Page 10 of Alien Boss. Human Pet

“It was just a dream,” I whisper, as if saying it out loud will make it true. “A stupid, ridiculous,mortifyingdream.”

I glance at the clock. 4:03 a.m. Great. I have to be at Raekon's office in two hours, and now I’m wide awake, my brain spinning in frantic circles. I throw off the blanket and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet hit the cold floor, and I wince.

“Coffee,” I announce to the empty room. “Lots of coffee.”

As I pad to the kitchen, I can’t shake the image of Raekon’s smirk, the way his eyes had gleamed with that dangerous mix of authority and…something else. Something that makes my stomach flip. I fill the coffee machine with shaking hands and lean against the counter, waiting for the first drip.

“It’s just stress,” I mutter. “Stress and sleep deprivation and…whatever the hell is happening at work. Of course my brain would turn him into some kind of…of…”

I trail off, staring at the coffee pot like it holds the answers. It doesn’t. I’m on my own here.

The coffee pot gurgles its last drop, and I pour myself a mug, black and strong enough to strip paint. I nibble on my avocado toast, the creamy green mash on whole-grain bread feeling indulgent in the pre-dawn hours. My reflection in the kitchen window stares back at me, hair a mess of fiery tangles, eyes wide and shadowed. I look like I’ve been awake all night. Which, technically, I have.

Showering is a blur of steam and soap, but even the scalding water can’t wash away the memory ofthat dream. I scrub harder, as if I can scrub the thoughts right out of my head. It doesn’t work.

Dressing is no better. I yank on my most conservative outfit—a navy blue pencil skirt that brushes my ankles and a long-sleeved white blouse buttoned all the way up to my collarbone. The high neckline feels suffocating, but it’s better than the alternative. I can’t risk Raekon getting any…ideas. Not that myclothes seem to make a difference. His gaze always finds a way to linger, a scalding brand on my skin no matter how much fabric I pile on.

I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the waistband of my skirt. My reflection frowns back at me, a sternyou’re-being-ridiculousexpression etched across my face.

“It’s never going to happen,” I tell her, my voice firm. “He’s a seven-foot alien hunk who also happens to be insanely wealthy. He can have whoever he wants—movie stars, pop musicians, supermodels. His whole staring at me thing is probably just another stupid test anyway.”

My reflection doesn’t argue. She just raises an eyebrow, like she knows I’m full of it. I glare back, but she’s got a point. Deep down, I know I’m not fooling anyone, least of all myself.

I grab my bag and head for the door. The taxi ride to 1 Keong Plaza is quiet, the city streets a blur of neon and headlights. My mind keeps drifting back to Raekon’s smirk, the way his eyes had gleamed in my dream.Good girl.The words echo in my head.

The cab pulls up to the curb, and I hand the driver a ten-dollar bill before stepping out. The morning air is crisp, the kind of cold that makes you feel alive. I tilt my head up, staring at the towering spire of Keong Plaza. The saucer-shaped top house looms overhead, glowing faintly in the dawn light.

I square my shoulders. “You’ve got this,” I mutter under my breath.

The revolving doors spin me into the lobby, and I head for the elevators, my heels clicking on the polished marble floor. The ride up to Raekon’s office feels like an eternity, but when the doors finally open, I step out with my head held high.

He’s already there, of course, sitting behind his desk with a stack of papers in front of him. His eyes flick up as I enter, and the corner of his mouth twitches in what might—might—be a smirk.

“Ms. Christian,” he says, sending a thrill through me.

“Mr. Keong,” I reply, my voice steady despite the way my heart is racing.

His gaze sweeps over me like he’s trying to peel back the layers of my outfit. I fight the urge to fidget, to cross my arms or adjust my skirt. Instead, I stand tall, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Ready for another day of…training?” he asks, the word dripping with double meaning.

“Always,” I say, my voice just a little too breathless.

His smile widens, sharp and knowing. “Good.”

And just like that, the day begins.

The headphones clamp over my ears like a vise, and the heavy metal music explodes into my skull. It’s not ear-splitting, but it’s enough to make my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I stare at the lines of Vakutan code on the screen, my brain struggling to untangle the alien symbols.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice sharp with annoyance.

Raekon leans against the edge of my desk, arms crossed, his golden scales catching the light. “You must learn to deal with distractions,” he says, his tone as calm as if he’s discussing the weather. “I once had to disarm a plasma detonator in the middle of an exploding starbase. Adapt.”

I glare at him, but he just smirks and taps the side of the headphones. The music pulses louder, and I grit my teeth. Fine. If he wants me to work under pressure, I’ll work under pressure.

My fingers start moving again, typing out corrections and debugging the code. It’s slow going, the music a constant thrum in my head, but I manage to focus—until I make a typo. My hand freezes mid-air, and before I can hit the backspace key, Raekon’s fingers tangle in my hair. He yanks my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

“Careful,” he says. He pulls one of the headphones away from my ear just enough to speak directly into it. “Mistakes are unacceptable.”

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