THREE MONTHS LATER

The first rays of dawn crept through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max's - no, our - penthouse. I stretched lazily, my hand brushing against the cool sheets where Max should have been. A post-it note on his pillow caught my eye:

"Early board meeting. Didn't want to wake you. You looked too adorable drooling on my $500 pillowcase. Coffee's ready. Kisses - Max the Original"

I snorted, crumpling the note. "I do not drool," I muttered to myself, even as I wiped the corner of my mouth.

As I padded to the kitchen, I marveled at how quickly this place had become home. My books mingled with Max's on the shelves, my favorite mug (a gag gift from Jean-Pierre that read "World's Sassiest CEO") sat next to the coffee maker, and Maxi Poo Jr.'s bed occupied a prime spot by the window.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, inhaling the rich aroma. "Bless that man and his ridiculously expensive coffee machine," I murmured, taking a sip.

My phone buzzed with a calendar reminder: "9 AM - Official CEO Announcement Ceremony."

Right. Today was the day. After months of shadowing Max, learning the ropes, and proving myself to the board (and let's be honest, to myself), it was finally happening. Charlotte Bennett, CEO of Pemberton Financial's domestic operations.

I couldn't help but grin at my reflection in the window. "Look at you, Lottie. All grown up and running a multi-billion dollar company. Not bad for a girl from Oregon."

As I got ready for the day, slipping into a power suit that cost more than my first car, I thought about how much had changed. The wide-eyed assistant was gone, replaced by a woman who could hold her own in any boardroom. And yet, some things remained comfortingly the same - like the butterflies in my stomach at the thought of seeing Max later.

My phone buzzed again. A text from Jean-Pierre: "Ready to dazzle zem, ma chérie? Remember, if all else fails, just imagine ze board in zeir underwear. Except for old Monsieur Higgins. Trust me on zat one."

I laughed out loud, typing back a quick reply: "Thanks for that mental image, Jean Petit. I'll be billing you for my therapy."

As I grabbed my briefcase and headed for the door, I paused for a moment, taking in the view of the city I now helped shape. "Alright, Lottie Bennett," I said softly. "Let's show them what we've got."

With a deep breath and a confident smile, I stepped out into my new world, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.

As I slid into the backseat of my company car, complete with a driver, because apparently walking was beneath me now, a wave of nausea hit me. Marcus's cologne, usually barely noticeable, suddenly seemed overwhelming.

"Where to, Ms. Bennett?" my driver, Marcus, asked.

"The office, please. And Marcus, did you bathe in that cologne?" I quipped, trying to hide my discomfort.

"Sorry, Ms. Bennett. New brand."

"Marcus, if you call me 'Ms. Bennett' one more time, I'm going to start calling you 'Lord Marcus, Duke of Driving'."

He nodded politely as I flashed him a blinding smile.

I sauntered into my newly remodeled office - formerly Max's domain, now my queendom. The scent of fresh paint and new leather mingled with the faint aroma of the lilies Max had sent to commemorate my first day as CEO. I smirked, thinking, "From fetching coffee to having it fetched for me. How the tables turn..."

My new assistant, Elena, knocked timidly. Poor thing looked like she might faint if I so much as sneezed in her direction.

"Ms. Bennett, your 9 AM is here."

"Thank you, Elena. And remember, it's Charlotte. 'Ms. Bennett' makes me feel like I should be chaperoning a middle school dance."

As Elena scurried away, I couldn't help but grin. If only she knew the chaos that brewed beneath my carefully cultivated CEO exterior.

The day flew by in a whirlwind of meetings, handshakes, and enough forced smiles to make my cheeks ache. By the time I slid into the backseat of my company car, I was ready to trade my Channels for fuzzy slippers and a gallon of ice cream.

Max's POV

The Manhattan skyline glowed golden as Charlotte and I settled on my penthouse couch, takeout containers spread before us. Her presence filled the room with an energy that both exhilarated and terrified me.

"I still can't believe you vetoed my suggestion for that new fusion place," Charlotte teased, poking my side with her chopsticks.

I raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. "The last time we tried one of your 'adventurous' culinary picks, I spent the next day explaining to the board why the CEO of Pemberton Financial couldn't stop hiccupping."

Her laughter, rich and warm, filled the room. "Oh come on, it wasn't that bad! Besides, I thought it added a certain... rhythm to your quarterly projections presentation."

As we began eating, I noticed Charlotte wrinkle her nose. "Charlotte, I..." I started, but the words caught in my throat. What was I trying to say? "Is everything alright?" I asked instead.

"I think the chef might have been a bit too creative with the seasoning tonight," she managed, trying to smile through obvious discomfort.

Concern tightened my chest. "Perhaps we should call it a night on the seafood then. I'd hate for my star employee to be incapacitated due to culinary misadventure."

"Star employee? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" she quipped, but her usual spark was dampened.

Suddenly, Charlotte bolted from the couch, hand clasped over her mouth. The sound of retching echoed from the bathroom, and I winced. I approached the door, knocking gently. "Charlotte, darling? Do you need anything?"

"Just my dignity back," came her muffled reply. "And maybe a time machine to undo the last five minutes."

When she emerged, pale but composed, I guided her back to the couch. "Charlotte, I..." Again, the words eluded me. I swallowed hard. "If you're still feeling unwell in the morning, promise me you'll see a doctor. I need you in top form to keep Pemberton Financial from falling apart in my absence."

