At my best friend Megan Johansson's insistence, I'd been roped into cross-dressing as a male assistant for a notorious misogynist CEO.

Last night, he barged into the room and found me holding a pair of pink panties.

His brows shot up in surprise. "You have a thing for these?"

I let out a sigh of relief—thankfully, he didn't seem to realize they were mine. But then he dropped a bombshell: he wanted us to live together for a month!

---

I became the personal assistant to a CEO.

My best friend Megan Johansson hooked me up with the job, telling me I'd be her brother Owen Johansson's 24/7 personal secretary.

"Just how personal are we talking?" I scoffed. "Like a live-in nanny?"

Megan didn't miss a beat. "Full benefits, weekends off, occasional overtime with triple pay, room and board included, and a monthly salary of fifty grand. The only downside is..."

"Deal! Only a fool would hesitate for those perks!"

Frankly, anything less than instant agreement would be a slap in the face to such a generous job offer.

It wasn't until later that I found out Owen had gynophobia—an extreme fear of women. Megan didn't want some burly guy taking care of him, so she chose me for the job.

I looked down at my flat chest and then at my delicate features in the mirror. With some effort, I can pass as a man, right?

On interview day, my nerves were through the roof. I felt like, at any moment, someone might demand I drop my pants to prove my gender.

Luckily, Owen wasn't too severe in his assessment, and Megan sang my praises to the heavens. In the end, I got the job and moved into Owen's mansion, sharing meals and living space and sometimes even sleeping under the same roof—though not in the same room, of course.

Life was pretty smooth until one day, I was humming a tune, carrying my freshly washed pink strawberry panties out of the bathroom, and walked straight into Owen.

My brain went into overdrive, scrambling for an explanation.

Before I could speak, Owen gave me a strange look. His face twisted into an awkward expression as he patted my shoulder. "Say no more. Everyone has their quirks. I get it."

Good news: he didn't realize the panties were mine. Bad news: he thought I had a bizarre fetish for collecting women's underwear!

Oh, how I wished I could find a plausible excuse on the spot!

Owen, ever practical, spared me further embarrassment. "Starting tomorrow, we're going on a business trip."

With a few quick coughs to mask his discomfort, he made a hasty exit.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the usually composed CEO fleeing over a pair of panties. Who would've thought the stern, aloof boss would be so easily flustered?

Living with Owen revealed surprises daily. In public, he was icy and intimidating, but at home, he could be as clingy as a puppy. With no awkwardness about gender boundaries, he grew more comfortable and less reserved around me.

Our male friendship was seriously perplexing. Owen didn't hesitate to share a bottle of water with me, waltz into my room without knocking, or lounge around in just his boxers and a towel post-shower. He even draped himself over me like a boneless cat and sometimes asked me to feel his progress at the gym.

As if I'd be swayed by such minor privileges.

Damn it, those rock-hard abs were tempting! Irritated, I ran my hands all over his sculpted muscles, giving them a thorough exploration.

Megan assured me that Owen was only intimidating on the surface; once one got to know him, he was easygoing. But she also warned me sternly not to let him discover my true gender.

I swore, "Don't worry. I wouldn't risk losing such a good gig."

After a bit more banter, we ended the call, and I heaved a long sigh before heading to the bathroom.

Cameron, oh Cameron, how long are you planning to keep up this masquerade as a man? Are you really going to be Owen's "bro" for the rest of your life?

But then again, it was not like I could get this close to him if I weren't playing the role. I had to keep telling myself to stick with it and make the best of the situation.

But the unexpected hit fast.

On the first day of our business trip, we ran into a major snag. The hotel messed up our reservation, leaving us with just one king-size bed. As I was debating whether to sleep in the lobby, Owen draped his arm over my shoulder and said, "It's just for one night. Let's share the bed."

My heart skipped a beat. This wasn't exactly something I could just "make do" with. What if my cover is blown right then and there?

Maybe my shock showed too clearly. Owen shrugged nonchalantly. "We're buddies, right? Isn't there anything I have that you don't?"

