Wren

After I rushed out of embarrassment or what felt like sweet shame, I was so thankful the workers who left late did not notice me. I wiped my eyes and felt a rush of heat on my cheeks.

Was that tears of regret or something more...

I did like it, but—

And then it hit me... fuck! I had a boyfriend. How do I face him after what just happened? It's not like he was around when it occurred. But I wouldn't want the guilt to eat me up.

...He's sweet. He'll definitely understand.

"Taxi—" I hailed the cab and gave him my direction.

I noticed the stolen glances the driver shot at me. He was probably thinking I got dumped.

"Miss, you okay?" He looked through the rearview mirror with concern written on his face.

I wiped my face and calmly tried not to reveal my worries. After all, he's a stranger.

"Yeah... yes, I am. Why don't I look okay?" I queried, to be sure not to scare him—or myself.

"Well, you look like hell broke loose on you. But since you said you're fine, then that's good."

He increased the volume of the afrobeat that was playing, for which I was thankful. Minutes into the ride, I heard him call out my destination and indicate we had arrived.

I sat in the car longer than I needed to. Just breathing and hoping what happened wouldn't change things between us.

Finally, I grabbed my bag and stepped out.

The first thing I noticed was the door unlocked.

I stood there for a second, turning my key over in my fingers. I knew I'd locked it. I always lock it. But then again — it could be him or Vivienne.

My heart did that stupid little lift it always does at the thought of him being home. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe I'd walk in, kick off my shoes, and just fall into him for a while. God knows I needed that.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Then I saw the light upstairs bleeding under the door.

That gave me a small pause. I'm not the type to leave lights on — never have been. Could've been him, though. He was always forgetting things like that. I shook it off and started up the stairs, already thinking about what to order for dinner.

I was halfway up when I stopped.

I don't know what made me stop exactly. But my ears were too sharp for the not-so-loud sound. More like something that I didn't think would have happened. It was a rhythm, low and muffled, seeping through the door. My brain tried to reroute it.

But the television wasn't on. He hardly plays any music. Or, the naughty side of me got a hold on me. Realizing—it could be a surprise for me… something reasonable.

But then I heard his voice.

"You're so tight… I've never felt this good in forever."

"Mnn… I… arghh… You're so hot pounding inside me. Fuck… harder."

My mind went blank.

The more I listened, the more everything felt dazed.

No. No, that — he wouldn't. He said he wouldn't. He looked me in my eyes and said it. I stood there with my back pressed against the wall outside that door, breathing like the air had suddenly thinned, telling myself I'd heard wrong. That I was exhausted and paranoid, and my mind was filling in gaps that weren't there.

My hand shook on the knob. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to walk out, to pretend I hadn't heard a thing. But my body wouldn't listen.

I pushed the door open anyway.

And there it was. The only man I have ever loved. The only man I was willing to take risks for, willing to ruin my body for — tangled up with my half sister. On my bed. In my house.

The room smelled of sweat and her cheap perfume—the one I'd bought her for her birthday.

"..... when the fuck did you two get cozy enough to fuck on my bed and in my house?" I said, trying as much as possible to sound casual. My chest felt tight, and my fingers began twitching, but the last thing on my mind was getting weak. Not here, not now, and definitely not in front of them.

"Fuck... it—"

"It... it... cat got your tongue?" I finished the sentence, watching him push her away from his body, making her butt hit the cold floor and a sore "ouch" escaped her lips.

"Oh c'mon, Wren, don't act like you would have given him the chance to screw you." My half-sister, Vivienne, shrugged the words out like they were completely normal voices.

"Screw me?" Rage burned up my throat. Not only did I see her skin-to-skin with my fiancé, but she's actually behaving like it was nothing. I can't blame her. I mean, she gave me reasons to see her true self. I guess I was too focused on seeing the good and ignored the negatives. I had for a moment forgotten about... not until I felt his fingers brush my arm.

