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
