My roommate’s cousin was the CEO of a major corporation. We had been in a secret relationship for three years. One day, he told me, “Hey, my cousin’s bringing her boyfriend of three years to meet my parents tonight.” He clapped me on the back. “By the way, when are you gonna bring your girlfriend around for me to meet?” I didn’t know how to answer. I mumbled an excuse and slipped out onto the balcony, dialing his cousin’s number. The call was rejected. I turned around and froze. My girlfriend was standing in the doorway, her arm linked with another man’s. The moment she saw me, the smile vanished from her face. “What are you doing in my house?” 1 The question, sharp and accusatory, hung in the air. Every eye in the room turned to me. Realizing her mistake, Phoebe’s tone softened, but the damage was done. “Charles? What a surprise. I thought you were on a business trip.” Under the curious gaze of her family, I stood frozen for a beat before forcing a bitter smile, playing along with her charade. A sharp pain lanced through my heart. So, this was it. I was the secret she couldn’t bear to let see the light of day. A million questions, a million unspoken words, were screaming in my head, but all my strength had evaporated. Suddenly, none of it seemed to matter anymore. “Just got back,” I said, my voice hollow. “Didn’t have a chance to let you know, Ms. Branson.” My compliance seemed to soothe her, and her expression returned to normal. The dinner was a masterclass in performance art. I played the part of a congenial guest, clinking glasses with Phoebe’s “boyfriend,” Nick, and even exchanging contact information. We pretended to hit it off. I didn’t speak another word to Phoebe for the rest of the evening. After dinner, I went home alone. I sat on the sofa, the image of Phoebe on Nick’s arm branded into my mind. I saw her introducing him to her parents, to her relatives, as her boyfriend. It was everything I had ever wanted. I had dreamed of her taking me home, of her telling her parents that I would spend my life making her happy, that I would never let her suffer. Instead, I was a rat, scurrying in the shadows. I sat there until midnight. Finally, Phoebe came home. The storm of emotions that had been building inside me should have erupted, just as it had so many times before. The familiar cycle: a tense calm, an argument, shouting, excuses, blame, and finally, the cold war of silence. But this time, I felt nothing. The fight had gone out of me. It was all meaningless. Phoebe took off her shoes. Seeing me sitting there in the dark, she spoke first, a rare occurrence. “I only brought Nick to meet my parents because they’ve been pressuring me to get married. I just asked him to play the part for a day, to get them off my back.” “Mm,” I said, acknowledging her explanation. Nothing more. Logically, I knew my reaction was perfectly reasonable. But for some reason, it made her angry. The impatience in her voice was so sharp it made me look up. “Charles, I just explained everything. What is this attitude?” Her words hit me like a physical blow. Without thinking, I shot back, “You asked your assistant to pretend to be your boyfriend? Why didn’t you just take me? I’m your actual boyfriend!” “Because you would have embarrassed me in front of my parents!” The words hung in the air, heavy and final. She threw her handbag at me, turned, and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled. The bag was a gift from Nick. A discounted Coach bucket bag from an outlet mall, but she carried it everywhere. She would shield it from the rain with her own body. The Chanel classic flap I had bought her, however, was slashed to ribbons and thrown in the trash after Nick declared it was “obviously a fake.” It was so obvious. How had I been so blind? Her first, unfiltered reaction in a moment of anger—that was the truth. She was ashamed of me. Of course she was. I met her in college, a nobody. Because of her, I didn’t go back home after graduation; I went to work at her company. She was the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation. In everyone else’s eyes, I was just a freeloader, riding her coattails. I was an embarrassment. Nick, on the other hand, was her equal, a perfect match who made her look good. It didn’t matter that for three years, I had been devoted to her, that I had catered to her every whim. I could never compete with Nick. It was time to end this ridiculous three-year charade. I took a spare blanket from the closet and spent the night in the study. For the first time in a long time, I slept soundly. The next morning, I got ready and left for work. As I was leaving the apartment complex, I got a call from the dealership. “Mr. Thomas? Your car is ready for pickup.” Last month, Phoebe had lent my car to Nick without asking. When he returned it, he casually mentioned a few scratches. I had wanted to confront him, but Phoebe had defended him, so I had to let it go and just send the car in for repairs. I arrived at the dealership shortly after. The manager handed me my keys with a knowing, conspiratorial smile. He gestured to a gift bag on the passenger seat, emblazoned with the dealership’s logo. “Hey, buddy,” he said, winking. “We put everything back for you. I get it, you’re young. But maybe be a little more discreet next time? Keep your… personal items… out of sight before you bring the car in. It was a bit awkward for the mechanics.” Confused, I opened the bag. Inside was a set of lacy lingerie and a pair of nipple clamps with little bells on them. I knew exactly what that meant. And I knew Phoebe and I had never done anything like that in the car. There was only one possible conclusion. It was her and Nick. 2 There was no questioning, no anger. Not even surprise. I removed the dashcam’s memory card. “Do