Waking Up as the Mad CEO’s Wife

The golden light filtering through the narrow sl*t in the boarded-up windows of Amberwood Manor was the only compass Stella Brooks had left. For five days, she had been confined to the master suite. Five days since her third attempt to flee the suffocating paradise Dominic Sterling had constructed for her.

Clad in a delicate white silk nightgown, her dark hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, she sat motionless on the Italian marble floor. She reached out, letting a single beam of afternoon warmth bathe her trembling fingers.

Three years ago, a catastrophic collision on a rainy highway had stolen her parents and her life as an ordinary young woman. When she awoke from her fortnight in a coma, the first face she saw was Dominic Sterling. Impeccable, composed, wearing bespoke tailoring and wire-rimmed spectacles, he had calmly announced that her parents’ estate had been settled and that, as an old confidant of her late father, he would assume her guardianship.

In the beginning, Dominic had played the role of a devoted benefactor. But gradually, the gentlemanly mask slipped to reveal an unhinged possessiveness that bordered on clinical madness.

A male classmate adding her number resulted in a shattered phone and a furious lecture. A lingering conversation after ballet class brought shadowy bodyguards trailing her steps. A polite smile offered to an acquaintance sparked explosive episodes behind closed doors. Dominic never laid a hand on her, but the suffocating walls of his obsession were far more terrifying.

Click.

The heavy oak door swung open. Stella flinched, clutching the hem of her gown as terror seized her chest.

Dominic stood silhouetted against the hall light, carrying a silver tray. He was dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, his deep blue silk tie knotted with surgical precision. Through his gold-rimmed glasses, his dark eyes fixed onto her like a hawk claiming its prey. Beneath the outer corner of his left eye, a single, dark tear-shaped mole added an intoxicating, dangerous edge to his sculpted features.

"Why sit in the dark, my little star?" His voice was a rich, cultured baritone that vibrated through the quiet room.

He flicked the switch, and the crystal chandelier flooded the room with brilliance. Seeing her bare feet on the cold floor, his brow furrowed in sharp displeasure. "Naughty girl. Barefoot on the marble again?"

"I... I forgot. Mr. Sterling, I'm sorry," she stammered, scrambling to her feet in panic.

Before she could retreat, Dominic closed the distance, swept her effortlessly into his arms, and deposited her onto the plush velvet mattress.

"You never listen," he murmured, his fingers gently brushing the stray locks behind her ear. "Disobey me again, and you know there will be consequences."

Stella bowed her head, her breath hitching. "I'm sorry."

Satisfied by her submission, Dominic sat on the edge of the bed, pulled her into his lap, and picked up a bowl of steaming broth. He blew on the spoon with meticulous care, holding it to her lips. "Jenkins told me you refused lunch."

"I... I wasn't hungry."

"You need your strength," he whispered, pressing the silver spoon against her closed lips. "You can be angry with me, little star, but you must eat. Do not provoke me into doing something we will both regret."

Tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed the broth obediently. When she finished half the bowl, her stomach settled, but her feet remained icy. Sensing her chill, Dominic frowned, unbuttoned his waistcoat, lifted the fine fabric of his shirt, and pressed her cold soles directly against the burning heat of his toned abdomen.

Stella gasped, her cheeks flaming at the raw intimacy. "Mr. Sterling, please... don't."

Dominic merely smirked, his dark eyes darkening with an unreadable hunger. "Don't what, hmm?"

When her skin was warm, he released her, knelt on one knee before the bed, and slipped a pair of soft cashmere socks onto her feet with devotional care.

"Your twentieth birthday is in two days," he murmured absently, his thumb tracing the bone of her ankle. "My little star is finally grown up. Old enough to be married."

The words struck Stella’s heart like a death knell.

Marriage.

The horror clawed at her throat. She had to run. She could not become the lifelong captive of a madman.

Dominic Sterling felt the sudden rigidity locking Stella’s slender frame. His hand tightened over her delicate fingers, his thumb tracing the blue veins on her pale wrist.

"My Little Star doesn't want to marry me? Hmm?" His voice dropped into a low, velvet purr that made the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.

Stella was an atrocious liar. Trapped beneath his piercing gaze, her lips trembled, and she quickly turned her face away, staring fixedly at the heavy damask curtains.

Dominic did not seem to mind her silence. He gently kneaded the soft flesh of her palm, leaning in until his breath grazed the shell of her ear. A smile—radiant yet terrifyingly unhinged—curled the corners of his lips.

"In this life, Little Star, you can only marry me. You are mine. You will always be mine."

He reached out, his long, sculpted fingers cupping her chin, his knuckles brushing upward toward the corner of her eye.

"Never attempt to leave me."

"I would lose my mind. I would die."

"Without you... what on earth would become of me, hmm?"

His touch grew heavier, his thumb rubbing against the delicate skin near her temple with an intoxicating, suffocating intensity. Stella squeezed her eyes shut in sheer helplessness as a stinging ache bloomed where his skin dragged against hers.

