Chapter 13
Evelyn
Monday morning hit like a slap to the soul. I woke before my alarm, heart pounding, stomach knotted so tight it felt like a fist lived inside me. The skyline outside my apartment window looked too clean, too bright, like the city itself was mocking me for what I’d done two nights before.
I had sex with my boss.
No.
I had unbelievable, life-wrecking, fantasy-shattering sex with my boss. And then I ran. Now it was Monday, and the universe—dramatic little bitch that it was—expected me to face him.
I dressed like I was going to war. Black trousers. High-collared blouse. Hair in a tight bun. Minimal makeup—just mascara, nothing that said I begged for his mouth on my throat.
I needed to be invisible again. A ghost at her own job. At 8:12 AM, HR called. I hadn’t even been in the building ten minutes. My team stared at me as I walked toward the HR office like I was being escorted to an execution chamber.
Mrs. Brown sat behind her desk, youngish, late twenties or early thirties, but somehow as unforgiving as a granite pillar.
She wore the usual tailored trouser suit that made her look like she was auditioning for the role of Corporate Death.
No one had ever seen her smile. She hosted mandatory company rules meetings once a month, delivering the same slideshow with the same dead eyes, and once fired two people for dating each other.
Dating within the company was a colossal NO.
I stepped in.
She looked up with something like a stiff smirk—God help me, was that joy? —and said: “Congratulations, Evelyn. You’ve been selected to fill the Personal Assistant position for Mr. Hunt.”
My stomach dropped so hard I nearly hit the carpet with it. I blinked at her, certain my brain had misfired. I came here expecting to be fired. Publicly humiliated. Possibly escorted out by security.
This was… not that. “I… wasn’t aware I applied,” I managed.
“You didn’t,” she said almost cheerfully. “He requested you directly.”
My fingers tightened around the folder in my lap like it might anchor me to reality. “When… when do I start?”
“Immediately.” Her smile sharpened. “In fact, Mr. Hunt is waiting for you as we speak. So gather your things and head up. I already have someone replacing you.” Of course she did.
Of course he did. Of course, this was happening.
I barely made it to the bathroom before nausea won.
I locked myself in a stall and pressed my forehead to the cool tile, breathing like I’d just escaped a burning building.
I slept with him. And now I’m his PA?
That wasn’t a promotion. That was checkmate. Men had always made decisions for me. My foster fathers. That one teacher. The boss who used to corner me near the filing cabinets. And now him.
The difference?
I had opened the door for this one. I had wanted him. I had let him in—literally and metaphorically—and now I was paying the price. With my chest still shaking, I went to my old desk, grabbed a cardboard box, and began collecting my things.
My little Dragon Ball anime figurine. My baby succulent. My bonsai tree. A photo of Samantha and me laughing on a beach. My pastel highlighters. My favorite pen. The one that always made my handwriting look less tragic.
The box felt heavier than it should’ve as I carried it toward the elevator—like I was walking toward the slaughterhouse, ready to be unalived and devoured by the beast himself.
I reached his office.
My pulse tried to exit my body entirely. I hesitated, then knocked very, very softly—so soft I prayed he wouldn’t hear it, and I could leave, run, hide, start a new life in another country. Oops—he changed his mind, I could say. But fate wasn’t that kind. Not for me. And not for him.