His Secretary Takes Charge

Chapter 1

Ethan's secretary, Chloe Brooks, posted on Twitter: "Who else has to travel for work during Thanksgiving? All the hotels are booked! At least I've got my dashing boss to celebrate with…"

The tweet included a selfie, her in a bathrobe, lying on a hotel bed. Beside her, a man's shadowy silhouette was clearly visible. The comments blew up, most people zooming in on the mystery guy. Chloe replied with a shy emoji.

I saw it. Said nothing. Just tipped her $300.

A few minutes later, she called me. Her voice had a nervous edge.

"Grace, that picture, I didn't mean to include Mr. Carter. It was totally accidental, I swear."

Before I could say anything, Ethan grabbed the phone.

His tone was calm, but clipped. "Grace Taylor, Chloe just started working for me. Can you stop being so sensitive all the time?"

Then, to Chloe, soft, almost gentle, "Don't let this upset you. Grace is just overthinking again."

At 2 a.m., Ethan finally came home.

We didn't speak. Just stared at each other across the room.

His eyes drifted to the takeout containers on the coffee table, crispy pork, cheese puffs. He frowned and tossed them straight into the trash.

"You can't keep eating like this, Grace. It's not healthy."

I didn't respond. But his words pulled me back to a memory from last year, he'd once praised Chloe's figure while casually criticizing mine.

After that, I'd stuck to low-calorie meals for nearly twelve months.

Ethan noticed my silence, then pulled out a box and placed it on the table.

"Chloe thought this might cheer you up. She asked me to give it to you as an apology."

I opened it. Designer shapewear. Tag still on: "Enhance Your Beautiful Figure."

I let out a soft laugh. Not out of amusement, but because Chloe clearly knew exactly how to get under my skin.

Ethan misread my reaction.

"She's trying to make things right. Maybe you could thank her?"

I ignored him, eyes fixed on the TV.

"Grace, are you even listening?"

He reached out and pulled me up too fast. I stumbled, landing hard on the couch with a sharp ache in my lower back.

The pain flashed hot. Old injury, seven years ago. The fire. When I dragged Ethan out myself.

He looked away, jaw tight. "I'll get the ointment."

I wanted to stop him. I should've. But I hesitated.

The ultrasound report in the drawer felt heavier than ever. I'd planned to tell him tonight, about the baby.

Now didn't feel like the right time.

Ethan returned with the first aid kit, rummaged inside, then froze.

"Ointment's gone. Did you, "

He didn't finish the sentence.

But I remembered. Chloe's tweet from two weeks ago: "He's such a sweetheart. I burned myself cooking and he rushed to get ointment for me."

Imported. Expensive. The one I'd been saving.

I could've confronted him right then. Should've.

But instead, I smiled, tired, small. "Don't bother. I'll go get some."

He looked at me sharply. "You can't go out like this. I'll go, "

His phone rang.

He picked it up instantly. "Chloe, what's wrong?"

Her voice was faint but unmistakably flirtatious. "Mr. Carter… I'm at a bar. Some guys won't leave me alone. I'm kinda scared…"

"Mr. Carter, can you come get me? Please?"

Ethan tossed the first aid kit onto the couch and stood up.

"Chloe, don't worry. I'm coming."

"But maybe you shouldn't," she said softly. "Your wife might get upset…"

"She has no reason to," he said coolly, glancing at me.

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Ethan, wait," I said.

"Grace, don't start. You're overreacting."

"You're leaving without your wallet or your phone," I pointed out, nodding toward the couch.

He froze for a second. Face unreadable.

"I'll help Chloe first. Then I'll take you to the hospital."

And just like that, he walked out.

Leaving me in a silent room that somehow felt colder than ever.