I’d been Chris Blackwood’s secretary for three years when he got engaged. His fiancée demanded he fire all his female personal staff. My name was on the list. As compensation, he offered me a blind date. With his brother. “He’s richer than me, great in bed,” he’d said with a wink. “Just one catch—he has a kid. You don’t mind, do you?” I didn’t mind. After all, that child was mine. 1. Adrian Blackwood and I had a history. Chris didn’t know. If he did, he wouldn’t be so carelessly dangling this in front of me after working me like a dog for three years. I was twenty-two when I was with Adrian. Fresh out of college, clumsy and naive. I mistook him, the heir to a corporate empire doing a field inspection, for another down-on-their-luck applicant who’d just bombed a job interview. He looked the part. His bespoke suit was rumpled and streaked with dust. He was sitting on a curb, eating from a sad-looking takeout container, a thick stack of documents beside him. He looked completely defeated. I’d just been rejected for a position myself, and I was feeling emotional. I bought two hefty roast beef sandwiches, extra meat, and gave one to him. "Here," I said. "Yours is all lettuce and dry meat. You need something that'll stick to your ribs." I sat a few feet away, feeling a wave of pity for him, and for myself. I imagined how miserable my life would be if I couldn't find a job. Would I end up sitting on a street corner, relying on the kindness of strangers for a meal? I was so lost in my own self-pity that I missed the series of expressions that crossed Adrian’s face: shock, disbelief, and finally, a flicker of amusement. Over that one meal, we exchanged a few stories. And our names. It was the beginning of a beautiful mistake. I assumed his background was as ordinary as mine, and Adrian, for his own reasons, was more than happy to play the part of a regular guy. I started running into him everywhere. Each time, it felt like a coincidence. By the time he asked me out, I was convinced it was fate. The illusion shattered in a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel. I was in a luxury department store on Fifth Avenue, picking out a Christmas gift for my boss's most important client. And there was Adrian, casually dropping a fortune. He stood with one hand in his pocket, his posture relaxed, almost lazy, as he patiently advised a young woman on her selection. When she finally chose a purse, he let out a quiet sigh, waved a hand, and told the clerk to put it on his account. Just the night before, he’d been in my tiny rental apartment, whining about his demanding boss and begging me to rub his temples. I thought about it for a long time. Should I keep up the charade? Or should I confront him and demand compensation for the lie? In the end, I chose neither. I took the option that cost me the most. I called him out, and I asked for nothing. He wasn't surprised. He admitted who he was, plain and simple. Then, he invited me to his home. His real home. The sprawling estate was worth more than I could earn if I started working in the Stone Age. In his study, I saw stacks of files. He was a responsible heir, it turned out. That day we first met, he had been inspecting a port—a key project for the Blackwood Corporation that had run into trouble. He had spent the entire sweltering summer day on the construction site with engineers, poring over blueprints and data, revising plans, and reallocating resources. The stack of papers I’d seen was the meeting minutes. No one had expected the company’s heir apparent to show up unannounced, so no special meals had been prepared. When lunchtime rolled around, he just grabbed his notes and a cheap lunchbox and sat on the curb to eat while he waited for his subordinates to report back. And then I showed up. I felt like such an idiot. How had I not noticed the price of his watch, or the impeccable cut of his suit? He asked me if we really had to break up. He said that for him, love was about interests, and it didn't matter who it was with. I was twenty-four. Young enough to believe love couldn't be built on deception. "It's not the same," I said. "We're not the same." I didn’t cry. I didn’t even say a proper goodbye. I just got in a cab and left, as calmly as if I’d just been laid off from another job. But fate had other plans. A month later, I understood the importance of money all too well. Because my period was late. I was pregnant. And my company had just gone through a massive round of layoffs, which included pregnant women. The boss had made it clear: pay them what we owe them and get those pregnant women out of here to raise their kids at home. He'd even threatened to stop hiring women altogether. Before I started showing, I rushed to my boss and swore my loyalty, promising the pregnancy wouldn't affect my work on the project. Then I took three days off for an abortion. My boss was so pleased he held me up as a model employee. