Happy Freaking Birthday

FOUR YEARS LATER

Elara. That’s the name Mrs. Whitmore gave me, the woman my mother once served, but never made to feel like a servant. My father had been with the Whitmore family long before I was born. He met my mother while working under their roof, and when they fell in love, it was Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore who gave their blessing for the marriage. In a world of class divides and whispered boundaries, the Whitmores were different. They were warm, kind, strangely human despite their wealth.

For years, my parents tried for a child. Doctors told them it was impossible. But five years into their marriage, I arrived, an impossible, unexpected gift. Their only child.

My mother loves to tell the story of how Helena, Mrs. Whitmore, beamed with joy when she found out about the pregnancy. “She was pregnant with Noah at the time,” she’d smile, brushing my hair behind my ear like she still saw me as her little girl. It was strange, really, how a woman of such status insisted on being called by her first name, even by the house staff. “Mrs. Whitmore made me feel like more than what I was,” my mother would say. “She never liked the sound of that title. Said it made her feel older than she was.”

And when my mother found out she was having a daughter, she turned to the woman she admired and trusted, Helena Whitmore, and asked her to choose my name.

That’s how I became Elara.

It’s been twenty-seven years since Mrs. Whitmore gave me that name, and today marks exactly twenty-seven years since I took my first breath. My birthday. You’d think that would make the day feel special, but like most years now, I’m spending it alone.

There was a time when birthdays meant warmth and noise, when my parents would bake me a cake and Noah and Vivienne would show up with silly gifts and bigger smiles. But everything changed four years ago. The day Noah and Viv got married, they packed up their lives and moved to London, and they've been building a happy life there ever since.

As for my parents, they decided to retire and return to my father’s hometown, a quiet stretch of countryside in another state. My mother never liked the chaos of the city anyway. I visit them every few months, and they come to see me too, but it’s not the same. I miss them, each of them, in a way I don’t say out loud.

After I graduated from university and began working for Mr. Whitmore, I chose to stay in New York. Not because I was left behind. I stayed because I wanted to. The noise, the motion, the endless heartbeat of the city, this is where I was raised, where I built dreams, where I still feel most like myself. The countryside is peaceful, yes, but this chaos? This is my kind of peace.

This city is where I’ve always belonged. Even if now… it feels a little emptier than it used to.

“Elara?”

I blinked slowly, startled by the sound of my name. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even registered someone calling out to me.

“Elara?”

There it was again – sharper this time.

“Elara!”

That one hit like a snap. I jerked slightly in my seat, blinking back into the present. My heart gave a small jolt as I realized I had completely drifted off in the middle of work. I gasped softly and looked up.

Lucian Whitmore sat across the desk, his expression tight with irritation. His jaw clenched, a deep scowl creasing his features as his fingers tapped once against the tabletop.

“Where are you today?” he demanded. “I’ve been talking for five straight minutes, and you’ve written down nothing. You didn’t note a single point I asked you to include in the presentation, did you?”

His voice was stern, controlled, but edged with impatience.

And no, the man across from me wasn’t Howard Whitmore, the warm and steady man I’d grown up around. This was Lucian Whitmore, his son. My boss. The man who could turn a room cold with just one look.

I had started as Mr. Whitmore’s assistant, the senior Mr. Whitmore. But two years ago, he stepped down and handed the reins to his eldest son. Since then, Lucian has run the company with the same ruthless precision he’s known for, and working under him? Let’s just say, my life hasn’t been the same since.

I’ve known Lucian Whitmore for most of my life… or at least, I’ve known of him. Saying I truly knew him would be a stretch. It was more like I was aware of his presence, always lingering on the edge of every room, commanding attention without ever needing to say much.

Lucian is six years older than Noah and me. From as far back as I can remember, he’s been this tall, distant figure who always felt more like a looming shadow than an actual person. He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t have to, his silence alone had weight. I remember how even just a glance from him could make me freeze.

My mother used to weaponize that fear to make me behave. “Oh, you don’t want to do your homework? Fine,” she’d say with mock indifference. “Maybe I’ll go and tell Lucian that you and Noah are skipping your studies.” That was enough. I’d be at my desk in minutes, pencil in hand, because nothing scared me more than disappointing him… or worse, being noticed by him for the wrong reasons.

I had seen him discipline Noah countless times. His voice sharp, his words always measured but never cruel. He wasn’t unkind, just… cold. Calculated. Noah would grumble after being scolded, but I would sit in silence, grateful it hadn’t been me. Because even though Lucian never raised his voice at me, not once, I always felt like he could. Like one wrong step and I’d finally push him too far.

And that fear never fully left. It evolved, maybe, but it never disappeared. As I got older, I stopped being afraid of him in the childish sense, but his presence still makes me nervous. He doesn’t intimidate me with words or threats; he does it with silence. With sharp looks and unreadable expressions. With the kind of authority that doesn’t need to be earned, it just is.

Noah, on the other hand, was always the warm light to Lucian’s cold shadow. Where Lucian was guarded, Noah was open. Where Lucian walked with silence, Noah filled the air with laughter. Being around Noah felt like breathing fresh spring air; being around Lucian feels like walking a tightrope – steady, focused, always one misstep away from falling.

Lucian never scared me because he was cruel. He scared me because I could never quite figure him out. And deep down, I still don’t know if that’s fear… or fascination.

Even now that I work for him, Lucian isn’t cruel to me. He never has been. He mostly keeps to himself, only speaking when it’s about work, brief, to the point, and devoid of any personal warmth. In the two years I’ve worked under him, he hasn’t once asked how I’m doing. No casual conversation. No birthday wishes. In fact, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t even know today is my birthday.

