Chapter 4: Exposed in Broad Daylight

I never went back. From that day on, I put aside all the mess with Autumn. I meant what I said—I never went back to the hospital and threw myself into work.

It’s all a blur. My days blur together—early mornings, late nights, endless meetings. I throw myself into spreadsheets and conference calls, letting the routine numb the pain. My colleagues notice the change, but nobody asks questions. I keep my head down, determined to rebuild my life from the ground up.

I call HR. Again. When Lila brings a stack of organized documents to my desk, I call HR yet again to ask about her transfer. They brush me off as usual. I hang up, helpless.

HR keeps stalling. I tap my pen against the desk, frustration simmering beneath the surface. HR gives me the runaround, promising to process the transfer "soon" but never delivering. I wonder if they’re hoping I’ll just give up and let things go back to normal.

She means well, but it’s too much. Lila is a capable worker, but she’s mixed in too much personal feeling. She’s not suited to work with me anymore.

It’s better if she moves on. I watch her as she sorts through files, her eyes lingering on me a little too long. I know she means well, but the tension is too much. It’s better for both of us if she moves on.

The receptionist calls. I bury myself in work again, but a phone call interrupts my progress. The receptionist, voice low, says, “Mr. Whitaker, you need to come downstairs. Your wife’s here with the police.”

I’m startled, wondering what Autumn is up to now. I take the elevator down to find her clutching Lila’s arm, crying to the police.

The lobby is packed, employees whispering behind their hands. Autumn is front and center, tears streaming down her face as she clings to Lila like a lifeline. The police officer beside her looks uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot.

Everyone’s watching. She’s standing at the front desk, right at lunchtime, with a crowd of employees gathered around, all staring at us.

Not this again. I feel the weight of their stares, the judgment in their eyes. I square my shoulders, determined not to let Autumn control the narrative this time.

She glances at me. Lila’s face is bright red as she hurriedly protests, “That’s not true! Mr. Whitaker and I have never been anything but colleagues.”

She knows what she’s doing. Autumn, acting superior, asks, “Can you honestly say you don’t like Miles Whitaker?”

Lila lowers her head, blushing to her neck. That’s a yes.

I feel protective. The crowd murmurs, some snickering. I feel a surge of protectiveness for Lila, wishing I could shield her from this humiliation.

I clear my throat, drawing everyone’s attention. Autumn lights up and sidles over. “Miles, you’re here! You have no idea how long I waited for you at the hospital.”

She slips her arm through mine. Her voice is syrupy sweet, a stark contrast to the venom she just spat at Lila, as she tries to play the devoted wife for the audience.

My voice is low. I frown. “Autumn, what are you pulling this time?”

Her lower lip trembles. She pouts. “I just want you to come home. You haven’t been home in so long.”

His tone is accusatory. Before I can respond, the cop behind her glares at me. “You’re Miles Whitaker?”

I meet his gaze. I nod.

The whispers start up again. He frowns. “What’s your deal? You left your wife—who just miscarried—alone and got involved with your subordinate?”

I look around. His righteous tone wins over the crowd. I look around, then say, one word at a time, “That would only be a problem if the baby was mine. Did you even ask her if it is?”

I want everyone to hear. My voice is clear, deliberate. I want everyone to hear the truth, to see through Autumn’s lies.

She didn’t expect this. Autumn’s face goes pale. She clearly didn’t expect me to air this out in public. But I’m not the one who did wrong—why should I be embarrassed?

She’s losing control. She shrinks back, her bravado slipping. I see the panic in her eyes as she realizes she’s losing control of the story.

Some people nod. The crowd murmurs, glancing between us. Autumn, humiliated, raises her voice. “You were the one who wronged me first! You and Lila got involved before I did anything.”

But I know better. She sounds so convincing, I might have believed her if I hadn’t already seen through her schemes.

I shake my head, marveling at her audacity. She’s always been a good actress, but I’m done playing along.

I give Lila a nod. “Is that true?” I gesture to my intern. “Lila, tell everyone here about your relationship with Autumn.”

She tries to play it off. A flicker of fear crosses Autumn’s eyes, but she quickly straightens her back and scoffs, “What could we possibly have?”

Her voice is steady. With my encouragement, Lila steps forward and faces Autumn. “Autumn, you were the one who got me this job so I could keep tabs on Mr. Whitaker. You told me to badmouth you in front of him every day.”

The crowd is silent. She hesitates, then continues, as if the next part is hard to say. “You told me to try to seduce him and see if he’d be tempted. I thought it was wrong, but you said you just wanted to test if he really loved you.”

She looks at me, voice steady. “I really did fall for Mr. Whitaker, but he never showed any interest in me. He never cheated.”

Her voice is quiet. She lowers her head again. “HR just approved my transfer. I’ll be moving to another department and won’t work with Mr. Whitaker anymore.”

Her words ring out. With that, Lila runs off, leaving behind one last line. “Autumn, you don’t deserve Mr. Whitaker.”

The judgment shifts. Now the crowd is whispering even more about Autumn.

Her voice is small. She presses her lips together and asks me, “How did you know?”

My tone is gentle. I answer calmly, “I knew from her first day. I saw your chat history.”

She looks genuinely confused. Her eyes go wide. “Then why didn’t you expose me sooner?”

Because I loved you. I’m silent for a moment, then speak so softly only she can hear. “Because I loved you. That’s why I put up with it.”

But now, you’ve hurt me too much. I won’t indulge you anymore.

No going back. I take a step back, putting distance between us. I know there’s no going back—not for either of us.

The cop behind her tries to leave. I block his path. “You know impersonating a police officer is a crime, right?”

He pales. Up close, his uniform looks obviously fake. He panics. “It wasn’t my idea! Your wife—Autumn—she made me do it!”

The crowd laughs. He stammers, backing away. The crowd laughs, the tension breaking at last.

He nearly trips. With that, he bolts.

I tell security to escort Autumn out. The farce finally ends. As they lead her away, her eyes are blank and lifeless, lost in thought.

It’s really over. She doesn’t fight, just lets herself be guided out of the building. I wonder if she’s finally realized it’s over.