Page 99 of The Secretary Volume II

I know where I’m going.

Back with him.

Back to the house with the citrus-starched sheets and the locks you can’t see.

The door clicks shut beside me.

And the driver pulls away.

56

Lena

Iwake up expecting him.

Not hovering, not holding my hand—just somewhere nearby.Sitting in the corner maybe.Arms crossed.Waiting to make sure I’m okay.That unreadable expression he wears when he wants credit for being thoughtful.

But the room’s empty.Sterile.No Ellis.No sign he was ever here.

What I remember is this: a taste like copper, the walls tilting, someone saying,“She’s going down.”

Then the conference room floor came up too fast.

I remember everyone staring at me.

I remember trying to stand.

I remember blood.

A lot of it.Too much.Pouring down my neck, onto the floor.

And then Ellis was there.Calm.Commanding.“It’s a simple fix,” he said.After that—nothing.

Now I’m lying on a medical bed in a room with too much symmetry and no windows.The ache in my mouth has moved.It’s no longer just post-op soreness.It’s deeper than that—tugged at, pressed down, cauterized.I touch the side of my face.It’s swollen.Tender.

There’s no chart.No nurse.No explanation.

Eventually a man walks in.He doesn’t introduce himself.Just says, “Mr.Harrison sends his regrets.Something came up.But good news—you’re cleared for release.”

I don’t respond.Before the words even finish landing, a nurse appears with a wheelchair and a smile that feels forced.

I’m too groggy to argue.Walking’s out of the question.

The hallways all look the same.Blank walls, cold floors, that antiseptic smell that clings to skin like static.

Every turn feels like it leads nowhere.But eventually we reach a door that opens to daylight.

The car is waiting.Black.Tinted.Company issue.

I climb in, and we head back toward the city.

By the time I get home, the bleeding’s stopped.But the stiffness along my jaw, the dryness in my throat, the metallic tang have not.I check my messages—nothing.No check-in, no follow-up.Just the digital equivalent of a closed door.

I don’t sleep well, but that’s nothing new.

By morning, there’s one email.From Andra.

Mr.Harrison is away on business.Please route all communications through me.

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