Chapter 2: Replaceable in His World

After that, Harrison never came back.

The apartment felt emptier than ever. I wandered from room to room, waiting for a knock that never came.

He didn’t kick me out, so I stayed put.

I went through the motions—work, dinner, sleep. I avoided his eyes at the office.

Soon, he had a new girlfriend—a young, popular actress.

I saw the headlines before I saw him. She was everywhere—red carpets, interviews, magazine covers.

Before me, his girlfriends changed quickly. Since I’d been with him, there hadn’t been anyone else. Now, I knew he was showing me that, no matter how long I’d been around, I was no different from the others.

It was a lesson, clear and cold. I was replaceable. Message received.

I’d understood that already. His laugh had crushed my pride. I no longer dared to hope for anything.

I told myself I was fine. I wasn’t.

As special assistant, I handled all his affairs, work and personal.

I saw her name on his calendar, her face on the invites. I pretended it didn’t hurt.

One day, he had me order a designer dress for the actress and accompany her to try it on. I just nodded, put on a professional smile, and got it done efficiently.

She was sweet, talkative, totally clueless. I helped her zip up the dress, complimented her shoes, and wished I was anywhere else.

Watching her cling to his arm, whispering in his ear, I smiled politely.

I kept my face blank, but my hands shook. No one noticed.

But in the bathroom mirror, I saw my face streaked with tears.

I wiped them away, furious with myself. I’d promised not to care.

I’d always prided myself on being calm and rational, but I couldn’t be unmoved.

Some wounds don’t heal with logic. I learned that the hard way.

A broken heart hurts, and there’s no way to lie to yourself.

I tried. It didn’t work.

Maybe because I never let myself hope, I got over it fast.

Or maybe I just learned to bury it deeper. Either way, I survived.

After that, Harrison’s girlfriends came and went. I bought them gifts, booked restaurants, flights—I finally learned to feel nothing.

I became an expert at compartmentalizing. I was his assistant, nothing more.

Watching him with other women, enduring the pain again and again, I made it through and healed.

Each time hurt a little less. Eventually, it was just background noise.

I kept reminding myself: Harrison Grant is my boss—my benefactor—but never my lover.

It became my mantra. I repeated it until I almost believed it. Almost.

Yes, I was still grateful to him.

Gratitude was all I had left.

As long as Grandma stayed in the best hospital, with the best care, I owed him.

Her smile was my anchor. As long as she was safe, I could endure anything.

One day, he had me sign a car over to his ex-girlfriend.

Another errand, another reminder of my place.

On the way back, Grandma called.

Her voice was thin, but stronger than before. I almost dropped the phone.

Since her surgery, she’d mostly slept, rarely lucid. I’d left her a phone, but she never called—her mind was often muddled.

I’d check in every day, hoping for a sign she was coming back to me.

This was the first time she called, rambling on about my job, hospital bills, whether she was a burden.

She rambled, but I didn’t care. She was getting better.

I thanked every doctor, every nurse, every higher power I could think of.

After hanging up, I sank down in the parking lot, covering my mouth and sobbing.

I didn’t care who saw. I let it out, every fear and hope.

Suddenly, a pair of shoes appeared in front of me. I looked up to see Harrison Grant standing there.

He looked down, impassive as ever. I scrambled to my feet, wiping my face.

I hurriedly wiped my tears and reported, “Mr. Grant, the car has been transferred to Miss Turner, and the money’s been sent.”

My voice was steady, all business. I wouldn’t let him see me cry.

He nodded and walked away. Business as usual.

He didn’t say anything else. He never did.

That night, he was different—more intense, holding me until dawn.

It was like he was trying to erase the months apart, to remind me where I belonged.

Just like that, we were together again. No one mentioned what happened before. We went back to how things were, as if those four months apart, the awkwardness, the pain, had never happened.

We never talked about it. We just picked up where we left off. Like nothing ever happened.

After that, I was always careful, never saying anything out of line again.

I learned my lesson. I kept my heart locked up tight.

We got along well. Sometimes, when he had time off, he’d take me abroad on vacation.

I saw the world, but always from the sidelines.

Once, after a hot spring soak, I came back to find him in a bathrobe, lounging on a chair, hair wet and looking devastatingly handsome.

He looked like a model. I had to remind myself to breathe.

Honestly, if he were my boyfriend, I’d have jumped him right then.

But he wasn’t, so I held back, walked over, and gently dried his hair with a towel.

