Angela's POVThe warm glow of the desk lamp casts a soft light over my workspace as I finish reviewing the last of the case notes. The quiet hum of the office at this hour feels oddly comforting, the usual buzz of phones and footsteps replaced by the faint rustle of papers and the distant ticking of the wall clock.I glance at the stack of files in front of me, each one meticulously organized thanks to Michael’s help. I wouldn’t have been able to sort through this chaos without him.Just as I’m about to dive back into one particularly thorny section, I hear a light knock at my door.“Come in,” I call, expecting one of my colleagues, but it’s Michael who steps inside.“Still at it, I see,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips as he closes the door behind him.“I could say the same to you,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. “Don’t tell me you’re here to check on me.”“Maybe a little,” he admits, his tone light. He holds up a coffee cup, steam curling from the lid. “Thought you co
Angela's POVWhen I step inside on Wednesday, the café is buzzing with life—cups clinking, quiet murmurs of conversation, and the hum of the espresso machine blending into the background. It’s not the kind of place I imagined myself working when I started my career, but the informal setting makes the client feel more at ease. Or so I thought.“I don’t see why this even matters,” the client snaps, his tone sharp enough to turn heads from nearby tables.I take a calming breath, steadying my voice before responding. “Mr. Dawson, understanding this clause is essential to your case. It will—”“I hired you to handle it, not waste my time with explanations,” he interrupts, his disdain cutting through the air like a knife.I press my lips together, suppressing the sting of his words. He’s been rude from the moment he sat down, dismissive of my efforts and unwilling to cooperate.Before I can muster a response, a voice interrupts from behind me—deep, familiar, and unmistakably commanding.“Per
Angela's POVThe office is nearly silent as I pack my things that evening, the hum of the overhead lights the only sound in the otherwise empty space. It’s later than usual, but the long hours feel worth it. Today had been productive, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m building something meaningful.As I sling my bag over my shoulder and step into the corridor, I glance toward the conference room near the corner. The lights are still on, spilling a warm glow into the hallway.Michael’s still here.I hesitate for a moment, debating whether to check in, but decide against it. He’s likely in the middle of something, and I don’t want to disturb him. Instead, I head for the stairwell, my thoughts shifting to the evening ahead.The air is cool as I step outside, the city alive with its usual nighttime energy. I wrap my coat tighter around myself and start walking toward the nearest bus stop.“Angela.”I freeze at the sound of his voice, low and unmistakable.Turning, I s
Angela's POVLyle stares at me, frozen, his eyes wide as if my words have finally broken through the shell of his confidence. For a moment, I wonder if he might walk away, but then he speaks.“I thought…” he begins, his voice soft, uncertain. “I thought you were perfect for me. I thought we both knew that. All these years, Angela, haven’t you been thinking the same thing?”His words are like a slap, equal parts laughable and infuriating.I let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”He frowns, clearly thrown off by my tone.“Someone might be perfect for you, but that doesn’t matter if they’re unhappy. I don’t exist to be a girlfriend—or even a wife—for you, Lyle,” I continue, my voice rising. “This isn’t about what you need, what you want, or what works for you. It’s about both of us. You’ve never once stopped to think about what I deserve.”I stop myself before the words tumble out, the ones I’ve been holding inside for far too lon
Angela's POVI lock eyes with Lyle, and his expression is unlike anything I’ve ever seen on him before. The confidence he wears like armor is gone, replaced by something raw and unfamiliar. His worry is written plainly in the furrow of his brow, the tension in his jaw.I want to look away, to turn my back on the complicated swirl of emotions in his gaze, but I can’t.“Angela,” Michael’s voice cuts through the moment, drawing my attention back to him. His tone is soft but firm, grounding me.“Are you okay?” he asks, his concern evident. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”I shake my head slowly, my voice trembling. “I… I’m fine. Just shaken up.”My words feel hollow, the adrenaline still coursing through me, leaving my thoughts scattered. The encounter with the muggers had rattled me more than I wanted to admit.Twice now, I’ve found myself in situations like this. The first time, Lyle had been the one to pull me from danger, and it had changed everything between us. This time, though
Angela's POVThe first time I saw him, seven years ago, I didn’t know his name, but I knew he wasn’t like anyone I had met before.I had just started university, my nerves running high as I navigated the unfamiliar campus. Everything about it felt overwhelming—the sprawling buildings, the steady hum of activity, the throngs of students who all seemed to know exactly where they were going and what they were doing.It was during the first lecture of the semester that I noticed him. The auditorium was packed, every seat filled with students murmuring among themselves. I found a spot near the middle, clutching my notebook like it was a lifeline. My focus was on the professor, who was preparing to introduce the syllabus, but the energy in the room shifted suddenly, a ripple of quiet excitement sweeping through the rows.He had walked in.Tall, confident, and exuding an ease that seemed almost effortless, he commanded attention without trying. He wore a simple shirt and jeans, nothing extr
