Page 49 of The Secretary Volume II

Of course it is.

I turn the box over.No label.No receipt.No return address.Just the message and the promise buried in it.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Not loud.Not frantic.Just two quick raps, polite almost.

I don’t open it immediately.It takes a half-hour to work up the courage, and then it’s only because I hear my neighbors in the hall.

But resting against the doorframe, where a package would go, is the second shoe.

Same black box.Same silk interior.

No note this time.

No need.

I bring it inside, hands trembling now.I feel it in my back—something tightens between my shoulder blades, sharp and stiff, as if my spine itself is bracing for something, pulling me taut like the strings of a bow.I sit on the couch, shoes in my lap, note beside me.My heart thuds hard in my chest, but I haven’t moved.

A new email flashes on my phone.

From: Ellis Harrison

Subject: Tomorrow

You’ll need somewhere to wear the shoes.Dinner.8PM.

No running required.I’ll send a car.

No question mark.

No RSVP.

Just a time.A place.A decision already made.

I stare at the screen.Then at the shoes.Then back again.

My pulse beats in my temple, a quick, insistent throb that drowns out everything else, like a ticking clock counting down something I’m not ready for.

The pressure grows behind my eyes, sharp, insistent.

And I know—this isn’t about footwear.

It’s a choice.

I could say no.

But then, I really like the shoes.

And the paycheck?Not bad either.

The worst part isn’t that I might go.

It’s that I already know what I’m going to wear—and I hate myself for it.

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