I took my time, careful and gentle. He let me, eyes closed, trusting.

After so long, I understood him better. Staying by his side was simple—just treat him as a business partner, not a boyfriend.

It was a balancing act—close, but never too close. Always careful.

But that’s hard to do. None of his other girlfriends managed it. With a man like him, it’s almost impossible not to fall.

I reminded myself every day not to cross the line. Some days, I failed.

And just like that, two more years slipped by.

Time slipped by, quiet and relentless. I watched myself grow older in the mirror, wondering when it would end.

Counting everything but those four months, it was five years.

Five years—long enough to forget what life was like before him.

Now, I no longer thought I was special to him at all.

I let go of that illusion. It was easier that way.

I knew very well: he kept me around not out of affection, but because I was obedient, independent, and competent. He just found other women too much trouble.

I was convenient. That was all. Nothing special.

His focus was on work. Having a woman around was enough—who it was didn’t matter.

He could’ve replaced me at any time. I never forgot that.

As I got older, I knew I’d have to leave him eventually.

It was only a matter of time. I braced myself for the day it would happen.

But I never saw it coming.

It blindsided me.

That night, after dinner, the housekeeper left. He waved me over to the sofa.

His face was serious, his voice gentle. I knew something was wrong.

“I’ve spoken to the hospital. Your grandma can stay in the best room and get the best treatment as long as she needs. That won’t change, so don’t worry.” He said this out of nowhere. I just nodded, dazed.

It felt like a goodbye before I even heard the words.

“This apartment is now in your name. Tomorrow, you’ll receive a large sum in your account. As for your job, submit your resignation tomorrow. I can recommend you to a friend’s company. If you have any other requests, let me know—I’ll do my best.”

He spelled it out, cool as ever. Like it was just business.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “No other requests.”

There was nothing left to say. I accepted it, because what else could I do?

There were no tears, no drama. Just silence.

I didn’t know why, and I had no right to ask. He’d always called the shots.

I told myself I was fine. I wasn’t.

Soon, I understood why.

The answer came sooner than I expected, cold and clear.

The next day, I submitted my resignation. HR waived the notice period—I could leave immediately.

I packed my desk in silence. No one asked why.

I went back to the apartment he’d given me.

It felt empty, like a hotel room after checkout.

My phone buzzed. Money in the bank. At least he was generous.

I stared at the number, numb. It felt like hush money, but I took it anyway.

Suddenly, I didn’t know what to do. The future felt blank.

I wandered from room to room, waiting for a plan to appear. It didn’t.

I idly scrolled through the news—and saw the announcement of his upcoming wedding.

His name was everywhere—news, social, gossip sites. No escape.

His fiancée was his equal in every way—the daughter of a famous nationwide supermarket chain, a foreign university grad, beautiful.

She looked perfect on paper, and in every photo. I studied her face, searching for flaws, and found none.

Even I had to admit, they were a perfect match.

Like they were made for each other.

The internet was flooded with photos of them holding hands, his lips curled in a faint smile.

I’d never seen him smile like that. It was real, unguarded.

You could tell he was happy with the marriage.

He looked relaxed, almost carefree. I barely recognized him.

Everyone had an opinion. I turned off notifications, tired of the noise.

That was that.

There was nothing left for me in his world.

No matter what, I still wished him well. He’d helped me so much and never made things hard for me.

I owed him that much. I wished him happiness, even if it wasn’t with me.

I’d just been foolish enough to fall for him, and he never returned my feelings—that was only natural.

It was my mistake, not his. I let it go.

Looking back, those five years with him felt like a dream.

A dream I never really believed belonged to me.

A dream so unreal, I sometimes doubted I’d really been with America’s most eligible bachelor.

It felt like something that happened to someone else—a story I’d read, not lived.

But now I was awake. Life had to go on.

I told myself that every morning, until it finally felt true.

I sold the apartment he gave me and bought a house in the suburbs.

It was small, cozy, with a big backyard and creaky floors. It felt like home for the first time in years.

Turned the backyard into a veggie garden, started filming my progress.

I found peace in the dirt—hands deep in the soil, sunlight on my face. I started filming, sharing little moments online.

I planned to grow a channel—gardening and cooking. If it didn’t take off, it didn’t matter; I had savings and time.

Bought a tripod, figured out editing, posted my first video. People actually watched.

Harrison said he could recommend me to his friend’s company, but I didn’t want to go. Since we’d broken up, I wanted to leave his world completely, never cross paths again.

No more ties.