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a workhorse, not a person. My colleagues whispered behind my back, but I said nothing. I made the appointment. On the way to the clinic, my taxi was intercepted by a black car. It was Adrian’s security. Adrian was overseas. He took the first flight back, a six-hour journey. He wanted me to keep the child. The terms he offered were incredibly generous. I accepted. To avoid forming an attachment, I didn’t even look at her when she was born. Adrian took her away and named her Chloe. A name meaning "blooming." I figured Adrian must love her. That meant I didn't need to worry. I left the city and moved south. 2. But I couldn't escape the Blackwoods after all. Adrian’s younger brother, Chris, was in charge of the company's southern branch. I had been blasting my resume out everywhere. I don’t even remember applying for the secretary position under him. The interview process was a blur. One minute I was applying, the next I was inexplicably Chris's executive secretary. My job involved managing his daily schedule, occasionally making coffee, and greeting important clients when his lead secretary was out. It was a mixed bag of tasks, but overall, it wasn't too demanding, and the pay was excellent. With the money Adrian had given me, I’d already bought an apartment. This job was supposed to be my ticket to a stable, quiet life. But Chris's fiancée shattered that dream. "Clara? Clara?" Chris tapped his desk. "It doesn't take this long to think about it. Are you hesitating? You think you're too good for him?" He was smiling, but his tone was sharp. I finished organizing his schedule and pushed the planner toward him. "You have a meeting from eleven to eleven-thirty. Lunch at noon with Mr. Lee Jr.; his family just had a new baby, so I’ve prepared a gift for you to take. Golf from two to four, but Mr. Kane invited you to go riding at the same time, so you’ll have to reschedule one. At five, you’re giving clients a tour of the R&D center and discussing the contract. Dinner is at The Manor; I’ve already ordered, mostly Cantonese. It's ten-forty-three now. Mr. Lee mentioned a few executives wanted to brief you beforehand, so you can see them now." I paused for a second before continuing. "As for the blind date with your brother… I think I’ll pass." Chris leaned back in his executive chair, spinning it with the tip of his shoe. He stared at me for a long moment, a thoughtful look on his face. "Hmm," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Clara, you look like you're hiding something from me." "Your brother and I know each other," I said. To say we "dated" felt too strong. Our families and friends never knew. It wasn't a real relationship. "Oh, you know each other?" He nodded, then abruptly stopped spinning. He squinted at me, and his voice became certain. "No, that's not it. You were with my brother, weren't you?" Even though I was used to the casual contempt of the wealthy, that phrase—"were with him"—still stung. "Yes," I admitted. He immediately shot up from his chair, a wide grin on his face, and ushered me to the sofa. He eagerly poured me a cup of tea. "So! Tell me! Do you know who his daughter's mother is? All of us, his friends, we've been trying to get it out of him for years, but he won't crack." He leaned in conspiratorially. "The guy hates kids. He must have really, really liked the woman to keep the child. You were with him, spill the tea. Who was his favorite?" Who was it? Was it the girl he'd been willing to go shopping with? Or was she just one of many? I pressed my lips together. "I don't know who his favorite was. But it definitely wasn't me." Chris burst out laughing. "Wow, you sound bitter. I thought my brother was supposed to be generous." "Maybe with other people. When I was with him, I lived in a rental." Chris’s expression froze for a moment. He looked completely dumbfounded. "You lived where?" he repeated. "A rental? He let you live in a rental?" I offered a small, silent smile. "Well, it was my own rental. We didn't live together." "Holy crap. He didn't even cover your rent? That's just pathetic." Chris smoothed his suit jacket and began to pace, shooting glances at me. "I never would have guessed, Clara. You’re a true romantic… A woman with your looks, he should have at least bought you a condo. Why didn't you just leave him?" He was