Chapter 5 He Lost His Mind First

# Chapter 5: He Lost His Mind First

The next morning, sunlight streamed through my bedroom windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Evan—or Alexander, though I still couldn't think of him that way—slept beside me, his face peaceful in repose. I studied the curve of his cheek, the fan of his eyelashes against his skin, wondering how much of what I felt for him was real and how much was carefully engineered manipulation.

Did it matter anymore?

My phone vibrated on the nightstand. Three missed calls from my father, two from Mara. I silenced it and set it back down.

Evan stirred, his eyes opening slowly, focusing on me with immediate clarity. No grogginess, no confusion—just instant alertness. Another reminder of his training.

"Good morning," he said, voice rough with sleep.

"Is it?" I sat up, pulling the sheet around me. "What happens now?"

He propped himself up on one elbow. "Whatever you want to happen."

"That's a convenient answer."

"But an honest one." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I meant what I said last night, Celeste. I'm yours now."

I caught his wrist, holding it firmly. "Then prove it. Come with me to the board meeting today."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "As your assistant or as something else?"

"As my partner," I said decisively. "If you're truly on my side, help me take control of what's mine."

A slow smile spread across his face—not the hesitant, careful smile of the man I'd first met, but something sharper, more dangerous. "You're planning something."

"I'm done being manipulated and undermined. It's time to show my father—and the entire board—exactly who they're dealing with."

---

The board room fell silent when we entered together. I had deliberately chosen to arrive last, ensuring all eyes would be on us. Evan walked half a step behind me, close enough to signal our alliance but not so close as to appear presumptuous.

My father sat at the head of the table, his expression darkening when he saw us. Next to him was an empty chair—traditionally mine, though I'd avoided these meetings since taking over the subsidiary.

"Celeste," he acknowledged coolly. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd join us."

"I wouldn't miss it." I smiled thinly, but instead of taking the seat beside him, I moved to the opposite end of the table. Evan smoothly pulled out the chair for me before taking the one to my right.

The message was clear: I was establishing my own power base.

"Mr. Mitchell," my father said, eyes fixed on Evan. "I believe you have other duties to attend to."

"Mr. Mitchell is exactly where he should be," I interrupted before Evan could respond. "As my special advisor, his input is valuable to these proceedings."

Murmurs rippled around the table. Marcus Greene, still my father's most loyal ally, leaned forward with a patronizing smile. "While we appreciate your... enthusiasm, Celeste, board meetings are traditionally limited to board members and executives."

"Traditions change," I replied smoothly. "As do management structures." I placed a folder on the table. "Which brings me to the first item I'd like to discuss today."

My father's eyes narrowed. "The agenda has already been set."

"Consider this an amendment." I nodded to Evan, who distributed copies of my proposal to each board member. "As you'll see, I'm recommending a complete restructuring of the Reynolds subsidiary, including the absorption of three additional divisions currently under direct corporate management."

The room erupted in a buzz of surprised conversation. My father's face remained impassive, but I could see the muscle ticking in his jaw—a tell I'd recognized since childhood.

"This is highly irregular," Greene protested. "The subsidiary was established with clear boundaries—"

"Boundaries that are limiting its growth potential," I cut in. "The numbers speak for themselves. Under my management, Reynolds has increased profitability by seventeen percent in just one quarter. Integrating these complementary divisions would create significant synergies."

"Your management has been brief and untested," Greene countered. "One good quarter doesn't justify a complete overhaul."

"Actually," Evan spoke for the first time, his voice confident and measured, "if you examine page four of the proposal, you'll see projections based on combined operations. The potential for cost reduction and revenue enhancement is substantial."

All eyes turned to him, many registering surprise at his authoritative tone—so different from the meek assistant they'd previously observed.

"And who exactly are you to make such assessments?" Greene demanded.

Evan smiled slightly. "Someone who's spent considerable time analyzing these divisions' performance at both the operational and financial levels."

My father watched this exchange with calculating eyes, saying nothing. He was reassessing, I could tell—reevaluating Evan and, by extension, me.

For the next hour, I presented my case methodically, addressing questions and objections with prepared responses. Evan provided support at crucial moments, his intimate knowledge of company operations proving invaluable. We moved in perfect synchrony, a well-rehearsed dance that left several board members visibly impressed.

"This proposal requires further study," my father finally said, attempting to regain control. "We'll table it for consideration at next month's meeting."

"I move we vote now," I countered. "Every day of delay costs the company money."