"It hurts..." she whispered, her voice trembling like a fallen leaf.

Dominic pulled his hand back instantly, a look of genuine vexation flickering across his sharp features. "Forgive me, Little Star. I lost my composure."

Stella shook her head weakly. The physical pain was negligible; what truly terrified her was the naked, unrestrained madness burning in the depths of his dark eyes. It was a worship so heavy, so unyielding, that it threatened to crush the breath from her lungs.

"It won't happen again," Dominic promised softly.

"Mm," she answered, barely audible.

Dominic’s brow furrowed. He stared at her sullen, frightened profile, his gaze darting toward the nightstand. Without a single word of warning, he reached over, seized the fine bone-china soup bowl, and hurled it violently onto the floor.

Smash!

The porcelain shattered into dozens of jagged, gleaming shards, splashing warm broth and splintered white edges across the Persian rug. Stella gasped, recoiling against the pillows, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Before she could process what had happened, Dominic knelt down and calmly retrieved a razor-sharp triangular shard from the wreckage.

"Is my Little Star unhappy? Shall I punish him, then?"

Squelch.

With a sickeningly quiet sound, Dominic drove the sharp porcelain directly into the back of his own left hand.

Crimson blood welled up instantly, overflowing the wound and dripping down his long fingers onto his crisp white cuff. Dominic did not flinch. His expression remained unnervingly serene, his dark eyes never leaving her face as he pulled the bloody shard free with a wet slide.

"Has that cooled your anger, Little Star?" he asked, his voice drenched in gentle adoration.

Seeing her frozen in horror, he raised the bloodstained porcelain again, aiming it right at his punctured flesh. "If you're still upset... we can stab it again. As many times as it takes for you to smile."

"Mr. Sterling!" Stella’s face went completely bloodless. She lunged forward, grabbing his wrist with both hands, shaking her head frantically. "Stop! Don't do this! I'm not angry... please, don't hurt yourself!"

Dominic halted, his gaze locking onto her trembling hands clutching his bloody skin. Stella shrank back instinctively under his heavy stare, but she forced herself not to let go. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she pleaded in a soft, frantic whisper, "Mr. Sterling, truly... I'm not angry at all."

Only then did Dominic’s fingers relax, allowing the crimson-stained shard to clatter harmlessly against the floor.

"Good," he murmured, his tone as warm as spring sunshine. "As long as you're not angry."

Stella’s vision blurred with unshed tears. Her nose stung with the metallic scent of his blood, and her voice wavered helplessly. "Mr. Sterling... your hand. Let me bandage it."

A sudden spark of pure delight flared in his dark eyes. "My Little Star wants to dress my wound?"

Fearing that a single wrong word would make him pick up the glass again, Stella nodded quickly. "Yes."

The smile that spread across Dominic’s handsome face was almost blinding in its boyish joy. "I'll have Jenkins bring the medical kit immediately."

Moments later, Butler Jenkins strode into the bedchamber with practiced efficiency, carrying a leather medical kit, followed closely by two housemaids. A single glance at the blood-spattered rug was enough; Jenkins gave a subtle nod, and the maids immediately lowered their heads, moving silently to sweep away the broken porcelain and scrub the floor.

Jenkins approached the bed, eyeing the puncture on his master’s hand with weary resignation. "Sir, allow me to dress it."

"No need," Dominic interjected smoothly, snatching the antiseptic and gauze directly from the butler’s hands. His tone carried a triumphant, childlike cadence. "My Little Star is going to bandage it for me."

The expression on the ruthless billionaire's face resembled an elementary schooler who had just been handed the grand prize.

Jenkins let out a soft, internal sigh, bowing politely toward the young woman on the bed. "Miss Brooks, I leave the master in your capable hands."

Stella gave a small nod.

Fortunately, the puncture was not excessively deep, and the bleeding had begun to clot. Stella took a sterile pad, gently wiping away the smeared crimson before dabbing the torn flesh with antiseptic. Her delicate brows knit together in fierce concentration as she carefully wrapped the white gauze around his palm and knuckles.

Watching her delicate, focused expression from inches away, Dominic felt intoxicated.

If only my Little Star could bandage me every single day, he thought, his heart fluttering with dark yearning.

Tomorrow, I'll pierce the other hand.

No... if my right hand is injured, I won't be able to sign contracts for the company. Perhaps I should stab my thigh instead.

If my leg is injured, she'll have to support my weight whenever I walk.

The mere thought of her soft body pressed against his side, guiding his steps, made Dominic’s breath hitch with eager anticipation.

Standing beside them, Jenkins observed the dangerous, dreamy glint in his master’s eye. Knowing precisely what dark schemes were brewing in that brilliant, unhinged mind, the old butler cleared his throat with deliberate loudness.

Disturbed from his fantasy, Dominic’s romantic haze vanished instantly. He snapped his head toward the butler, his expression darkening into an icy scowl. "Why are you still hovering here? Get out!"