appraising me, putting a price tag on me. The old me would have torn him a new one. Now, I just adjusted my expression and played along. "I was young and foolish back then," I said with a joking tone. "So, on that note, how about a little extra on my severance pay?" A knock sounded at the door. An assistant poked his head in. "Mr. Blackwood, the meeting is about to start." Chris nodded and straightened his tie. I quickly moved to hold the door for him. He grabbed a folder and walked past me. "You're not on the layoff list anymore. Get back to work." 3. Damn. I was hoping to squeeze a little more out of the severance package. Now I’d have to resign on my own. Chris’s fiancée had become a notorious figure around the office. Rumor had it she was the granddaughter of some big shot in New York, with incredibly wealthy parents of her own. Her status was high, and so was her temper. The moment they got engaged, she demanded Chris fire all his close female subordinates. Chris had two lead secretaries, a man and a woman, who were his right and left hands. The female lead was too brilliant to let go, so Chris managed to save her. But the rest of us—the executive secretaries and personal assistants—weren't so lucky. Even if I wasn't fired, staying would be miserable. It would only be a matter of time before the new Mrs. Blackwood decided I was a threat. I went back to my desk. A few colleagues from other departments were in the secretarial pool getting documents stamped. When they saw me, their faces filled with pity. "Clara, when are you leaving? We should all get dinner." I pulled out my chair and slumped over my desk. "The earliest would be next month. I have to go through the proper process." "Process? You don't have to wait if you're being fired, do you?" "I'm resigning," I said. "Mr. Blackwood isn't firing me. Does anyone have a resignation letter template I can use?" Thank you for the opportunity… due to personal reasons… I have decided to resign. I hit send on the email, pushed my keyboard away, and took a deep breath. Chris’s careless words echoed in my mind. He must have really, really liked the woman to keep her child. I never knew what Adrian truly felt for me. During the time I worked in New York, I lived in a building that was the first stop for countless transplants trying to make it in the city. The place was a chaotic mix of people and things. It was there I was followed for the first time. And it was there someone tried to break into my apartment. I was a light sleeper that night. The vibration of my phone woke me. It was an alert from my security camera. Someone was lingering outside my door. The man on the screen was masked, wearing a hat and gloves. I couldn't see his face, and his figure was hidden by bulky work clothes. The lock-picking was professional, swift. He even glanced back occasionally to whisper and laugh with a partner out of frame. I stood frozen in my living room for a few seconds before my survival instinct kicked in and I ran to the kitchen for a knife. I hid back in my bedroom, eyes glued to the monitor, and shakily dialed 911. Then, I called Adrian. His voice was husky with sleep. "What's wrong?" "Someone's picking my lock," I whispered. There was a second of silence on the other end, then the rustle of him sitting up and throwing on clothes. He sounded wide awake now. "How many? Are they armed?" he asked, his voice calm and steady. "I only see two… I didn't see a knife, but I don't know." "Don't cry," he soothed. "Lock yourself in your room." Suddenly, the camera feed went black. The front door creaked open. Footsteps echoed in the living room, growing closer. The intruder started pushing on my bedroom door. I gripped the knife, wondering if I should charge out and strike first. Adrenaline made my legs tremble. I felt like the knife would slip from my sweaty palm. Then, a sudden cacophony erupted outside my door. Muffled thuds. Curses mixed with cries of pain. The sound of shattering glass and things crashing to the floor. "Adrian?" "I'm here." His voice was strained, breathless. "Don't come out yet. It'll be over in a second." I wiped the sweat from my brow, my body going limp with relief as I sat on the edge of the bed. Finally, a knock on the bedroom door. I pushed aside the heavy furniture I'd used to barricade it. The living room was a disaster zone. The two burglars were on the floor, barely conscious. One of Adrian's men was dragging them out by their ankles like sacks of potatoes. Adrian wiped the blood from his knuckles and pulled me into his arms. His coat was cold from the night air, and the faint scent of tobacco from his clothes warmed against