Chapter 2: Truth or Dare and Secrets

On my first day at ELITE, it felt like stepping into a grand garden. The office was full of young, fashionable, energetic people. I was both nervous and excited, like I was getting a second chance at life. The energy was contagious—everyone moved with purpose. I wanted to belong.

The manager showed me around, then led me to my desk. My heart thudded in my chest as I tried to memorize faces and names. My brain was buzzing, half panic, half hope.

Of course.

My desk was right across from the office of ELITE’s Editor-in-Chief—Julian Whitaker. The universe had a twisted sense of humor. I almost laughed out loud.

Through the glass door, I could see him sitting at his desk, head down, focused on something. He looked every bit the boss—untouchable. Like he’d built a wall around himself.

He looked cold as ever. When his eyes flicked my way, he immediately looked away, as if I didn’t exist. The chill was mutual. I felt the frost all the way across the hall.

After work, Mr. Simmons invited everyone out for dinner. It was the usual welcome party—loud, chaotic, a little overwhelming. I felt out of place, but determined to fit in.

Egged on by the others, the two other new hires and I ended up drinking several rounds. The drinks kept coming, and so did the toasts. My head started to spin.

"Savannah, you’d better work hard on my team. Normally, I don’t take on someone your age." Mr. Simmons’ voice was booming, but not unkind. It was half a joke, half a warning.

My face flushed with embarrassment. "Thank you, Mr. Simmons. Let me toast you." I tried to keep my voice steady, but the nerves were real. My hand shook as I raised my glass.

As I tilted my head back to drink, I caught sight of the other two newbies. They were chatting and laughing, full of youthful energy, fitting right in with everyone else. I felt every one of my almost-thirty years. It stung, just a little.

The atmosphere in the private room was lively, but I just felt dizzy, so I found an excuse to step outside for some air. My head spun, and I needed a break from the noise. I slipped out quietly, hoping no one would notice.

Out on the balcony, I stretched and let out a long breath. The city lights twinkled below, and for a moment, I felt weightless. The cool air cleared my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a figure by the railing—a shadow, barely moving.

Yikes!

It was Julian. Of course it was. My luck, right?

He was leaning against the wall, smoking, his eyes hidden by his hair, impossible to read. He looked like he’d stepped out of a noir film, all sharp angles and shadows. My heart skipped a beat.

I awkwardly pulled my hand back and muttered to myself, "Uh, feels a little chilly. I’ll head back in." I tried to slip away unnoticed, shrinking into myself.

Just as I turned to leave, Julian suddenly grabbed my arm. His grip was firm, urgent.

His fingers were ice cold. Half my buzz vanished instantly. My skin prickled where he touched me. Electricity zipped up my arm.

Neither of us said a word. All I could hear was the distant noise from the private room. The silence between us was thick, charged. My heart hammered in my chest.

Julian leaned against the railing, perfectly still, staring at me. His thumb gently rubbed the inside of my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. It was the kind of touch that made old memories surface—memories I thought I’d buried.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but his cheeks and nose were tinged pink. He looked softer, more vulnerable than I remembered. My defenses started to crumble.

The moonlight made his gaze look soft and sad. There was a lost look there I’d never seen before. It tugged at something inside me.

I remembered how he used to look like a sad puppy in college, spinning me around by the arm. That look always made me laugh.

"Savannah, don’t we look like the moon circling the sun right now? I’m just chasing my sun!" He’d said it with a grin, but I knew he meant it. My heart squeezed at the memory.

Back then, he seemed to shine in my eyes. I thought he was invincible. Unbreakable. Mine.

No cheesy lines, no kisses.

Just the honest look in his eyes and one simple sentence—I remembered it for five whole years. It was the kind of memory that sticks to your ribs. It never faded.

The grip on my wrist tightened, snapping me back to reality. The world sharpened.

"Julian, let go—" My voice was barely a whisper.

He pulled me in, and I stumbled into his arms. The world tilted for a second. Everything spun.

Julian put his hand on my waist, pulling me closer, his puppy-dog eyes glistening: "Savannah, did you miss me?" His voice was barely above a whisper. It made my breath hitch.

The pose was a little too intimate; half my body felt numb. My heart hammered in my chest. I could feel every beat in my ears.

"Julian, are you drunk? Let me take you back to the room." I tried to sound firm, but my voice shook. He was too close. I was losing control.

"Savannah… I missed you so much." His words hung between us, heavy as rain.

"Savannah, can we get back together? Please?" His words hung in the air, heavy and raw. It was like a punch to the gut.

That sentence exploded in my mind. I felt like I’d been hit by a freight train. My thoughts scattered.

I pressed my lips together, staring into his eyes, trying to see what he really meant. Was he serious? Was this real?

Mockery? Teasing? Playing games?

None of that. Just longing. Just pain.

His gaze burned, just like before. It was all there—hope, regret, longing. I saw it, clear as day.

But he already had a girlfriend, didn’t he? What was this supposed to mean? My head spun. I felt sick.

"I—" My voice caught. I didn’t know what to say.

"Savannah? What are you doing out on the balcony by yourself? Come on in." Mr. Simmons came out of the restroom, stopping at the balcony door. His timing was, as always, impeccable.

