicate motion he now did automatically, partially to subtly adjust the uncomfortable, pressing situation developing under the fabric.

The corset was doing most of the work hiding it, thank god, but he could feel the insistent poke of his cock angling up against the boned fabric and the waistband of the pencil skirt.

The tightness. The heat.

It was almost unbearable.

But outwardly, Kiara Laurent didn’t miss a beat.

"We can't roll back the organic standards," Kieran said sweetly, tucking one leg behind the other in a way Celeste had drilled into him—to minimize the risk of flashing or sitting too ungracefully.

"But we can renegotiate the vendor contracts. We grandfathered a lot of vendors into sweetheart deals when we scaled up. If we reopen those agreements, tie them to stricter performance metrics—maybe even offer exclusivity to the top performers—we'll **** them to sharpen their pricing without starting a war."

Seraphina’s face lit up, impressed.

"Exactly what I was thinking," she said with a grin, tapping something into her tablet. "You’re scary good at this."

Kieran gave a soft, bashful little laugh—the kind Celeste made him practice in front of the mirror until it sounded feminine without being simpering.

"Oh, stop," he said coyly, waving a manicured hand lightly. "You make it too easy."

He even added a soft flutter of lashes, just to sell it.

Inwardly, though, his mind was screaming.

He had to cross his ankles tighter under the desk, squeezing his thighs together to hide the stubborn bulge that was not going anywhere.

Seraphina pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, oblivious—or, if she noticed, she said nothing.

"And the marketing department," she continued, flipping to the next page. "They want to roll out the new product line two weeks ahead of schedule. Normally that would be great, but..." She hesitated, glancing up at him meaningfully.

Kieran caught the problem immediately.

"...Our PR cycle hasn’t finished warming up the press," he finished smoothly. "If we release now, the media won't be primed, and we’ll waste half the buzz we’re trying to generate."

He twirled a stylus thoughtfully between two fingers—a habit that looked casual but was actually a conscious, practiced movement now, one Celeste had taught him to appear engaged and polished without looking fidgety.

"Exactly," Seraphina said, smiling wider. "So?"

"We push back," Kieran said without missing a beat.

"Hard line. No early launch. We tease it out—more influencer partnerships, more 'leaks' of the packaging—and then bam. Full campaign launch with the media fully prepped and hungry."

Seraphina was grinning as she typed, her cheeks glowing with excitement.

"I love working with you," she said earnestly, flashing him a bright smile.

And just like that, Kieran felt the tension in his lap worsen.

He **** himself to smile sweetly back, even as his lower body felt like it was about to combust.

"You’re the best," he said, tilting his head in the playful, slightly flirty manner Celeste said Kiara should use in casual moments with trusted employees.

"And you make my life so much easier."

Seraphina flushed slightly, pleased, and tapped through a few more agenda items.

As they worked, Kieran kept up his perfect Kiara act—speaking in that polished, gentle tone, moving his hands precisely, smiling at all the right moments. His posture remained flawless: back straight, shoulders relaxed, hands resting lightly in his lap or on the desk, ankles daintily crossed under the chair.

Even his breathing was slow and controlled, despite the **** situation happening just beneath the surface.

Every time he shifted, he could feel it.

His cock trapped beneath layers of lace panties, shapewear, and the rigid corset, pulsing against the unforgiving tightness of the pencil skirt.

It wasn’t visible, thank god—the tight corset compressed him down and in, and the skirt’s heavy structure minimized outlines—but he could see the faint suggestion if he looked.

He had to resist the urge to glance down again, forcing his focus back to Seraphina's soft pink lips moving as she spoke.

Somehow, he made it through the next twenty minutes.

They covered expense reports, a rundown of the new product photography shoot, and upcoming press interviews.

Kieran contributed in that same casually brilliant way he always had—throwing out smart ideas, tweaking strategies, problem-solving faster than Seraphina could even finish explaining the issues.

This was why the board needed him.

Not Celeste.

Him.

Nobody knew Euphorica like he did, besides his mother. But nobody thought the way he did.

He could be Kiara all he wanted, but underneath? Underneath he was still Kieran Laurent, and there wasn’t a single person better suited to sit in this chair.

Finally, Seraphina closed the tablet with a satisfied snap.

"That's it for this batch," she said, stretching her arms above her head in an unintentional show of her tiny, perfect waist and her full chest straining deliciously against her blouse.

Kieran tore his eyes away just in time, giving a composed, sweet nod instead of the needy groan building in his throat.

"You're a lifesaver, Seraphina," he said in his soft, practiced voice, reaching for his glass of lemon water to buy himself a second to breathe.

"Anything for you, boss," she said teasingly, gathering her things.

As she turned to leave, hips swaying under the tight navy skirt, Kieran **** himself not to stare openly.

Instead, he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, pressed his thighs tightly together, and smiled sweetly at her back.

He waited until the door closed behind her before he let out a long, shaky exhale, slumping slightly in the chair.

His cock throbbed painfully against the skirt, begging for attention, and he shifted awkwardly to try to ease the pressure.

It was going to be a very long day.

And tonight?

He knew exactly whose face he was going to be thinking about.