"Wren, I swear it's just this once. Not like you'd care. See, I love you. Just pretend that you never saw this and it never happened." Disgusted by his hands on me, I swatted them away and looked past him at her, who barely looked like she was going to put on anything for now. The audacity.

"You're my fiancé, for man's sake. Not like I care? What the fuck do you take me for... a fool?" My chest tightened more, with my left fist balled and my knuckles itching to punch that mouth of his for the filth coming out of it.

"To think, I trusted you both and loved you both. Is this what I get in return?" My legs felt wobbly, but I wasn't going to fall weak in front of them. It would prove their victory.

"Tsk... he never loved you, did he?" She asked, her pretense vanished, and the only thing left was raw facts.

"Let me tell you. The reason he accepted to be with you was because I asked him to. You were just convenient." She paused and gave a dark laugh.

Wren

"Oh, you actually thought he cared about you. Lean, don't pity this bitch. Not like she would do anything."

She wrapped her hands around Raphael's neck and pressed kisses on his body, all while fixing her gaze on me like I was something she'd already stepped over.

This was the last thread of patience I had left. But just a little longer.

I needed to know when this started—when the two people I loved most decided I was dispensable. I looked into his eyes.

He looked at the wall, the floor, and Vivienne. Anything but me.

"How long, Raphael?" My voice came out steady. Calm like still water before something drowns in it. "How long has this been going on?"

He said nothing.

"Was I that bad to you? Where did I go wrong?" The question burned coming out. One tear slipped before I could catch it. I hated that they got to see it.

"Just be honest with me. Be a man for once."

He exhaled through his nose like I was boring him. "Would that even change anything, Wren?"

I stared at him. "I'm sor—"

"No." The word shot out. For a second I thought it was guilt talking. "No, you're not sorry. You're just caught."

He finally looked at me. What I found in his eyes was worse than anger. It was nothing. Pure, unbothered nothingness.

"You want the truth? Fine. Everything about you is exhausting. You love too loudly, you give too much, you never push back... you just take whatever I give you and smile. You made yourself so easy, Wren. So available. Like you were auditioning to be needed."

My mouth fell open.

"And somehow with all that bending over backwards—you still couldn't give me the one thing I actually wanted." His jaw tightened. "Figure that out."

"So that's your excuse," I said quietly.

"It's not an excuse. It's just the truth you didn't want to hear." He pulled Vivienne closer against him without even looking at her, like she was already just a habit. "We were keeping company, Wren. That's all it ever was. I don't know why you turned it into something it wasn't."

Three years. Night outs, holidays, and a shared bit of intimacy. All just keeping company? I stumbled against the doorframe and caught myself.

"I don't need to keep pretending. Let's just end this." No guilt. He pulled her further into his side. Vivienne tilted her head at me with the softest, most poisonous smile I had ever seen.

Something in me went very, very quiet. The kind of quiet that comes right before clarity.

"You know what—" I steadied myself on the doorframe. "No. You don't get to stand in my house. In my bed. With my blood. And then be the one who walks away clean. That's not how this ends."

"Wren, I just—"

"I'm dumping you. Say whatever you want, but from this moment, I ended this. I walked away. You don't get that from me."

"Yes, he is—" Vivienne started.

"I don't remember asking you." I didn't even look at her.

My mind was already moving a thousand ways to make sure they remembered this moment longer than I did.

"Since the two of you are so comfortable here, enjoy it. But when I come back, every trace of both of you better be gone. Clothes. Keys. Anything with your names. I want to walk back into this house and find nothing."

I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob, turned one last time, and looked at them—the two people I had loved without condition. Then I walked out.

Three steps down the hall, Vivienne's voice followed me.

"Not too soon, Wren."

I turned back. She was seething.

"I don't think I need to hold back. Since you know now, why aren't you fighting? And you know I'm your sister—"

"Half-sister."

"—It doesn't change the fact that you're responsible for me. I have nowhere to go. This apartment was a gift. I'm not leaving."

"You are, Vivienne. It was my gift, not yours."

"Oh please, spare me that. Either you stay with me or you move instead. Figure it out."

