Chapter 10: The Weight of Secrets

The buzz around the company shifted that week, and at the center of it all was Cassandra Monroe. 

Her picture had appeared in a business column standing beside Damien Roth at a charity gala, her flawless smile perfectly timed for the cameras. It didn’t matter that Damien’s expression was unreadable; the press didn’t care. The headlines wrote themselves. 

The Rising Monroe and Roth Enterprise’s Enigmatic Heir. 

Cassandra soaked it up. Every time I passed her in the hallway, she was surrounded by whispers and stares. Her smirk seemed permanent now, sharpened by the glow of attention. 

She wanted everyone to believe Damien Roth was hers or that he would be soon. 

And maybe she even believed it herself. 

Meanwhile, I sat quietly behind my laptop at night, scrolling through Roth Enterprise’s project forums. Damien’s comments were sparse, but they always drew my eyes. When he posted an observation, it was clear, precise, like cutting glass. I responded when it made sense, careful not to overstep. 

To anyone else, it was just business chatter. But to me, it was a thread thin but steady, weaving a connection between us that Cassandra’s press clippings could never touch. 

Sometimes, after I sent a reply, I caught myself holding my breath, waiting to see if he’d respond. 

And sometimes, he did. Short acknowledgments. One-line agreements. But each time, my pulse quickened like I’d been handed something dangerous. 

If Cassandra wanted the spotlight, she could have it. What I had with Damien was quieter, but it felt real. And somehow, that was far more terrifying. 

By Thursday, Richard’s project was at a breaking point. The final report had to be reviewed before the board meeting, and the pressure was unbearable. Richard trusted me with more than I thought I could handle drafting key sections, fine-tuning graphs, ensuring every word was razor-sharp. 

That evening, I sat alone in his office, staring at a stubborn table of data that refused to make sense. My eyes burned, my hand cramped around my pen. 

When the door opened, I nearly jumped. 

Richard stepped inside, jacket off, tie loosened, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. His gaze swept the desk, then me. “You’re still here.” 

I swallowed. “I… couldn’t figure this out. The numbers don’t align with the projections.” 

He walked over, leaning beside me, scanning the page. His presence was steady, grounding. 

“Show me,” he said. 

I pointed to the columns, frustration leaking into my voice. “Here. If we frame it like this, the recovery rate looks like a decline. But if we use the other method, it’s almost flat. I don’t know which one is the right story.” 

Richard studied it for a long moment. Then, gently, he said, “It’s not about what’s right, Selena. It’s about what reflects the truth without creating panic. Flat is closer. Decline suggests failure, and that’s not the reality here. You know the difference.” 

His calmness settled me. Slowly, I nodded. 

“Good,” he said. “Now try again.” 

We worked side by side, the silence broken only by the scratch of my pen and the occasional correction he murmured. After a while, the tension eased. The numbers clicked. 

Then, unexpectedly, he said, “You remind me of myself, once.” 

I looked up. “Me?” 

“Yes,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “When I was younger, I worked myself to the bone trying to prove something. To myself. To my parents. To the woman I loved.” 

There was a heaviness in his tone that made me hesitate. “What happened?” 

Richard’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he did, his voice low and raw. 

“I gave her everything,” he said. “Despite my parents warning me she wasn’t right for me. They hated her. They thought she was beneath us. But I loved her. Enough to turn my back on everything else.” 

My chest tightened as he went on. 

“They gave me an ultimatum. Her or them. I chose her. And they disowned me. Took everything my inheritance, my name, even the apartment I lived in. I went from being Richard Morgan, heir to a fortune, to… no one.” 

I held my breath. “And she stayed with you?” 

His laugh was hollow, bitter. “For a while. Until the money ran out. Then one morning, I woke up and she was gone. No note. No explanation. Just gone.” 

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. 

I whispered, “I’m so sorry.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It taught me something. Never give all of yourself to someone who doesn’t see your worth. Never make yourself disposable.” 

I sat quietly, his words sinking into me. The pain in his voice wasn’t something you could fake. It was the sound of someone who had been broken and rebuilt himself out of the shards. 

For a moment, I wanted to reach across the desk, to offer comfort. But instead, I said softly, “My mom always tells me not to lose myself. She left when we were younger because of my dad. He drank, he hurt her, and… she couldn’t stay. But she still calls. She still checks in.” 

Richard’s gaze flicked to me, sharp but softened. “That must have been hard.” 

“It was,” I admitted. “It still is. But… she tries. And that means something.” 

He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. But something in his eyes told me he understood. 

For a while, neither of us spoke. The office was quiet, the city lights glowing faintly through the glass walls. And in that silence, I realized I wasn’t just gaining Richard’s trust as a worker I was gaining it as a person. 

He leaned back in his chair, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looked… human. Tired, almost broken. But still powerful in a way that made my chest tighten. 

“Selena,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. 

I looked up. “Yes?” 

“You mentioned your father earlier.” His voice was low, careful, like he was stepping onto dangerous ground. 

I exhaled slowly, my eyes dropping to the papers in front of me. But I knew I couldn’t hide from this not tonight.