Chapter 2: Secrets in the Office Shadows

Senior year internship.

That first morning, I was up before dawn, nerves and excitement tangled together. I checked my pencil skirt twice before leaving. That’s how badly I wanted to see Lucas every day—enough to intern at his company and blend in as just another low-level employee.

I kept such a low profile that even Lucas didn’t know I was there. I worried I’d bother him, or worse, distract him from his work.

My cubicle was tucked behind some potted ficus plants. I ate lunch in the breakroom with the other interns, sipping burnt office coffee, pretending to scroll TikTok while sneaking glances at Lucas from across the room.

Sometimes, I’d hear the other interns gossiping about Lucas. I listened, but never joined in.

The girls would chat in the copy room, voices drifting over the whir of printers. "Mr. Reed is so handsome. Thirty-five is the golden age for a man."

"Too bad he’s married. His wife’s just some college kid, a nobody."

"Why couldn’t I get that lucky..."

It stung, but I’d gotten used to it, pretending I was just another face in the crowd. That was the price of keeping my marriage a secret at work.

When I was eighteen, Lucas confessed his feelings to me. The first day he pursued me, he said he wanted to marry me. He handed me a velvet box with a ring inside, his eyes bright with hope and certainty. I’d never felt so wanted.

I said yes. Fell hard and fast.

Looking back, it all feels like a movie montage—late-night drives down Lake Shore, secret dates at diners, laughing in the rain outside Wrigley Field.

After a year, we got our marriage license. Impulsive, reckless, sweet. He loved me like a force of nature—overwhelming, direct, the kind that sweeps you up before you know what’s happening.

Sometimes, those memories make me smile—before everything started to unravel.

If not for this internship, maybe I’d never have found out about Lucas’s secrets.

It’s strange, how a regular internship can change your whole life. If I hadn’t seen the office up close, I might still believe in the fairy tale.

Morgan Blake. Lucas’s executive assistant. She’s gorgeous, confident—the picture of sophistication. She’s always with Lucas on business trips and at events. Sometimes it feels like she knows more about the company than he does.

She’s the kind of woman who drinks her coffee black and never leaves lipstick on the rim. The kind who makes people straighten up when she walks by.

Before anyone knew Lucas was married, everyone at the company assumed Morgan was his wife.

There were whispers in the breakroom, glances whenever Morgan breezed by. Once, I heard someone say, "If Morgan ever left, the company would probably collapse."

In the cafeteria lunch line, veteran employees would sigh:

"Mr. Reed really has no taste, not cherishing someone like Morgan."

"It’s a shame she left her city manager job just to be his assistant."

"Just wait, once the passion fades, Mr. Reed will end up with Morgan."

Some days, the rumors hurt more than others. I tried to tune them out, poking at my salad and wishing I’d just brought a sandwich.

There were always rumors. I never took them seriously. After all, Lucas and I still shared late-night takeout, inside jokes, and sometimes he’d whisper that I was the only one he’d ever need. That’s what I told myself—until things started to shift beneath my feet.

Until one company happy hour, when Morgan got drunk and confessed to Lucas in front of everyone.

It was a Friday at O’Malley’s Pub, the kind of place where the night starts with cheap beer and ends with people dancing on tables. Morgan was on her third whiskey when she finally said what everyone else was thinking.

A hush fell over the crowd, even the bartender freezing with a glass in hand. My heart pounded as I watched from across the room.

Morgan asked if Lucas had her in his heart.

The question hung heavy, like a thundercloud. For a moment, I wondered if he’d lie.

Lucas was silent for a long time.

You could hear pool balls clacking in the next room, nervous laughter from interns pretending not to listen.

She pressed: "If you don’t care about me, why won’t you approve my resignation?"

Her voice was tight, eyes glassy but proud. She wasn’t begging—she was demanding, in front of everyone.

Lucas’s face darkened. He answered with one word: "Yes."

Just one syllable, but it sounded like a confession. Morgan’s lips trembled for a heartbeat.

Then, looking at her, he said, "I have you in my heart. I can’t be without you, so I can’t approve your resignation. Okay?"

He said it quietly, but everyone heard. It was the kind of moment that changes everything, when you realize the person you love isn’t who you thought they were.

Morgan smiled, downed her whiskey, grabbed her bag, and left.

She walked out with her head high. The room was frozen—no one spoke.

Even the background music seemed to pause, caught in the tension.

Then Lucas chased after her.

He shoved back his chair, mumbled an excuse, and disappeared into the chilly Chicago night. The slam of the door echoed through the bar.

Everyone at the table had worked with Lucas and Morgan for years.

People exchanged glances, some sipping their drinks, others pretending to text.

I wasn’t there, but Madison—a big-hearted girl with a loud laugh, always sharing fries and gossip—secretly recorded the scene and sent it to me, complete with a string of shocked emojis.

She messaged: [Dude, something totally went down with Mr. Reed and Morgan last night.]

She loved drama, especially at work.

I typed back: [Probably not... right?]

Even I wasn’t sure if I believed it. Madison always knew where to poke.

[They’re adults, deep history, booze, confessions... and nothing will happen?]

I replied: [He’s married. He should have boundaries. Morgan wouldn’t settle for being a side chick.]

I tried to sound confident, but my thumb hesitated over the send button. Was I naïve, or just hopeful?

[Maybe, but we’ll know tomorrow.]

I didn’t know what she meant by “we’ll know tomorrow”—but as soon as I left the chat, I found out.

Almost midnight, sitting on my couch with Netflix on, Lucas texted: he wouldn’t be home, last-minute business dinner.

My heart clenched.

That familiar sinking feeling, cold dread curling in my gut. I called him right away.

No answer, at first.

I stared at the phone, thumb going numb from redialing. Finally, on the fourth try, Lucas picked up.

"Babe, my phone was on silent. Didn’t hear it. What’s up?"

His voice was smooth, but I heard the flat hush of a hotel room behind him.

I forced my voice steady, nails digging into my palm.

"You’re really not coming home tonight?"

A pause. Muffled laughter in the background—was it the TV, or someone else?

"Mm, it’s a group thing. I can’t come back. Babe, please understand."

He sounded distracted. For the first time, there was a wall between us.

I pressed, teeth gritted. "Are there women at your gathering?"

He paused, then chuckled. "No. Since when do you check up on me? Want a video call to prove it?"

I tried to laugh, but it sounded brittle. As he spoke, I heard the faint rustle of expensive shirts against hotel sheets.

In the past, when we were together, I’d always hear that sound.

A shiver ran down my spine. I could almost smell his cologne, mixed with perfume that wasn’t mine.

"Mmm..."

A muffled sound escaped Lucas’s lips.

It was subtle, but after three years, I knew exactly what it meant. His involuntary sound after pleasure—a detail he didn’t even realize he made.

Fine. I didn’t need to catch him in the act. The affair had already happened.

The realization hit like a punch. My hands went cold, but my mind felt weirdly calm.

I forced a smile. "No need for a video call... I’d probably go blind. Have fun. I’m going to sleep."

I clung to my dignity by a thread, sarcasm coating my words. My heart felt numb as I prepared to hang up.

Lucas spoke again, voice hoarse. "Babe, we closed a big deal tonight. Starting tomorrow, everyone’s working overtime. I’ll be home late—don’t wait up for dinner."

Was it really overtime? Or overtime with Morgan? It didn’t matter anymore.

I let out a long breath, staring at the city lights outside my window. I already knew the truth. Nothing he said could change it.

I promised myself: no scenes, no drama. Just dignity. But dignity can feel like a prison, too.