Angela's POVThe morning starts like any other—coffee brewing in the break room, the hum of conversation as colleagues file into their offices, and the faint rustle of papers being sorted for the day ahead. I’m halfway through drafting a brief when a soft knock on my office door draws my attention.“Got a minute?” Michael asks, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.“Of course,” I say, setting my pen down and leaning back in my chair. His expression is thoughtful, the kind he wears when he’s working through something important.He walks over, a thick folder in hand, and takes the seat across from me. “We’ve received a collaboration proposal,” he begins, sliding the folder across the desk.I glance down at it, skimming the header, and feel my stomach tighten. The company name at the top is unmistakable: Grayson Enterprises.For a moment, I can’t speak, my thoughts swirling. Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. Lyle’s company is one of the biggest players in the area. It was on
Angela's POVThe tapping of my pen against the desk is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as I stare at the document in front of me. The words blur together, the details slipping through my mind like water through my fingers. No matter how hard I try to focus, my thoughts keep drifting back to the folder with Grayson Enterprises stamped on the cover.It’s been days since Michael decided we’d move forward with the collaboration, and though the meeting hasn’t been scheduled yet, the anticipation hangs over me like a storm cloud. Lyle feels closer now, even though I haven’t seen or spoken to him since that night.I shake my head, trying to dispel the growing tightness in my chest, but it doesn’t help. I need to focus.A soft knock at the door pulls me from my spiral.“Come in,” I say, grateful for the distraction.Michael steps inside, his usual calm demeanor in place, though his eyes are watchful. He’s always quick to notice when something’s off, and I can tell by the slight tilt of his head
Angela’s POVThe notification pops up on my phone just as I finish packing the last of my things. I hesitate for a moment before swiping to unlock the screen, my fingers tightening slightly around the device.Grayson Industries Shake-Up: Fiona Grayson Committed to Mental Institution, Margaret Grayson Resigns From Company Affairs.I let out a slow breath, my eyes scanning the article despite knowing I shouldn’t. The news spread faster than I expected. The public is eating up the scandal, debating whether Fiona deserves sympathy or punishment, whether Margaret stepping down means Grayson Industries will shift in a new direction. What catches my attention most is one single line buried at the end of the article.CEO Lyle Grayson refused to comment.I stare at those words longer than I should.A part of me wonders what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling now that he’s severed himself from them—from the family he once prioritized over everything.I exit the app before I can spiral further.A
Lyle POVFiona looks smaller than I remember.She’s curled up in the sterile hospital bed, her arms wrapped around her frail frame, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes wide and rimmed with red. But as soon as she sees my mother, her entire face crumbles.“Mother,” she whispers, voice hoarse and trembling, then louder, more desperate, “Mother!”My mother rushes forward, gathering Fiona into her arms as if she’s still a child in need of comfort. Fiona clings to her, sobbing against her shoulder, her fingers twisting into the expensive silk of my mother’s blouse like she’s afraid she’ll be torn away.“Shh, sweetheart, I’m here,” my mother soothes, stroking Fiona’s hair as tears slip down her own face. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”“Please,” Fiona chokes out, her voice raw, shaking. “Don’t let them keep me here. Don’t let them treat me like I’m some kind of criminal.”My mother tightens her hold. “You’re not, darling. You’re not. You’re just sick, that’s all. And we’ll get you
Lyle POVThe silence in the car stretches long and heavy, thick with things left unsaid. My mother sits beside me, her posture elegant and composed as always, but I know her too well to be fooled by the calm exterior. She’s waiting. Waiting for me to speak first, waiting for me to say something that makes this entire situation more bearable.I don’t. The only reason I’m here, the only reason I agreed to this visit at all, is because Fiona is my sister. No matter what she’s done, no matter how much she’s broken, no matter how much I want to walk away and never look back—she is still my responsibility.My mother shifts slightly, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee before she finally breaks the silence. “I know you’re still upset.”I let out a sharp, humorless breath. Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it.“She’s still your sister, Lyle,” she says carefully.I keep my eyes on the road, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. “I know.”She exhales, turning to fully face