"I second the motion," said Janet Chen, a board member who had remained silent until now. She had always been fair, if distant. "Ms. Winters has made a compelling case."

My father's expression hardened. "Very well. Those in favor?"

To my carefully concealed surprise, seven hands raised—a slim majority. Greene looked stunned. My father's face betrayed nothing, but I knew him well enough to recognize the cold fury behind his eyes.

"Motion carries," he announced flatly. "The restructuring will proceed under Celeste's direction."

As the meeting concluded, board members filed out, several stopping to congratulate me on the presentation. Evan stood by my side, accepting handshakes and introductions with perfect poise. When only my father remained, he closed the door, leaving the three of us alone.

"A bold move," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "I underestimated you."

"A common mistake," I replied.

His gaze shifted to Evan. "And you. I didn't expect such a complete reversal of loyalty."

Evan met his stare without flinching. "My loyalty was never to you, sir. It was to Winters Enterprises. I believe Ms. Winters represents its best future."

My father laughed, a short, harsh sound. "Well played. Both of you." He gathered his papers, movements precise and controlled. "Enjoy your victory, Celeste. There will be consequences."

After he left, Evan turned to me, his eyes bright with adrenaline. "That went better than expected."

"It's only the beginning," I warned. "He won't take this lying down."

"Let him come," Evan said, taking my hand. "We're ready."

---

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. I moved quickly to implement the restructuring, bringing the new divisions under my control with an efficiency that surprised even me. Evan was instrumental, working tirelessly at my side, his knowledge and insights proving invaluable.

We made a formidable team—my strategic vision combined with his operational expertise created momentum that was difficult to resist. More importantly, employees responded to our leadership, productivity improving across all departments.

With each success, Evan seemed to grow more confident, more assertive in his role as my partner. In public, he maintained a respectful distance, but there was no mistaking the shift in our dynamic. The rumors spread quickly: Celeste Winters had taken a lover, and not just any lover—her assistant.

I did nothing to dispel these rumors. Let them talk. Let them wonder. The speculation only added to my mystique.

One evening, as we returned to my apartment after a particularly successful client dinner, Evan pressed me against the wall the moment the elevator doors closed.

"You were magnificent tonight," he murmured, lips brushing my neck. "The way you handled Crawford... masterful."

I allowed myself to enjoy his attention for a moment before pushing him back slightly. "You're becoming quite bold in public."

"Does that bother you?" His eyes searched mine, suddenly uncertain.

"No," I admitted. "But it complicates things."

"Good." He smiled, that new confidence shining through. "Complications keep life interesting."

As the elevator doors opened to my penthouse, I stepped out first, watching him follow. There was something different about him lately—a possessiveness that hadn't been there before, a hunger that went beyond physical desire.

"I've been thinking," I said, removing my coat, "it's time to make your position official. Special advisor to the CEO. It comes with a board seat."

His expression flickered—surprise, pleasure, then something else I couldn't quite name. "Your father won't approve."

"My father no longer dictates my decisions." I poured two glasses of wine, handing one to him. "The board respects you now. They've seen what you can do."

He took the glass, fingers brushing mine deliberately. "And what about us? Will this make that official too?"

"Us?" I raised an eyebrow. "Are we something that needs officializing?"

"Aren't we?" He set down his glass untouched. "I'm at your side day and night. In your bed, in your boardroom. People are talking."

"Let them talk."

"I want more than talk." He moved closer, a new intensity in his gaze. "I want everyone to know exactly what I am to you."

"And what is that, exactly?" I challenged.

"Your partner. Your equal." He touched my face with surprising gentleness. "The one person who truly sees you."

Something in his words—in the raw certainty behind them—unsettled me. This wasn't part of the plan. I had intended to keep him close, to use his skills and his devotion to my advantage. I hadn't expected him to want... recognition.

"We need to maintain professional boundaries," I said, stepping back slightly. "My authority is still being established."

A shadow crossed his face. "You're ashamed of me."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"Then what is it?" he demanded, voice rising. "Why keep me in the shadows if not shame?"

"It's strategy, not shame." I set down my own glass with a sharp click. "Everything we do is watched, evaluated. We need to be careful."

He laughed, a bitter sound I'd never heard from him before. "Always the strategist. Always calculating. Do you ever just feel, Celeste? Or is everything a move in your grand game?"

The accusation stung more than I cared to admit. "You knew who I was from the beginning."