you buy used cars?” I asked the manager. “We certainly do, sir!” I didn’t haggle. We quickly settled on a price, and I took a taxi to the office. As I sat down at my desk, I overheard a few female colleagues gossiping. “Do you think Ms. Branson is really with that assistant of hers?” “That’s what I’ve been thinking! I heard she personally recruited Nick, offered him a huge salary!” “Of course she did. They were college classmates, you know. I saw them at a bar together just last night!” Even though I knew it was over, a sharp pain still pierced my heart. So that’s how it was. I numbly opened my computer, but the blank document stared back at me. I couldn’t write a single word. “Charles!” Phoebe’s voice came from behind me. “You’re an hour late! I’m marking you as absent for the day.” Before I could argue, she added, “I checked your time card. Exactly one hour. According to company policy…” “Okay.” I nodded, my eyes still fixed on the screen, trying to figure out how to start the damn project proposal. My placid acceptance seemed to surprise her. She lingered by my desk, her shadow falling over my workspace, blocking the light. I looked up, confused. “Is there something else, Ms. Branson?” She crossed her arms, looking down at me, her face a mask of scrutiny. “Charles, don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” I feigned confusion, thinking for a moment. “I was late. That’s a fact. You’re following company policy, which is as it should be. I don’t think I have anything to explain. I don’t have any excuses.” My frankness seemed to disarm her. She glared at me for another moment before turning and walking away. Soon, I was lost in my work, and the hours flew by. When I finally took off my headphones and looked up, the entire office was empty. It was 11:30 at night. I cursed my work buddies under my breath for not telling me they were leaving. The sharp click of high heels approached from behind. Phoebe, having just thrown away her takeout container, sat down in the chair next to me. “Why didn’t you reply to my messages?” I opened my laptop and saw that she had indeed messaged me. “Help me with this. Which of these CPUs, motherboards, and graphics cards are the best? For triple-A gaming.” “And how do I get the RGB lighting in the case to look cool? Is liquid cooling better than air cooling?” She knew I was an expert in this field. It was my bread and butter. A year ago, I had mentioned wanting a new high-end Intel processor. It wasn’t that I was trying to get a gift out of her; it was a time when she was running hot and cold, and I was desperate for some sign that I still mattered to her. Her response then had been sharp and dismissive. “You’re not a college kid anymore, Charles! You’ve been out of school for two years. Stop thinking about video games and focus on your work!” I had tried to explain that for my work, a powerful CPU was more important than a graphics card, but she hadn’t listened. Now, I put together a list of components for her. She was thrilled. After she placed the order, she insisted we leave work together. On the way home, I sat in the back seat, running diagnostics on my laptop. I idly scrolled through my social media feed. The first post was from Nick. A nine-photo grid with the caption: “I just have to mention it, and it happens. This is what it feels like to be loved.” The photos were of the high-end gaming setup Phoebe had just ordered. I liked the post and left a comment. “Wishing you all the best.” A few moments later, Phoebe’s phone buzzed. The car screeched to a halt on the side of the road. She turned and glared at me. “So I bought him a gaming computer. What’s with the passive-aggressive comment on his post?” Her voice was rising. “I’ll buy you one too! I’ll buy you whatever you want, is that it?” I was annoyed. The sudden stop had made me hit a key, interrupting the diagnostic program that was almost finished. Now I had to start over. But I had no energy to fight. I sighed, restarted the program, and said, as calmly as I could, “I wasn’t being passive-aggressive. It was a sincere comment. You don’t have to be so sensitive.” Her face darkened. She reached over and slammed my laptop shut. “Is this because I asked Nick to pretend to be my boyfriend? Are you going to keep throwing a tantrum about this?” she seethed. “Is this fun for you, Charles? You should be thanking him, not leaving snide comments on his posts. Don’t think I’m going to coddle you just because you’re younger than me. If you’re going to act like a child, go home to your parents. Don’t expect me to put up with it! Know your place!” Her voice was laced with a final, threatening edge. “One more stunt like this, and we’re done.” In the past, I would have been begging for her forgiveness. But now, I was just tired. I just wanted to finish my work. The code would have to be completely rewritten if this test failed. I nodded. “Mm. I get it. You can keep driving now.” I don’t know what it was about my calm response that set her off, but she screamed at me. “Get out!” I looked at her for a long moment, then grabbed my laptop and got out of the car. I didn’t want to fight. It wasn’t worth the risk of her getting road rage. The second I was out, she stomped on the gas and sped away. Watching her taillights disappear, I thought about the past. Her moods had always thrown me into a panic, making me question what I had done wrong, how I had upset her. I just wanted her to be happy, but with me, she was a storm of unpredictable emotions. I always assumed it was my fault and rushed to apologize. Not this time. I sat on the curb, my laptop open, trying to salvage my work. I pulled out my phone and called a car to take me to a five-star hotel. I booked the presidential suite.
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