Angela's POVLyle turns and walks toward his car, his shoulders tense, his pace steady. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t say another word. I tell myself I should do the same—step inside, close the door, and leave him behind, just like I’ve been trying to do for months.I don’t.Instead, I watch him.My arms stay crossed, my fingers gripping my sleeves a little too tightly as I track every movement he makes. The way his hand tightens around the bouquet, the way he exhales deeply before finally tossing the flowers onto the passenger seat of his car. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before getting in, and then, with the smooth precision I know so well, he starts the engine and pulls away from the curb.I stand in the doorway, eyes fixed on the taillights as they fade into the night.“You’re still watching,” a voice deadpans behind me.I flinch slightly, tearing my gaze away and turning toward Jodelle, who is leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, looking far too please
Angela's POVSeeing Lyle standing there with flowers in his hands, I feel my breath catch, my mind torn between emotions I don’t have the energy to sort through.I don’t want to deal with him. Not tonight.I tighten my grip on my bag, willing my feet to move, to walk past him, to pretend I don’t see him. But before I can decide what to do, a sharp voice cuts through the air.“Oh, hell no. What do you think you’re doing here?”I snap my head to the side and see Jodelle storming toward us, her eyes blazing with protective fury. She stops in front of Lyle, arms crossed, planting herself like a human barricade between us.“Get lost, Grayson,” she snaps. “You’ve done enough damage.”Lyle doesn’t flinch. He shifts his gaze from her to me, his expression unreadable. “Angela,” he says, his voice quieter, steadier than I expect. “Can we talk?”“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jodelle answers before I can. “Whatever you have to say, she doesn’t need to hear it.”I can feel my pulse in my throat
Angela's POVThe day stretches on, steady and unrelenting. I bury myself in work, pushing aside every stray thought that tries to surface. Although I had Richard's approval, apparently, it wasn't enough.I move from one task to the next, flipping through contracts, revising policies, drafting documents that need my approval. It’s methodical, logical, something I can control. Every keystroke, every note scribbled in the margins, reminds me that I’m here because I earned it, because I fought for it.Even as I work, I can feel the attention. The quiet stares when I walk down the hallway, the way conversations shift the moment I step into a room. Some people don’t bother hiding their curiosity, their confusion. Others are more discreet, exchanging glances behind their monitors, whispering as I pass.It’s not surprising, really. To them, I was Lyle Grayson’s secretary, the woman who sat outside his office, managing his schedule and answering his calls. Now, I walk these halls in an entir
Angela's POVReturning to Grayson Enterprises feels strange.The glass doors slide open with a soft hiss, and I step into the familiar lobby, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Everything looks the same—the sleek, modern interior, the meticulously arranged floral centerpiece, the front desk where I used to check Lyle’s schedule a hundred times a day.I’m different now.I’m no longer Lyle Grayson’s secretary. I’m here as a lawyer, an independent professional, not someone who runs after his coffee or clears his calendar. Still, as I walk toward the elevator, I feel the weight of curious gazes on me.People recognize me. I can hear the whispers, feel their eyes tracking my every move."Is that Angela?""Didn’t she used to be the CEO’s secretary?""She’s a lawyer now, seriously?"I keep my face neutral, my back straight. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing any hesitation in my steps. I earned this.As I enter the elevator, a voice calls out behind me.“Angela?”
Angela's POVThe air in the restaurant shifts the moment Michael reaches into his pocket.I watch him carefully, my breath catching slightly, my fingers tightening around the base of my wine glass. A part of me already knows what’s coming, but I don’t want to acknowledge it—not yet.He looks up, his expression unreadable for a moment, before his lips part and the words come out, steady and sure.“I love you, Angela.”The sound of it, so simple yet so heavy, knocks the wind out of me.My fingers go slack against the glass, and I nearly forget to breathe. “What?”Michael leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table as he watches me with unwavering intensity. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” he says again, more certain this time. “Even back in college. Even when you didn’t notice me that way.”I blink, trying to process, but my mind is stuck. College?“I always admired you, Angela,” he continues, his voice softer now, as if confessing something long buried. “Not just for how smar
Angela's POVToday was too much. Too many emotions, too many memories, and too many things I never wanted to think about again forcing their way to the surface. I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to release the tension.“What’s wrong?” Michael asks immediately, his voice low but firm.I sigh and shake my head, forcing a small, tired smile. “Nothing. Just a long day.”Michael doesn’t look convinced. His eyes flick over me, studying every detail—my slightly slumped shoulders, the tightness in my jaw, the way my fingers are gripping the strap of my bag just a little too hard. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I know him well enough to know that he probably has found something.I slide into the passenger seat, the scent of his cologne familiar, grounding. The door closes with a soft click, sealing us inside. He pulls away from the curb, he glances at me again.“Angela.” His tone is gentle but insistent. “Talk to me.”I stare straight ahead, my fingers tightening i