Charlotte nodded. "I promise. Though I can't guarantee I won't stage a coup while you're gone. I've always thought 'Supreme Overlord Bennett' had a nice ring to it."

I laugh hard, trust Charlotte to make a hilarious remark even at her unwell state. "I have no doubt you'd run a benevolent dictatorship."

As the night wore on, we found ourselves curled up together, the TV playing softly in the background. Charlotte's nausea subsided, and her head rested on my chest, and I relished in the floral smell that was so unique to my siren.

"You know," she murmured, "for a cutthroat CEO, you make a surprisingly comfortable pillow."

I chuckled softly. "I'll be sure to add that to my LinkedIn skills. 'Proficient in hostile takeovers and cuddle optimization.'"

As sleep began to claim her, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Charlotte, I..." The realization hit me like a thunderbolt. I love you. But the words remained unspoken as I watched her drift off, peaceful in my arms. I settled for a quiet, "Sleep well," wondering if I'd ever find the courage to voice those three simple words that now seemed to define my entire existence.

Charlotte's POV

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear as I headed to Sunnyside Gardens to visit Dad. The familiar mix of anticipation and dread settled in my stomach – I never knew which version of my father I'd encounter today.

As we pulled away from the curb, I dialed Max's number, smiling as his face appeared on my screen.

"There's my brilliant CEO," he grinned, his emerald eyes twinkling despite the London backdrop. "How was your day ruling the corporate kingdom?"

"Oh, you know, just your typical day of crushing souls and taking names," I quipped. "I think I made my assistant cry. Twice."

Max chuckled. "That's my girl. Listen, I've got a board meeting in five, but I can join you and Oscar on a video call in about an hour. That work?"

"Perfect. Try not to conquer all of Europe before then, okay?"

As I walked through the corridors of Sunnyside Gardens, the smell of disinfectant hit me like a ton of bricks. I swallowed hard, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. "Great," I thought. "Nothing says 'I've arrived' quite like hurling in a nursing home hallway."

"Hello there," Dad greeted me with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. My heart sank – he didn't recognize me today.

I plastered on a cheerful expression. "Hi, Dad. It's me, Charlotte. Your daughter?"

Confusion flickered across his face, but he nodded slowly. "Of course, of course. How are you, dear?"

An hour later, we were all chatting away on the video call. Max's presence seemed to spark something in Dad's memory, and he was having one of his good days, laughing at Max's terrible jokes.

"You know, Max," Dad chuckled, "I always enjoy our talks. And Lottie, sweetheart, it's so good to see you."

My heart swelled at the use of my childhood nickname. "It's good to see you too, Dad."

As we continued chatting, I first noticed it - a faint smell of smoke, so subtle I almost convinced myself I was imagining it. But then I saw it: a thin wisp of gray seeping under the door.

"Do you smell that?" I asked, interrupting Dad mid-sentence.

Max frowned through the screen. "Smell what?"

I stood up, moving towards the door. The smell was stronger now, undeniable. My heart began to race.

"Smoke," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I think there's-"

BOOM!

The building shook violently, nearly knocking me off my feet. The shrill scream of the fire alarm followed immediately.

"Charlotte!" Max's voice was frantic. "What was that? Are you okay?"

"I don't know," I gasped, steadying myself against the wall. "It sounded like an explosion. Maybe a gas line?"

I reached for the door handle instinctively, then yanked my hand back with a yelp. It was scorching hot.

"There's a fire," I said, struggling to keep my voice calm. "We're trapped."

Through the tablet screen, I could see Max spring into action. He was shouting orders to someone off-screen, his fingers flying over his phone.

"I'm booking a private jet right now," he said, his voice tight with controlled panic. "I'll be there as soon as humanly possible. Charlotte, listen to me. You need to stay low, use wet towels to block the door."

I nodded, springing into action. As I wet towels in the small bathroom sink, I could hear Max barking instructions to emergency services, the sound of his rapid footsteps echoing as he clearly ran through wherever he was.

The smoke was getting worse by the second, forming a thick layer near the ceiling. I helped Dad to the floor, where the air was clearer. He looked at me, eyes wide with fear.

"It's going to be okay, Dad," I said, not sure if I believed it myself. "Help is coming."

Minutes ticked by like hours. The heat was intensifying, and I could hear the roar of flames just outside. The wet towels at the door were already starting to dry out.

"Charlotte," Max's voice cracked slightly. I could hear the sound of a car engine revving in the background. "Talk to me. What's happening?"

I coughed, the smoke making it harder to breathe. "It's getting worse," I admitted. "Max, I-"

"No," he cut me off fiercely. "Don't you dare say goodbye. You're going to make it out of there. I'm on my way to the airport now."

But as the room filled with more smoke and the heat became unbearable, I wasn't so sure. The window was our only hope, but we were three stories up. Breaking it would only feed the fire more oxygen.

I held onto my father with one arm, the other clutching the tablet that showed Max's increasingly frantic face. Trapped between flames and fate, I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle.

Dad's breathing was labored beside me, and I could feel my own consciousness starting to slip. The last thing I heard was the distant wail of sirens and Max's anguished voice.

"Charlotte, I..." And then the world faded to black.