Chapter 1: The Letter That Changed Everything

At thirty, I was sitting in my office, the scent of burnt coffee lingering in the air and the low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, getting ready to resign. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, the familiar aroma of paper and printer ink grounding me in the moment. With that, the secret, aching crush I’d carried for years was about to come to an end—and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let it go.

I’d spent five years clawing my way up from Mason Caldwell’s assistant to his chief secretary. Then, for another three years, I made myself indispensable—his right hand, his problem solver, the person he relied on even when he didn’t want to admit it. Each year had blurred into the next, my hopes tangled up in the routine.

In the end, my resignation letter came together in five shaky minutes—my hands trembling as I typed, my breath catching every time I hesitated over a word. Sending it took only a second, but that click felt like jumping off a cliff.

The words glowed on my screen, sharp and final, like a verdict. I leaned back in my chair, listening to the whir of my computer’s fan and the distant chatter from the break room. My heart thudded in my chest—a strange mix of relief and grief. I glanced around: a coffee mug with a faded logo, sticky notes curling at the edges, a desktop photo of my old tabby cat. Years of trying to matter in a world that always kept me at arm’s length.

For a long moment, I just sat there, letting it all sink in. What was I supposed to do now? Was this really how my story ended?

When I handed in my resignation letter, Mason Caldwell frowned—his brow furrowing, lips pressed into a tight line. He looked up at me, his gaze steady and searching, and I felt the familiar knot of tension coil in my stomach.

He didn’t speak right away. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, the air in his office thick with the scent of cedar and old books. Leather chairs gleamed in the corner, shelves lined with law journals and a panoramic window framing the city skyline. Outside, horns blared and sirens wailed, but in here, time seemed to stop.

He finally broke the silence, voice low but direct. “So, what’s going on?”

I dropped my eyes, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve. My mouth felt dry, but I forced a smile anyway, the kind that never quite reached my eyes.

“I’m thirty now, and I feel like it’s time to settle down.”

I hesitated, fingers nervously twisting the ring I wasn’t wearing. “Not long ago, my boyfriend proposed to me.”

To make my exit easier, I told a harmless lie. But the words tasted bitter, and my pulse raced—what if he saw right through me?

Mason’s fingers began tapping a steady rhythm on the desk. Each tap made me flinch inside; I remembered every meeting where that sound meant trouble, every time he’d used it to signal impatience or irritation. I braced myself, waiting for the storm.

Maybe I should be grateful—at least he cared enough to be irritated. It was better than indifference, right?

I watched his jaw tense, his eyes flickering from the city lights outside back to me, as if he was weighing something invisible. The tapping stopped, but the tension between us felt thick enough to choke on.

After a long, loaded silence, Mason slid the resignation letter back across the desk.

“I can approve your wedding leave if you want it. But I hope you’ll reconsider resigning.” His voice was softer, almost reluctant—like he was trying not to let anything slip through.

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the letter. A voice inside me whispered, almost pleading:

*Say yes, say yes… At least you’ll get to keep seeing him.*

But another voice, cold and rational, cut through the haze:

*Autumn Reed, he’s about to get engaged. Secretly loving a man who’s about to marry is wrong.*

My hands shook, hovering in the air. In the end, I didn’t take the letter back. I let it go.

“This job is too demanding. After I get married, I want to focus on my family.”

“I’ll hand over all my responsibilities. I’m sorry, Mr. Caldwell.”

Mason didn’t argue. He just nodded, voice quiet but distant: “I understand. Congratulations on your marriage.” There was something in his eyes—maybe regret, maybe resignation—but it vanished as he turned back to his computer.

Before I left, Mason was already buried in his work, his shoulders hunched, fingers flying over the keyboard. He didn’t look up again.

To him, I was just another employee—maybe his best, but still replaceable.

The door clicked softly behind me as I walked out, my footsteps echoing down the polished hallway. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the ache settle in, telling myself it was just another chapter closing. Outside, the city looked as indifferent as Mason did—gray, unyielding, and impossibly far away.