Chapter 2: Beneath the Surface

“Are you serious right now?”

Will Carter stared at me, eyes searching, voice tight.

My gaze dropped, landing at his waist and stomach—a wolf’s waist, arms like a linebacker, built for trouble not spreadsheets. How could this guy ever be the frail assistant he pretended to be? I should’ve known. Guys built like him are always the troublemakers in stories; why would he be any different? Besides, more than once he’d gotten close—too close—then pulled away at the last second. Was he always saving himself for someone else?

I replayed every late-night conversation, every time his hand hovered on my skin, the tension always humming, but some invisible wall holding him back—like he was playing a part. In the pale light from the hallway, his jaw clenched, I wondered if I’d ever really seen the real Will.

I dug my nails into my palm and shot back coldly: “Yeah, I like real men, not… pretty but useless assistants.”

Will Carter was gentle and handsome, so I never minded his chill in bed. But that notebook—finding it cut deep. I couldn’t stand that he still kept someone else in his heart.

Will went quiet, then dropped to one knee in front of me, coaxing me in that soft, teasing way he always did late at night. “You mad at me again?” he asked, voice gentle. “I picked up some new tricks to make you happy. Want me to show you?”

He always tried to sweet-talk me like this, and I used to let him. But now, I turned my face away, embarrassed.

He tried again: “You said you’d at least let me try to fix things if you ever wanted out. Even a criminal gets to defend himself. How can you be so cold?”

His voice broke just a little, barely louder than the distant city sirens on a rainy night. His eyes shimmered—wet, pleading, like a March morning full of heartbreak. I used to fall for that look every time. Even if he was missing something down there, he always found a hundred ways to make me feel wanted. He saw me, always. He was my flower of understanding. If not for those comments and that damn notebook, I could never have let him go.

Will buried his face in my palm, nuzzling like a puppy desperate for comfort. My heart softened, and I brushed my fingers over the damp corner of his eye. My thumb lingered, tracing the warm, salty trail beneath his lashes. The room shrank until it was just us, the air between us thick with memories.

“I’ll give you one last chance. Take off your clothes. I want to see your…”

Real or fake. One look would settle it.

The comments came crashing in:

[@BurnBookBabe]: What gives the side girl the right to see the male lead? Only the main chick gets that privilege! Watch her get wrecked soon.

[@SpoilerFiend]: LMAO, does she even know he’s gonna be governor? She’s clueless.

[u/TeaSpillQueen]: If she hadn’t thrown herself at him, he’d be with the main heroine by now. She’s just his practice round, lol.

[@DramaLlama]: Just wait—when the main girl gets jealous, he’ll wreck her whole family for his wife. The side chick’s doomed~

[@MoralityPolice]: She’s so blind. He’s flawless this round, and she’ll pay the price.

My heart lurched so hard I dropped the bedside lamp, glass shattering across the hardwood. Wine splashed onto my eyelid, burning. I stopped Will from unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes were wide, innocent, but I weakly waved him off. “It’s late. You should go back for now.”

The shards of the lamp sparkled on the floor, catching city lights like broken hopes. Will’s shadow faded into the hallway, and the room felt colder, emptier than before.