Page 66 of The Secretary Volume II

My breath catches, and I know it’s too late to take it back.

He pulls out like I’ve hit him—more surprised than angry.Not upset.Just recalculating.

Neither of us says anything for a long beat.

“I didn’t mean—” I say, but I already know it doesn’t matter.

He gets up, starts dressing.Calm.Detached.Like he’s sealing something off.

I stay on the bed, sheet half-draped over me, heart thudding in my ears.

“I told you,” I say, attempting to smooth the situation.“It wasn’t about you.”

He doesn’t look at me when he replies.

“It is now.”

He reaches for his phone.I reach for my underwear.

“You don’t have to go,” he says without looking up.

I’m already clasping my bra.“I know.But I’m going to.”

He glances over.

Not with disappointment.With calculation.

I smile, small and sharp.“This doesn’t change anything.”

“No,” he says.“But you already knew that.”

I pull on my skirt.Button my blouse.

He’s still watching.

And I let him.

Because next time—if there is one—he’ll know I’m not the story he thought he’d already read.

And for now, that, is enough.

38

Gillian

The building is quieter than usual.Not silent—Shergar never allows true silence—but muted, like it’s been padded for sound.Like someone’s preparing the walls for impact.

I stare at the far corner of the room, where the camera is mounted.It doesn’t blink.It doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything.But I know it’s on.I know they’re watching.They always are.

My desk is clear.It always is when I’ve been out.Except today, the lamp is slightly off-center.Tilted just enough to mean something.

I straighten it.Not because it matters, not even because it’s one of the few things I can control, but because I like things the way I like them.

Same as him.That’s what got me into this mess.

I was out for one day, maybe two—it’s hard to say.Time in here moves like a bruise.Slow to show up.Slow to fade.

What I do know is this: when I came back, the air had shifted.

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