Eight

Five years ago, everything changed with a single night.

The hotel suite was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and expensive cologne. The world outside was a blur—a luxurious party filled with strangers, laughter, and drinks that never stopped flowing. You weren’t supposed to be there. You weren’t supposed to end up in this room, with him.

But then…

His movements were sluggish, his pupils dilated. Something was wrong with his drink—you could tell. He wasn’t in control of himself. He barely registered your presence as he pulled you closer, whispered words he would never remember in the morning.

"I’ll pay if I get you pregnant."

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. You had just wanted to help him. But as the night unfolded, as his hands gripped your waist, as his lips brushed against your skin, something in you broke. You knew you shouldn’t have stayed. You knew you should have left before things went too far.

But you didn’t.

By the time the sun rose, you had already slipped out of the room, leaving nothing behind except a single silver ring on the nightstand—a piece of you, a memory of a moment that would never mean anything to him.

You hadn’t expected the two lines on the pregnancy test weeks later.

You searched for him, but he had vanished from your world, unreachable. You clung to the only thing you had left—your twins. The children he never knew existed.

And when fate gave you a second chance to find him, you took it. You became his secretary. You met every qualification, played every role necessary. But there was one requirement you had to hide.

You could not be a mother.

And so, for five years, you kept your secret buried. For five years, you worked tirelessly beside him, hoping—praying—that he would notice you. That something in him would remember you.

But he never did.

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You shouldn’t stop by the meeting room.

You shouldn’t look.

But the door is slightly ajar, and inside, you hear a voice—his voice, lower, softer than usual. Curiosity gets the best of you. You glance in, and your world shatters.

He stands there, close—too close—to her. His wife.

Her hands rest on his chest, his fingers lightly gripping her waist. She tilts her head, and then their lips meet. Slow. Deep. Intimate. And it hurts.

Your breath catches, a quiet, broken sound that you wish you could take back. Because she hears it.

Her eyes flick open, locking onto yours through the small gap in the door. And she smiles.

A cruel, knowing smile.

"Oh… this is going to be fun," she murmurs softly, pressing even closer to him, as if to taunt you.