Page 93 of The Secretary Volume II

“You fucked her,” I say, because this is what he wants.This is what he’s waiting for.

His brow lifts—just a fraction.Then he smiles.“Of course.”

There it is.

Not rage.Not joy.Just the clean satisfaction of knowing you understand.That’s all he ever needs.

He sits.Not facing me.Angled just enough to remind me I can go.I just can’t leave.

“She knows about me,” I say.

“She thinks she does.”He drains the glass and sets it aside.“But thinking is such a slippery thing here.”

I breathe carefully.With him, even breathing too loud is a signal.

“You’ll do what with her?”

He leans back, relaxed.“Whatever works.”

Of course.

Of course that’s the answer.

He doesn’t need me to react.He just needs me to understand.

And I do.

Not everything.Not yet.But enough.

He’s not letting me go.

He’s letting me watch.

I remember the way she looked at me last week in the break room.That strange, sideways recognition.Thealmost.

I didn’t warn her.I should have warned her.

“You know what I hate?”he asks.“When people pretend they don’t understand how systems work.Like outcomes just… happen.Like they’re random.”

He stands and moves around the room.Not pacing.Just claiming space.

He smiles a little—not at me.

“Twenty-one days,” he says, like it’s a game.“You remember what that means.”

I nod, hating myself for it.

“She didn’t cry.Not like you.”

“I didn’t cry,” I say, knowing it won’t matter.

He looks at me.And I feel it—how useless the truth is to someone like him.

“No,” he agrees.“Not the first time.”

53

Gillian

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