The exhaustion hit me like a weight. "Fine. I'll leave."

"Deal, bye." She blew me a victorious kiss with a devilish smirk.

With one last look, I opened the door and walked into nowhere.

*****

My feet moved down the stairs, through the lobby, past the security guard who looked up and then away—like he could sense that whatever was happening to me was not something he wanted to be near.

The door swung shut. Night air hit my face. I didn't go back for my bag. Going back meant seeing that apartment again, and I was done.

It started raining four minutes in. Cold drops slid down my scalp and into my collar. I didn't run. One foot, then the next. A taxi slowed, then pulled away when I didn't raise my hand.

I must have looked insane. I probably was.

I kept walking because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant falling apart on a public street. I checked my wallet in a doorway—enough for a meal, not enough for a room.

I stood there for a long moment.

Then my feet, making decisions without me, turned left. Toward Harrow & Steele.

I tried to talk myself out of it. I reminded myself of every cold, unreasonable thing that man had done—his mouth on mine, his teeth, the sharp bloom of pain, the way I'd hit him and run like my life depended on it. I had slapped my boss across the face this afternoon. Walking back toward his building, soaking wet and homeless, was arguably the worst idea I had ever had.

My feet didn't care.

The building came into view—glass and dark steel, upper floors still lit. Of course, he was still there, working at an hour when normal people had gone home. The lobby lights were warm through the glass. I stood across the street for a moment, hair flat against my face, water dripping off my jacket. Then I crossed.

The revolving door was heavy. I pushed through. The warmth hit me like a wall—clean, familiar air.

I took three steps toward the elevator.

"Ma'am." The security guard stepped out. "Building access is restricted after hours. Do you have your ID pass?"

I patted my jacket. Nothing. It was upstairs on my desk. I'd run out the side entrance and hadn't—

"I work here. Wren Osei, executive assistant, fourth floor. I don't have my card."

"I understand." He wasn't unkind. That made it worse. "Without verification, I can't allow access. If you'd like to call someone who can come down—"

"I don't have—" I stopped. I was not going to cry in this lobby. Not in front of this man. Not after this day.

"I work here," I said again, quieter. "I just need to—"

"Miss Wren."

Standing a few feet from the elevator doors was my boss. Leander.

A cold spike of fear and something else... relief?—shot through my chest. His eyes traveled over me soaked, shaking, broken—and for once, he didn't look cold.

He looked at me like he was seeing someone else entirely.

Shit.

Wren's Pov

He didn't ask me any questions.

He just told the guard, "She's cleared," and walked toward the elevator. He didn't hold it. Didn't look back. But he waited.

I followed because I didn't have anywhere else to go.

Inside the elevator, I dripped on his marble floor. My reflection stared back at me from the polished steel.

At the last second, before the doors opened, he spoke.

"You slapped me."

The words landed like stones in still water.

My throat tightened. "You kissed me without my permission."

A long beat. His jaw shifted almost imperceptibly. Then the doors opened, and he walked out first.

He didn't acknowledge what I'd said.

He led me into his office.

He walked to the side counter without looking at me. Poured a cup of black coffee. Slid it across the surface in my direction — not close enough to be warm, not far enough to be dismissive.

Then he looked at me.

"You know..." his deep voice cut through the dark room, "people might assume hell broke loose on you, looking like—that."

His gaze swept over me in a single, clinical motion. Taking inventory. The ruined hair. The shivering shoulders. The way I was barely holding myself together.

My cheeks flushed with a mix of sweet shame and bitter embarrassment.

"I had to leave," I muttered coldly, clutching the warm mug like my life depended on it.

I wasn't going to hand him my vulnerability. Definetely not to my boss. What's worse, he's a man-whore who probably had Ms. Squeaky on her knees hours ago.

He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. His eyes pinned me in place — unreadable, calculating, like he was already three moves ahead in a chess game I didn't know we were playing.

