I’m Richard Whitney’s secretary. And his fiancée. At the office, our relationship was a secret he insisted on keeping. Yet, he had no problem taking me home to meet his parents. That all changed the night I saw him cornering his sister-in-law, his eyes red-rimmed and his voice trembling with a raw, desperate rasp. "Serena, doesn't it bother you at all?" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "If you don't come back to me, I'm really going to marry her." In that single moment, everything clicked into place. I finally understood why, six months ago, when I’d tumbled thirty feet from a ski lift, Richard hadn't shed a single tear. It wasn't that he couldn't cry. He just didn't waste his tears on someone who didn't matter. I slipped the ring off my finger. "The wedding," I said, my voice steady, "is off." 1 At the firm, only Richard’s personal assistant, Leo, knew about us. No one else had a clue. As the workday was ending, a message from Leo popped up on my screen: 【Sophie, Mr. Whitney says you're expected at the family estate for dinner tonight.】 I typed back a quick reply: 【OK.】 I waited for an hour in the biting wind beneath our office tower, but Richard never showed. The cold seeped into my bones, and I started to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, I gave in and called him. "Are you on your way?" A woman's voice, warm and gentle, answered instead. "Hello, Richard's driving right now. I'll have him call you back when he can." I stood there, stunned, before the line went dead with a soft click. I ended up hailing a cab to the Whitney family’s estate. When his parents saw me, their faces broke into wide, welcoming smiles. This wasn’t my first time meeting them. The Whitneys were a prominent family; his father was a business magnate, and his mother a university professor. They were the very definition of old-world class. I remembered how nervous I’d been the first time Richard brought me here, half-expecting a scene from a movie where his parents would offer me a check to disappear from his life. But they were nothing like that. His mother was kind and gracious, never once looking down on my middle-class background or my parents. "Sophie, dear," Mrs. Whitney said, taking my hand. "Where's Richard? Didn't you two come together?" Before I could answer, he walked through the door. And he wasn't alone. A woman stood beside him, her smile as gentle as the voice I'd heard on the phone. "Mom, Dad," she said softly. I saw Mrs. Whitney’s eyes flicker between the two of them. A frown creased her brow for a fleeting second before she smoothed it over with a polite smile. "You're here." The woman slipped off her wool coat, and Richard caught it in a practiced motion, hanging it on the rack by the door. The gesture was fluid, seamless—a silent choreography they’d performed a thousand times. It was a level of intimacy Richard and I had never managed to achieve in three years together. For a moment, the woman seemed startled that he'd taken her coat. Richard just shrugged, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. "What's wrong?" She shook her head, her smile returning. "Nothing." Mrs. Whitney squeezed my hand, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes as she made the introduction. "Sophie, this is Richard's older brother's... wife. Her name is Serena." The moment she said it, Richard’s expression darkened. He was clearly unhappy with that description. "You know," his mother added quietly, "Richard's brother passed away." Later, when Richard and I were alone in the washroom, I finally asked him. "Why didn't you pick me up tonight?" He kept his head down, slowly washing his long, elegant hands under the running water. His voice was a low murmur. "The office is full of people. Did you really want our colleagues to see?" he asked, glancing at me through the mirror, his gaze cool and distant. Sometimes I felt like Richard and I deserved an Oscar. Three years together, and none of our coworkers had even a whisper of suspicion. Was he that good of an actor, or was I? At the dinner table, Mrs. Whitney brought out a large platter of grilled shrimp and placed it right in front of Serena. "Go on, Serena, eat up." Serena’s smile faltered, her chopsticks hovering awkwardly in mid-air. Without a word, Richard reached over and moved the platter to the other side of the table. "You're allergic," he stated quietly, his tone firm. "You can't have this." Mrs. Whitney laughed, a little flustered. "Oh, you're allergic to shellfish, Serena? I had no idea." The rest of the meal passed in a heavy silence. 