"I thought I did." He ran a hand through his hair, agitation evident in every movement. "Maybe I'm just another piece on your board."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" He stepped closer again, eyes searching mine. "Tell me something. If I walked away tomorrow—if I left and never came back—what would you feel?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. What would I feel? Anger, certainly. Betrayal. Loss. But something else too, something I wasn't ready to name.

"You won't leave," I said instead of answering.

"Because I love you?" His voice was soft, dangerous.

"Because you need me as much as I need you."

Something shifted in his expression—vulnerability hardening into something darker. "You're right. I do need you." He reached for me, pulling me against him with unexpected force. "I need you so much it terrifies me."

His kiss was desperate, almost punishing. When he pulled back, his eyes were wild. "Don't leave me, Celeste. Don't push me away. I couldn't bear it."

The intensity of his emotion should have warned me. The desperation in his voice should have been a red flag. But in that moment, I saw only his devotion, his need for me—and it was intoxicating.

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured him, stroking his face. "And neither are you."

Later that night, as he slept beside me, I noticed the orange prescription bottle in his jacket pocket, partially visible where he'd hung it over my bedroom chair. Curious, I slipped out of bed and retrieved it.

The label had been partially scratched off, but I could make out enough to recognize a powerful anti-anxiety medication. The date was recent—filled just a week ago.

As I replaced the bottle, Evan stirred in his sleep, murmuring something incoherent before turning over. In the dim light, I noticed something I hadn't seen before—thin, precise scars on his inner wrist, partially hidden by his watch.

A cold feeling settled in my stomach. What had my father said when he recruited him? Someone designed specifically for me. Someone who could withstand my "particular personality."

How far had that design gone? What had they done to him—or what had he done to himself—to become what I needed?

The next morning, I confronted him as he was getting dressed. "You're taking medication. Why?"

He froze momentarily before continuing to button his shirt. "It's nothing. Just something to help with stress."

"And the scars on your wrist? Are those nothing too?"

His eyes met mine in the mirror, something guarded sliding into place. "We all have our coping mechanisms, Celeste."

"What are you coping with?"

He turned to face me, expression carefully composed. "The intensity of what I feel for you. It can be... overwhelming sometimes."

"Overwhelming enough to hurt yourself?"

A flash of something—shame? fear?—crossed his face. "It was a long time ago."

"The prescription is from last week."

He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "The medication helps me stay focused, that's all. Helps me be what you need."

"I never asked you to medicate yourself for me."

"You didn't have to." His smile was sad, almost tender. "I would do anything to stay by your side. Anything to keep you looking at me the way you do."

The devotion in his voice should have moved me. Instead, it frightened me. This wasn't the calculated manipulation I'd expected from my father's plant—this was something far more dangerous.

"Evan," I said carefully, "I think we need to establish some boundaries."

His expression darkened instantly. "What kind of boundaries?"

"Professional ones. Personal ones. This intensity between us—it's not healthy."

"Not healthy?" He laughed, a brittle sound. "You're worried about healthy now? After everything we've done?"

"I'm worried about you," I admitted. "This isn't normal behavior."

"Normal?" He moved closer, something desperate in his eyes. "Nothing about us has ever been normal. That's what makes it perfect."

As I looked at him—really looked—I saw what I'd been missing: the shadows under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands, the obsessive way he organized everything around me. He wasn't just devoted; he was obsessed.

"I need you to see someone," I said softly. "A professional."

His face hardened. "You think I'm crazy."

"I think you're struggling."

"The only thing I struggle with," he said, voice dangerously low, "is the thought of losing you." He gripped my shoulders, eyes boring into mine. "Don't push me away, Celeste. Don't leave me. I'd go mad without you."

The desperation in his voice sent a chill down my spine. What had I done to him? Or what had he already been when my father selected him?

"I'm not leaving," I said carefully. "But we need help. This isn't—"

"If you're worried about my performance, don't be," he interrupted, expression clearing suddenly, almost artificially. "I'm fine. Better than fine. I'll show you."

Before I could respond, he had gathered his things, transforming before my eyes back into the efficient, controlled partner I'd come to rely on. But now I had seen behind the mask, and what lurked there terrified me.

"I'll see you at the office," he said, kissing my cheek with perfect normalcy. "We have the Henderson presentation at ten."

As the door closed behind him, I sank onto the edge of the bed, his prescription bottle still in my hand. The label caught the morning light, and I finally made out the doctor's name—Dr. Martin Winters, my father's younger brother.

My uncle, the psychiatrist my father consulted for all his high-level executive screenings, had prescribed medication to the man sharing my bed.

How deep did this manipulation go? And what would happen when it inevitably unraveled?