"You slapped me, Miss Wren. And then you ran away." He tilted his head, studying me. "I thought you'd run forever. Then you show up on my doorstep at an ungodly hour, looking like a drowned bird." A pause. "If you're here to finish the job, I suggest you drink the coffee first."

I tried to stand straight... to maintain the neutral zone I always kept around him — but my knees buckled. I braced for the hard floor.

Instead, his arm caught me. Fast and solid.

But there was nothing tender about it. His grip around my waist was functional — a means to an end. He pulled my wet, freezing back flush against his chest for exactly long enough to steady me, then released me the moment I was upright.

For a terrifying second, the heat radiating off him was the only warm thing left in the universe. I gasped, my hands instinctively clutching his forearms. His scent hit me — clean, dark, cedar and whiskey and that expensive cologne I'd smelled hours ago when his lips were on mine.

Then he stepped back.

"Careful," he said flatly. "You're no good to me unconscious."

Professionalism kicked in like a slap. I pushed back, stepping out of his hold.

"I'm sorry..." My voice cracked, sounding smaller than it ever had.

"Mn." His expression didn't shift. He turned and walked back toward his seat, already dismissing the moment.

************

And that was when my brain fully registered where I was.

We were in a room inside his office. I've been working here for quite some time now. And never did I once think I'd ever cross paths with the CEO of the company I work for — not like this. And to worsen it, be in his company at 11 PM, soaking wet, falling apart.

My body shook. I wasn't sure whether it was fear of being alone with him in his space, or the impact of the rain, or the trauma I'd just witnessed.

Memories of my fiancé and my sister came flooding back. I expected remorse. I didn't think this would happen to me in real life.

My life is worth a drama, just like in most novels.

He sat behind his desk, watching me with that controlled stillness .

"You need somewhere to sleep," he said.

"I'm fine."

"You're soaking wet in my building at 11 PM. You're not fine." He glanced at the door behind the bookshelf, I'd never noticed before. "There's a guest room on the executive floor. You'll use it tonight."

I opened my mouth to argue.

"That wasn't a request." He didn't raise his voice. The weight of his words was enough. "You can argue with me tomorrow when you've had sleep. Right now, you're a liability."

I should have been offended. Instead, I was almost relieved. This, at least, made sense. He wasn't helping me out of kindness. He was managing a problem.

I wrapped my fingers tighter around the coffee mug, letting the heat bleed into my palms.

"You didn't answer my question," I said quietly.

"What question?"

"About the slap. You asked if I was here to finish the job." I looked up at him through wet lashes. "I'm not."

Something flickered in his eyes. There and gone before I could name it. "Then why are you here?"

The question hung between us. I could have lied. Could have said I didn't have anywhere else to go — which was true — and left it at that.

Instead, the words tumbled out before I could stop them.

"He was with someone else."

Leander didn't react. Neither did he soften.

"My fiancé. Raphael." I laughed, and it came out wrong. Bitter. Hollow. "He was with my half-sister. In my bed. In my house. I walked in on them."

His fingers tapped once against his desk. A single, deliberate motion.

"You're still wearing your ring," he said.

I looked down.

The diamond glinted under the office lights. I'd forgotten it was there. Forgotten I hadn't taken it off. Forgotten that my body was still acting like I belonged to someone who'd already thrown me away.

My hand trembled. I wanted to rip it off, throw it across the room, watch it shatter against his wall.

Instead, I just stared at it.

"Three years," I said quietly. "Three years, and he looked at me like I was nothing."

Leander said nothing.

"The worst part is..." I swallowed hard. "I defended him. Before I even told you he cheated, I made sure you knew he didn't hit me. I protected him. Even after what he did."

I laughed again. Bitter. Hollow.

"What does that say about me?"

His eyes held mine for a long moment. Unreadable.

"That you're loyal," he said finally. "Even to people who don't deserve it."

It wasn't a compliment.

I didn't know what to do with that.

He stood, walking toward the hidden door and pulling it open. Inside was a small but comfortable room — a bed, a bathroom, fresh towels.