2 I woke in the middle of the night to an empty space beside me. Richard was gone. I padded downstairs for a glass of water, only to freeze at the sight of two figures tangled in the shadows of the living room. The moonlight streaming through the window cast a silvery glow, illuminating Richard’s tall, lean frame. He was advancing on her, step by step, until he had her pinned against the wall, his head bowed as he stared down at her. I dug my nails into my palm, trying to convince myself this was just a nightmare. But the sharp sting of pain was all too real. In the dim light, I could see his face clearly now. The corners of his eyes were glistening, the rims red and raw. He was crying. The woman trapped against the wall was Serena. She looked like she’d been crying, too; a single tear clung to the edge of her eye. Richard raised a hand, his touch impossibly gentle as he brushed it away with his thumb. His voice was a broken, hoarse whisper. "Serena, are you leaving again? Why can't you just look back at me? If you don't... I'm really going to marry her." She didn't answer directly. Her shoulders trembled as a quiet sob escaped her. "Richard, I'm cold." Instantly, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Then his eyes fell to her bare feet. He knelt without a second thought, retrieving a pair of plush slippers from the nearby cabinet and sliding them onto her feet. Those were my slippers. The ones I’d brought to the Whitney's house. A sudden chill ran through me, and I looked down to realize I was barefoot, too. This was the first time I had ever seen Richard cry. Not in three years. Not on the anniversary of his brother's death, when he'd just sat in silence, downing glass after glass of whiskey. Not when our company was nearly ruined by a traitor from within, which he handled with cold, calculating calm. And not last year, when I'd fallen from a ski lift and broken my leg. He’d rushed to the hospital, a flash of panic in his eyes that was gone as quickly as it came. He'd only stayed for a few hours before he had to leave, a frantic look on his face I’d never seen before. He, the man who was never rattled, had been completely thrown by a single phone call. He'd been in such a hurry that he’d knocked my water glass off the table on his way out. And now, here he was, weeping as he begged Serena to come back to him. I wiped away my own tears, my fingers fumbling for the ring on my hand. I twisted it off and shoved it into my pocket. When I got back to the bedroom, Richard still hadn't returned. I remembered that Serena and I had exchanged numbers at dinner. I pulled up her social media profile. It was sparse, not like my constant stream of updates. I only ever posted so much in the hopes of catching his attention. I scrolled back, my heart pounding. I knew the exact date of my accident last year—it was my birthday. When I saw Serena had posted on that same day, I zoomed in. Her location was tagged in Mexico City. The caption read: 【Almost got mugged, that was terrifying.】 And in the corner of the photo, just visible, was the sleeve of a man's suit. Richard's suits were all custom-made, with his initials stitched into the cuffs. I was sure it was him. So that was it. The reason he’d lost his composure, abandoned me in the hospital on my birthday, and flown halfway across the world was because Serena had almost been robbed. My fingers closed around the cold metal of the ring in my pocket, my heart sinking like a stone. Even our engagement, I realized, was just another move in his desperate game to win her back. 3 I drifted through the night in a haze of restless sleep. When I got to the office the next morning, the receptionists swarmed me. "Sophie, did you see?" one of them whispered excitedly. I followed their gaze out the glass entrance. A sudden snowstorm had descended upon the city, and people were scurrying for cover. Richard’s car pulled up to the curb. He got out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door, instinctively placing a hand on the top of the doorframe to protect the woman’s head as she stepped out. It was Serena. I hadn’t asked Richard for a ride that morning. I knew what he would have said. There are too many people at the office. We agreed to keep it quiet. "Wow, is the queen of the castle finally making an appearance?" another colleague gushed. "Come on, Sophie, spill. Do you have any inside scoop? I heard Mr. Whitney is getting married soon." I forced a smile. "I guess so." At the mention of marriage, she turned to me. "Hey, didn't your boyfriend just propose to you? You posted a picture of the ring. How come you're not wearing it today?" I glanced at my bare hand. "We called it off." Her jaw dropped. Across the lobby, Richard’s normally cool, detached expression was alive with warmth, a warmth I now realized he reserved only for Serena. He handed the keys to the valet and opened a large black umbrella, tilting it entirely over her head. The delicate snowflakes began to gather on his own shoulders, a dusting of white against his dark coat. He noticed our huddle and his gaze swept over us, his eyes turning instantly cold—a world away from the look he gave Serena. His expression hardened as he took in the scene. Our eyes met for a long, silent moment. His held nothing. No recognition, no warmth, no emotion at all. "Don't you have work to do, Ms. Campbell?" he asked, his