I nervously touched my nose, thinking, Well, I certainly don't have your… you-know-what!

That night, clutching a pillow and feeling awkward, I stood by the bed. Owen, in his loose bathrobe, patted the spot next to him and said, "Come on, are you afraid I'm going to bite?"

I shot him a fierce glare, thinking, No way am I losing to you. You brought this on yourself.

In a swift move, I jumped onto the bed, and while Owen was still processing, I tackled him and straddled his waist.

Owen, caught off guard, found himself pinned beneath me. He worked out regularly, so even though he looked lean, he had a set of impressive abs beneath his clothes. As I sat on his waist, I could feel those hard, defined muscles beneath my palms. I instinctively ran my hands over his abs; they were chiseled and firm, with a pronounced V-line disappearing into the waistband of his shorts.

Just as I was getting absorbed in the sensation, I felt him shifting uncomfortably.

Oh no, have I overstepped?

Panicking, I tried to get off him, but he grabbed my waist, his eyes blazing with intensity. His face flushed deeply as he snarled through gritted teeth, "Don't move!"

Honestly, I hadn't expected him to react so strongly! I was just sitting on him, and he was already showing a reaction!

To avoid blowing my cover, I had to freeze, sitting rigidly on top of him. The unexpected reaction clearly hit Owen hard, too.

In the dimly lit room, I could hear his rapid breaths and my own heartbeat pounding loudly.

He was reacting to a "man," while I was terrified of revealing my secret if I moved wrongly.

We stared at each other awkwardly in our uncomfortable positions. After a long moment, I decided to break the tension.

I nervously ventured, "You know, it's not shameful to like men. I won't tell anyone, you have my word."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I heard Owen's angry retort, "If you say another word, I'll make sure you regret it."

He took several deep breaths to calm down, his hand gradually loosening its grip on my waist. When he finally released me, I felt a mix of disappointment and relief. I carefully slid off him, trying not to accidentally touch anything I shouldn't, fearing it might rekindle his anger.

Now, neither of us dared to speak.

In the enveloping darkness, I attempted to ease the awkwardness and comfort him, saying, "Honestly, liking men is nothing to be ashamed of. You have nothing to worry about from me."

Before I could finish, Owen's voice, low and menacing, came from behind me. "If you keep talking, I swear I'll take care of you myself."

I froze in fear, "It's fine if you like men, but liking me is a whole different story."

"Why not? Do you have some surprise I don't know about?"

As he spoke, his hand suddenly reached around my waist, tugging at the hem of my thermal underwear, and then his fingers unceremoniously slipped inside.

I felt sweat forming on my forehead in my nervousness. "Please… stop…"

Unmoved, he continued, his fingers lightly pinching my side, with a smirk in his voice, "Soft, isn't it?"

The sensation made my waist tingle uncontrollably, and I couldn't help but clamp my legs together. His hand kept moving, slowly traveling upward…

I could see that as he moved up, my gender was about to be exposed.

A cold sweat broke out on me, and I was trembling slightly.

He paused, his movements stopping abruptly.

"Why so nervous? It's not like I'm a woman or anything," he said casually.

The mention of "woman" made my heart skip a beat. But his tone was so nonchalant; it was as if we were just discussing dinner options at the office—there was no hint of anything unusual in his demeanor.

I tried to reason with him. "Mr. Johansson, I'm sorry. Please, just..."

Before I could finish, I felt a chill at my waist as my soft belly was exposed. Owen's hand was warm as he rubbed my midriff, then he suddenly burst into laughter. "You need to work on this, you know."

I quickly grabbed the blanket, pushing him away with a hint of disdain. "Work? Work on what? By the time I get it right, you'll be long gone."

Fortunately, we managed to get through the day without too much trouble.

The next day, Owen and I went to discuss a project. After the contract was signed, our partner Vincent Clark invited us to unwind.

Typically, collaborators would pick a high-end restaurant and call it a day, but Vincent, unfamiliar with Owen's aversion to women, took us straight to a karaoke bar and even arranged for some beautiful singers to keep us company.