"There's a robe in the closet. Towels in the bathroom. Sleep." He didn't look at me as he said it. "Tomorrow, we'll talk about what happens next."

"Tomorrow?" I echoed.

"You're still my employee, Miss Wren. That hasn't changed." He finally met my eyes. "Get some rest."

I stepped toward the room, then paused at the threshold.

"Why are you helping me?"

His fingers paused on the keyboard. Just for a second.

"Because you're here."

Before I could ask what that meant, he looked back at his screen.

Dismissed.

I closed the door behind me.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, clutching the warm mug he'd given me.

Outside, I heard the faint click of his keyboard.

He was still working. Of course he was.

I looked down at my ring again, and pulled it off my finger. Held it in my palm. The weight of it was heavier than it should have been.

Three years.

Three years of my life, reduced to a piece of jewelry I couldn't even bring myself to throw away.

I set it on the nightstand.

Then I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and let the tears come.

*************

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing I knew, pale morning light was filtering through the curtains.

I blinked, disoriented. The room was unfamiliar. The bed was unfamiliar.

Then everything came crashing back.

I shot up, heart pounding. The ring was still on the nightstand. I hadn't imagined that.

I scrambled out of bed, still in the robe, and peeked through the door.

The office was empty.

His desk was pristine. His computer was off. The coffee cups were gone.

For a moment, I felt something I couldn't name.

Then I saw the note on the desk, weighed down by a paperweight.

"Breakfast is in the kitchen down the hall."

I should have been relieved that he wasn't there. I should have been grateful for the space.

Instead, I just felt... confused.

I found the kitchen easily enough — a small, sleek space on the same floor. There was fresh coffee, pastries, fruit.

I poured myself a cup and sat alone, staring at the window.

What was I supposed to do now? Go back to the apartment? Face Raphael and Vivienne again?

The thought made my stomach turn.

And then there was Leander. His threat last night. The way he'd caught me. The way he'd looked at me — like I was a problem to be solved.

He kissed me.

I shoved the thought away.

It didn't matter. He was my boss. He was cold. He was calculating. He'd probably already filed the entire incident under "liabilities to manage."

I heard footsteps.

I tensed, turning toward the doorway.

Leander stood there, still in his suit from yesterday — slightly rumpled, but somehow still composed. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

"You're awake," he said.

"You're still here," I replied.

"I never left." He walked past me to the coffee machine, movements economical. "There's a lot of work to do."

"At 7 AM?"

He glanced at me over his shoulder. "I don't sleep much."

I didn't know what to say to that.

He poured himself a cup, then turned to face me, leaning against the counter. His eyes swept over me — assessing, cataloguing.

"How are you feeling?"

The question was flat.

"Fine," I said automatically.

"Liar."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're not fine." He took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. "You're not fine. And I'm not going to pretend you are."

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it.

He was right.

"I don't know what to do," I admitted quietly. "I can't go back there. Not yet. But I don't have anywhere else to go."

He was silent for a long moment. I could almost see the calculations running behind his eyes.

Then: "You can stay here."

"What?"

"On the executive floor. There are other rooms." He said it like he was offering me a company car. "Until you figure out your next steps."

I stared at him. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "You barely know me. Even after what happened?And now you're offering me a place to stay?" I shook my head. "What's do you want?"

He set down his coffee. Met my eyes.

"Nothing." His voice was quiet, controlled. "You're my employee. You needed help. I provided it."

"That's not—"

"And yes," he cut me off, "I kissed you." No emotion. No apology. "That was a mistake. It won't happen again."

I didn't feel relieved, which settled something within my chest.

Instead,

"Good," I said flatly. "Because I have enough to deal with without adding my boss to the list."

He didn't react to my tone. Just picked up his coffee and walked toward the door.

"Finish your breakfast," he said without looking back. "When you're ready, I'll have someone take you to get your things."

"From the apartment?"

He paused at the doorway.

"Unless you want to see him again."

"No," I said quietly. "I don't want to see him."

He nodded once. Then he was gone.