voice sharp as he glanced at his watch. "You're ten minutes late. That's your attendance bonus gone. Meeting in one hour." The group scattered instantly. One of my colleagues muttered under her breath as she walked away, "It's true what they say. The richer the man, the more devoted he is." I lowered my head to my desk and let out a soft, bitter laugh. Right. Pining after his sister-in-law for seven years. How could that not be called devotion? The meeting was in an hour, and I had to prepare. I gathered the materials, confirmed the schedule, and coordinated with the department heads. Once everything was set, I noticed the water cooler was empty. I wrestled the heavy, empty jug off the dispenser. Just as I was about to hoist the new one into place, a hand shot out. Richard was there, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the pale skin and the faint ripple of muscle. "I'll get it," he said. Ignoring him, I gritted my teeth, put all my strength into it, and heaved the heavy jug onto the machine myself. He watched me, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Every year, CHE Group restructured its staff. The executive positions were stable, but for everyone else, it was a brutal competition of performance reviews and evaluations. Just as Richard left, I received a notification. I was being put on the spot. In the upcoming meeting, I would have to compete against a new candidate for my position. I couldn't believe it. I had no time to process it before the meeting began. The topic was one Richard himself had chosen. I took a deep breath and stood before the board table, my hands trembling slightly. After I finished my presentation, Richard fired off a series of sharp, incisive questions that left me fumbling for answers. Serena, on the other hand, was flawless. Her responses were polished, confident, and far more sophisticated than mine. Richard leaned back in his chair, his long legs crossed, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He narrowed his eyes. "Sophie," he said, his voice carrying across the silent room, "you've been here for three years, and you can't even outperform a newcomer." The words were a physical blow. He showed me no mercy. The quiet whispers in the room died instantly. In that moment, I felt like we were from two different worlds. He sat there, a king on his throne, capable of dismantling my entire career with a few careless words. It was just like our relationship. He was always the one in control, both in the boardroom and the bedroom. His words had a way of cutting straight to the bone. I remembered two years ago when I failed my first promotion review. I was a mess, crying and laughing at the same time, desperate for his comfort. All he said was, "Sophie, this is how the world works. If you're not good enough, you'll be replaced." I stopped crying and looked at him. "But I'm your girlfriend. Can't you pull some strings?" A faint smirk played on his lips, but he said nothing. That was the first lesson he taught me about our relationship. Richard was ruthless in business. He acted with a certain degree of warmth, but it was measured and sparse. He never let emotion cloud his judgment, and he certainly wouldn't bend the rules just because I was his girlfriend. I took what he taught me and applied it. I worked harder, and eventually, I earned my promotion and raise. 4 This time, after failing the assessment, I didn't shed a single tear. After the meeting, Leo, Richard’s assistant, introduced us with his usual professional smile. "This is Serena. This is Sophie. Sophie, the competition is fierce this year. Serena just returned from our New York office; she's a real powerhouse." Serena extended a hand, her eyes glinting with a confidence that bordered on triumphant. "It's a pleasure to be competing with you," she said, her tone syrupy sweet. "You'd better bring your A-game." That evening, the team organized a welcome party for Serena. After a few drinks, everyone was feeling loose. I stepped out to the restroom and tried calling Richard. The line was busy. I tried again and again, but it never went through. I gave up. From a stall, I could hear Serena’s voice, her words slurred and thick with emotion. She was on the phone, her voice a small, tearful whine. "Why aren't you here yet? Don't you want me anymore?" A few minutes later, a black G-Wagon materialized out of the darkness. Richard stepped out and walked toward a tipsy Serena. When she saw him, her expression went from dazed to desperate, and she stumbled into his arms, sobbing. "It's okay," he murmured, holding her close. "I'm here now." As a chorus of whispers and gasps erupted from our colleagues, Richard looked up. Our eyes met across the parking lot. He helped Serena into the car, then turned and strode over to me, grabbing my arm. "Let's go, Sophie. Get in." I pulled my arm away and smiled politely. "No, thank you. I wouldn't want to intrude."
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