The moment those stunning women saw Owen, they lit up with excitement and surrounded him.

I glanced at Owen's expression and noticed his face turning gloomy, his body shaking slightly. It was clear he was having one of his episodes. If I didn't get him out soon, he'd probably end up throwing up like a mess.

I quickly intervened, blocking the advances of the women. "Mr. Clark, we've wrapped up the contract. Mr. Johansson is still adjusting to the time difference. We should head back."

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed Owen and led him out.

I thought Owen was just having a minor breakdown, but to my horror, that jerk Vincent had spiked his drink!

Now, Owen was sprawled on the hotel bed, his face flushed, clinging to my waist with an almost desperate grip. He kept rubbing against me, mumbling about feeling unwell. His short hair tickled my skin, and I felt a mix of irritation and amusement.

I held his chin, forcing him to look at me. His dazed eyes met mine, and I decided to tease him a bit.

"Be a good boy and call me ‘sister.' If you do, I'll make you feel better."

He stared at me, silent for a moment. My heart sank—what if he isn't actually drunk? How am I going to explain this?

"Sister…" he mumbled in a sticky voice. Before I could react, I was suddenly toppled onto the bed, Owen's body pressing down on mine.

He was now on top of me, rubbing and kissing my neck while calling out, "Sister, I feel so bad… Sister, sister…"

His voice grew more emotional, losing its usual coldness and taking on a more pleading tone. I was overwhelmed, unsure of how aware he really was. His teeth occasionally scraped my neck, causing a sting mixed with a tingly sensation. His touches were relentless, making it hard for me to think clearly.

I grabbed his short hair, forcing him to look up at me. He groaned softly, still clingy, "It hurts…"

In the dimly lit room, I gently patted his face and asked, "Owen, do you still know who I am?"

Under the dim light, his eyes flickered with confusion before they settled on me. "Cameron…"

He lowered his head, nuzzling my neck like a tamed beast, and whispered, "You smell so good."

His warm breath scorched my face, and his voice, deep and tender, said my name correctly. I took a deep breath and hugged him tightly.

Owen was so strong that he could lift me with one arm, leaving me hanging in the air, my hands weakly draped over him. The familiar scent of mint wafted from his body, the kind he always used in his shower gel, and I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort.

My limbs went limp, my whole body felt like jelly, and my heart melted along with it. I really liked him.

I started calling out, "Owen, Owen... Owen, wait a moment..."

Look at me. Just look at me.

I heard the sound of water droplets falling and the hot, damp sensation of things slowly slipping away. Owen's eyes were bright as he carried me step by step toward the big bed.

My heart was a mix of tender, bittersweet emotions. A year ago, I never would have imagined we'd end up like this. What happens next?

How would he see me once he's fully aware? Would his fear of women change because of me, or...

It seemed like I was drifting off, and Owen's grip tightened a little. I couldn't help but clench my toes and fumble with my hands on his back. He groaned softly, and the next moment, he took me deeper into a sea of desire.

I felt like a small boat drifting on the waves, completely at the mercy of the tide...

When I woke up the next morning, my back and waist were sore. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Owen sitting not far away.

"Y... you... um..." My voice came out scratchy and weak. Owen jumped up in alarm, standing rigidly.

I thought, What, am I a monster?

Looking up, I saw Owen's face was pale, like someone who had their world shattered and hadn't picked up the pieces yet.

My heart sank as I realized the worst had happened—Owen was clearly uncomfortable with what happened last night.

Owen said, "I'm so sorry about last night... let's just... take a break!"

With that, he turned and dashed out of the room.

I collapsed back onto the bed, exhaling heavily. I thought, This running-off behavior is so typical of a jerk.

But at the same time, I understood that it was over. We'd become strangers, forever on parallel paths that would never intersect.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed urgently.

I pulled it out and saw a message from Megan, her voice breaking and frantic.

"Girl!!! You won't believe it! My idiot brother... he said he slept with a man last night!"

I was like, what the hell?