Lucian is always buried in work, utterly consumed by it. I’ve never seen him outside of the office, not even once. I know he moved out of the Whitmore estate after university, but beyond that, his personal life is a complete mystery. Where he lives, who he lives with, whether there’s someone in his life, romantically or otherwise, I have no idea. His world feels like a locked room, and I’ve never even found the door.

If I had to guess what his home looks like, I’d say something straight out of the Addams Family: dark, quiet, and filled with secrets. He’s not just private, he’s practically a ghost when it comes to anything beyond his professional life.

And while Lucian is normally cold and distant, he’s rarely sharp or snippy. But today? Today, he’s clearly in a mood. Which is just perfect – exactly what I needed on my birthday: an irritable, impossible Lucian Whitmore.

“Umm, I’m so sorry, Mr. Whitmore. I was just…” My words trailed off into nothingness. There really was no excuse for zoning out like that. I rubbed my temples, trying to snap myself back to focus. I didn’t know what was wrong with me today. Maybe it was the loneliness I’d felt since the moment I woke up, or maybe it was the quiet ache that always came with today’s date. But none of that justified my lack of attention. My job mattered, and Lucian Whitmore was not the kind of man who tolerated carelessness.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Whitmore,” I said more firmly this time. “I promise it won’t happen again. Could you…please repeat that for me?”

Lucian didn’t respond right away. He leaned back in his chair slightly, a flicker of irritation tightening his jaw. His eyes, icy and unreadable, lingered on me for a beat too long, making my pulse stutter. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and a slim black tie, he looked every bit the man who ruled boardrooms without breaking a sweat. His cufflinks glinted in the soft office light, and not a single strand of his dark hair was out of place.

He exhaled slowly, the sound controlled but heavy, and then repeated everything he’d just said. His voice was clipped and measured, but he didn’t snap at me. He didn’t have to. His silence said enough.

This time, I didn’t miss a word. I scribbled down every point, my pen racing to keep up as I vowed – silently, fiercely – not to mess up again.

After the meeting wrapped up, he leaned back in his chair and dismissed me with a curt nod. “Work on the presentation,” he said. “And this time, keep it subtle. No flashy themes. Something clean and understated.”

His words were a sharp reminder of the last time I’d put together a presentation for him – too many colors, too bold of a palette. In truth, I hadn’t even designed it myself; one of the interns had taken over the visuals while I added in the content. I was so buried in work that day, I hadn’t even noticed the flashy theme they’d chosen. Lucian hadn’t just disliked it; he’d rejected it outright and made me redo the entire thing from scratch. I wasn’t about to let that happen again. This time, I’d stick to exactly what he preferred: muted, clean, professional… and safely predictable.

“Put together a draft and bring it to me after lunch. Can you manage that?” he added, his voice calm but expectant.

I offered him a soft smile, one he never returned. “Of course, I can.”

With my laptop in hand and my chest tight from the usual mix of nerves and pressure, I quietly left his office. I stepped out of Lucian’s office and let out a quiet sigh, heading straight for the intern room. As usual, I’d be handling the content while the visuals would fall to the interns, but this time, I’d make sure they knew exactly how Lucian wanted it: dull, muted, painfully safe. No surprises.

I pushed the door open with more energy than I felt and strode in. “Okay, people, good morning! Let’s start the day with something exciting, by which I mean the most basic, bare-bones presentation visuals imaginable.” I offered a cheerful smile to the five newly hired interns, who were still adjusting to the rhythm of working under the Whitmore name.

Technically, they reported to me, but anything Lucian wanted filtered through me first. He didn’t waste his time dealing with junior staff, just a few executives and me. That was fine. That’s what I was here for.

While Lucian was all frost and distance with most employees, I made it a point to be the opposite. With the interns, I was encouraging, even warm. After all, someone had once done the same for me. I’d gotten my start thanks to the kindest manager I ever had during my internship at a tech firm. I didn’t step into the Whitmore empire straight out of university. I might be privileged, but I also worked my way here, learning the hard way. And if I could make that climb, maybe they could too.

The moment I walked into the room, I knew something was off. All five interns were huddled together, heads bent over their phones and laptops, whispering like they were conspiring to launch a startup, or maybe gossip about one. Their energy was electric, and not the kind that comes from working on a deadline.

It was like I hadn’t even walked in. None of them reacted, and everything I’d just said might as well have vanished into thin air.. When they finally looked up at me, it wasn’t with the usual half-hearted nods or sleepy greetings. No, there was something else in their eyes. A flicker of excitement, of amusement. Their faces were lit with the kind of gleam people get when they’ve just stumbled upon something scandalous online.

I frowned, my voice sharper than intended. “What’s going on here? Shouldn’t you all be working by now?”

Melissa, the intern with thick-rimmed glasses and the most dependable punctuality, glanced up. Her tone was almost gleeful. “We were… until the news broke.”

My chest tightened. “What news?”

Steven stood up, tall and charming with his usual crooked smile, only today, it looked a little too smug. “It’s all over social media,” he said, holding out his phone like he was about to drop a bomb.

I crossed my arms, irritation rising. “What is?”

Melissa didn’t wait. She looked down at her screen, then read aloud with a dramatic gasp, “Noah Whitmore and Vivienne Carter have officially confirmed their separation and impending divorce in a joint statement released this morning. Adding fuel to the fire, Noah was spotted in New York earlier today all alone, wedding ring noticeably absent, as he stepped out of a coffee shop…”

The words hit me like a slap to the face.

Everything around me blurred for a second, the chatter, the buzz of electronics, the hum of the air conditioner. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. I blinked once. Twice.

He is back. Happy freaking birthday, Elara…