The maids had already finished cleaning and departed; Jenkins was entirely ruining his private moment with Stella. Utterly lacking in discretion!

The corner of Jenkins’s mouth twitched faintly. "Right away, sir."

The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, the bedchamber fell into a hushed stillness.

Stella, completely absorbed in securing the medical tape, hadn't paid attention to the silent battle behind her. Tying the final knot, she let out a quiet breath of relief and murmured, "I didn't do a very neat job. If it's uncomfortable, you can have Butler Jenkins redo it properly."

Dominic flexed his bandaged fingers, beaming as if admiring a masterpiece of high couture. "It’s beautiful. Whatever Little Star wraps is the most exquisite thing in the world. I’m never taking it off."

After all, her own hands wrapped this around me.

Stella’s forehead beaded with sweat. She couldn't help but remind him, "Once the skin knits together, you have to take it off."

Dominic nodded obediently on the outside, though his mind purred: Then I simply won't let it heal.

As he continued to admire the sloppy white gauze, Stella remembered what he had mentioned earlier about her birthday. Her fingers clenched into the soft silk of her nightgown, her heart hammering against her ribs as she tested the waters. "Mr. Sterling... on my birthday, may I invite Chloe over?"

Chloe Sterling was her closest friend at the university and Dominic’s niece. During her previous escape attempts, it was Chloe who had helped smuggle out keys and coordinate routes. Chloe was the only soul outside the walls of Amberwood Manor who had witnessed the terrifying monster lurking behind Dominic’s aristocratic facade. Given how her last escape had ended, Stella wasn't sure if he would still permit Chloe anywhere near the estate.

Dominic, riding high on the euphoria of her gentle care, agreed without hesitation. "Of course. Tomorrow, I'll send the car to bring her here to keep you company."

Hope flared brightly in Stella’s chest. "Thank you, Mr. Sterling."

Dominic leaned forward, ruffling her soft hair with possessive affection. "As long as my Little Star stays obedient and doesn't try to run, I will grant every wish your heart desires."

Stella’s smile froze around the edges. She lowered her eyes, staring at the bedsheets.

Obedient?

The only wish her heart truly desired was to break free from this gilded cage. Dominic’s love was a poisoned chalice—too heavy, too obsessive, too suffocating for her to ever bear.

Dominic stayed by her side for the remainder of the afternoon. He personally supervised her dinner, ensuring she cleared nearly two full bowls before finally retreating to his own master suite down the hall.

The moment the door closed behind him, Stella felt as though a crushing weight had been lifted from her lungs.

She collapsed back onto the mattress, staring blankly at the ornate moldings on the ceiling. The thought of seeing Chloe tomorrow brought a rare flicker of genuine warmth to her chest. Gathering her silk sleepwear, she made her way into the en-suite bathroom to draw a bath.

She washed her hair, letting the warm water submerge her to her collarbones, her mind racing as she mentally charted out every possible blind spot in the estate's security grid.

Suddenly, a distinct, rhythmic rush of water echoed through the wall, shattering her concentration.

Stella’s breath hitched, and a wave of heat instantly rushed up her neck.

She wasn't sure whether Amberwood Manor’s acoustic insulation had a structural flaw or if Dominic had deliberately altered the adjoining bathroom wall, but whenever he used his shower, the sounds traveled through with vivid clarity.

Just like right now.

Through the marble partition, she could hear Dominic’s deep, ragged voice—strained with raw, solitary indulgence, rough with a desperate, breathless friction.

"Little Star..."

"...My Little Star..."

"...Baby..."

He cycled through every intimate pet name, his deep baritone groaning through the silence of the evening.

Stella felt as though her entire face was on fire. The rising steam made her vision swim, and her ears burned a bright, furious crimson. Her eyes went wide with sheer disbelief. She endured it for less than two minutes before the overwhelming mortification drove her over the edge.

Splash!

She shot out of the clawfoot tub, frantically tearing a towel from the rack to scrub herself dry. Throwing on her nightgown with shaking hands, she bolted out of the bathroom as if the devil himself were on her heels.

Dominic Sterling... how on earth could a man be so utterly, completely shameless?!

He was actually...

In the adjoining suite, Dominic Sterling leaned his broad back against the cold Italian tile of the shower, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest.

Listening to the frantic patter of bare feet scrambling across the hardwood floors next door, the dangerous edge in his dark eyes softened into something almost tender.

My Little Star really is far too easily flustered.

Dominic was a man of his word.

By noon the following day, a private chauffeur escorted Chloe Sterling through the wrought-iron gates of Amberwood Manor. The only unforeseen variable was Dominic himself—who had chosen to remain home rather than oversee Sterling Enterprises.

Sitting across from the velvet sofa in the grand sitting room, Chloe opened her mouth several times to speak, only to swallow her words the second her gaze collided with her uncle’s chilling silhouette.

Nervous sweat pricked her palms. She forced a hollow, cheerful laugh. "Uncle Dominic... aren't you going to