his skin. He held me tight, burying his face in my hair and pressing a kiss to my head. One of the men with him cleared his throat. "Adrian… what do you want us to do with them?" "Check their records. Make sure they get put away for a long time," Adrian said, his voice flat as he stroked the back of my head. I buried my face in his shoulder, my voice muffled. "Are they your friends? Coming all the way out here this late… I should treat them to dinner sometime." "It's fine," he said. "Go get some rest. I'm staying with you tonight." The police arrived. Adrian lit a cigarette and coaxed me back into the bedroom. The low murmur of their conversation didn't last long. Soon, he was climbing into bed, wrapping his arms around me from behind. I was still trembling. "You're safe now," he whispered. "It won't happen again." I turned and kissed him, a desperate, frantic kiss. Adrian froze for a moment. He was usually so direct in bed, all business as he unbuckled his belt and pressed me down. But that night, he was uncharacteristically gentle. He just took my hands and wrapped them around his neck, then rolled on top of me, returning my kiss with a deep, slow passion. The autumn wind howled outside, but his body was a furnace. As his hand cupped my cheek, for a fleeting moment, I truly felt loved. But chewing on old memories for too long just turns them into tasteless pulp. When I was sitting across from him in his mansion, discussing the terms of our separation, I couldn't fool myself with that sliver of sweetness anymore. He loved me the way one loves a beautiful pet. He wouldn't touch it himself, but he couldn't stand the thought of anyone else having it. That was all. The workday was over. It was Friday. My resignation email was sent. The earliest I'd hear back was Monday. I started clearing my desk, slowly erasing any trace of myself. I didn't expect the call from Chris on Sunday night. The background noise suggested he'd just gotten off a plane. "Clara, your resignation letter. What are the 'personal reasons'?" "Mr. Blackwood, I'm twenty-nine. It's time for me to settle down." He was silent for a few seconds. "This isn't because you're afraid I'll try to set you up with my brother again, is it? Don't overthink it." "No," I said. "I met someone suitable through a dating app. I was planning to leave around this time anyway." "What's his background?" "No background to speak of. He's an associate professor at a university." "I see. Alright. Work hard for the next thirty days, and I'll give you a nice bonus. Consider it a wedding gift." "Thank you, Mr. Blackwood." "One more thing," he said. "Pick out a few gifts for a little girl. You're coming back to New York with me next Friday." A little girl. I felt a pang in my chest. "...Of course, Mr. Blackwood." 4. It was my first time inside the Blackwood family estate. The main hall was filled with laughter and conversation. Servants moved deftly, refilling tea and offering snacks. I followed behind Chris, carrying the gift boxes. Every eye in the room swiveled past Chris and landed on me. Chris’s fiancée, Tiffany, shot daggers at me. "And who is this?" she asked, her smile not reaching her eyes. Chris squeezed in next to his grandmother on the sofa. "Just my secretary," he said nonchalantly. "I had her pick out some gifts for Chloe. She's just here to drop them off." The tension in the room eased slightly. I nodded politely to everyone and handed the gift boxes to a maid. "Well, Mr. Blackwood, I'll be on my way." He waved a dismissive hand. I was about to turn and leave when my eyes met a little girl's on the staircase. She looked about five or six, dressed in a little burgundy plaid cape dress, hopping down the circular staircase. The man behind her watched her with lowered eyes. He wasn't wearing a jacket, just a crisp shirt with sleeve garters, the cuffs rolled up to reveal strong, lean forearms. He gently held the collar of her dress with two fingers, steadying her. My heart gave a sudden, painful jolt. The girl stared at me, then suddenly bounded down the rest of the stairs and ran toward the living room. On the sofa, the old matriarch opened her arms with a wide smile. "My sweet Chloe, come to Grandma." I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. Chloe Blackwood. That was Chloe. I snapped my gaze away, forcing my expression back to neutral, and started to leave. But a small pair of arms wrapped tightly around my leg. A child’s hands are surprisingly warm. She felt like a heavy, soft weight clinging to me. She looked up, and with absolute certainty, she called out. "Mommy!"
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