I jumped like I’d stepped on a cockroach, quickly shoving Julian away and blocking him with my body. My heart was in my throat.

"Mr. Simmons, just getting some air…" I forced a smile, hoping he couldn’t see my flushed cheeks. My pulse raced.

Right then, I felt a warm, damp touch on my neck: "Savannah, am I really that embarrassing?" Julian’s breath tickled my skin. I nearly jumped out of my own skin.

My legs went weak, wobbling a little. I gripped the railing for balance, praying I wouldn’t collapse.

"Editor Whitaker?!" Mr. Simmons sounded shocked, but also a little amused. I wanted to disappear.

Great… Just what I needed. The night just kept getting better.

In the end, Julian joined us for dinner. Mr. Simmons’s eyes darted back and forth between us, then he deliberately rearranged the seats so I was next to Julian. As we left, he winked at me: "Savannah, take good care of the boss!" His tone was teasing, almost fatherly. I felt exposed.

Savannah? Just a second ago I was Ms. Carter. I guess I’d crossed some invisible line. The shift made my skin prickle.

That’s my boss for you. Always keeping things interesting. Never a dull moment in this office.

I glanced at Julian, who was surrounded by a crowd drinking with him, and quietly cursed him in my heart. Why did he have to make everything so complicated? I wanted to throttle him—and maybe myself.

After a few more rounds, the younger coworkers started shouting for a game of Truth or Dare. The mood shifted—suddenly, we were all back in college. I felt the years peel away.

A pretty, lively girl named Riley was great at keeping the mood up. Even Julian joined in, playing along and making everyone feel included. He was good at this—charming, effortless. He slipped right into the old rhythm.

The game got rowdier and rowdier, until things started getting a little risqué. The dares got bolder, the questions more personal. My stomach tightened.

"Oh, it’s Savannah’s turn! Truth or dare?" Riley’s voice was bright, full of mischief. She practically bounced in her seat.

I am not Aunt Savannah…

Everyone else calls me Savannah, so why do you call me Aunt Savannah? Makes me sound like some old lady. I shot her a look, but she just grinned wider. I could tell she was loving this.

I forced a smile. "Truth, I guess." My voice was small, hoping she’d go easy on me. No such luck.

Riley tilted her head, thinking. "Okay, I’ll just ask something random. When was your first time, Savannah?" Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, daring me to squirm.

I froze. The others started hooting and hollering. My face went up in flames. I wanted to crawl under the table.

My first time?

My eyes drifted to Julian. He looked cool as ever, but his hand brushed my arm under the table. The touch sent a jolt through me.

I jerked away like I’d been shocked, standing up, my face flaming red. My heart pounded in my ears. I could barely breathe.

Riley beamed. "Oh, I just picked a random question from my phone! Savannah, are you mad?" She looked innocent, but I knew better. She was enjoying every second.

"No, no." I managed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Why are you so red? The guy’s not here, is he?!" The table erupted in laughter. I wanted to disappear.

Flustered, I waved my hands. "No way, I just started working here." I tried to laugh it off, but my voice cracked. I sounded anything but convincing.

But inside I thought, you’re way too close to the truth. My past wasn’t as hidden as I’d hoped. My heart thudded in my chest.

Riley pressed on: "So when was it, Savannah?" She wasn’t letting go.

"Yeah, come on! We’re all waiting!" The crowd egged her on.

I looked around at all the laughing faces, feeling utterly humiliated, and reached for my drink. I needed something to do with my hands. I needed a way out.

Then that cool hand pressed down on my glass. I froze.

"Senior year."

He didn’t say it loudly, but everyone at the table heard it. His voice cut through the noise, sharp as a knife.

I watched as everyone’s faces went from playful to shocked. Riley was especially stunned, her eyes wide: "What?" The whole table went quiet.

Julian slowly stood up, took my hand, and stared straight at me: "2018, senior year. My first time."

"Remember, Savannah?" His eyes were gentle, but there was a challenge in his voice. My breath caught.

Technically, it was my senior year and his freshman year. But now was not the time to split hairs! The details didn’t matter. Not now.

Blushing, I looked around, unsure how to react, not even noticing we were still holding hands. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. I felt exposed.

All I could think was: That’s it, I’m done. Everyone knows. My dream job! Over! My mind spun.

The room got quieter as everyone strained to hear more. The gossip was practically electric, crackling around us.

He took my glass and finished the drink, then said, "What, you don’t believe me?" His eyes locked on mine.

Riley stammered, "How could we not, Editor Whitaker, you two…" She trailed off, speechless.

Julian stayed cool: "Mr. Simmons just said she’s a few years older than me. Did I get it wrong?" He was calm, but there was a glint in his eye.

Mr. Simmons quickly jumped in to smooth things over. "Haha, Editor Whitaker, you’re so funny! Just teasing Savannah! She is a little older, haha!" His laughter was forced, but it did the trick. The tension eased a notch.

Everyone laughed along, moving on. The tension eased, just a little. I tried to breathe.

Except me—I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles. I wanted to disappear. My skin crawled.