Two lifes

Was Alexander brought into my life to make me miserable?

Maybe I wanted him to. Maybe I wanted him to make the first move so I could clear my conscience and say it wasn't my fault.

First my husband, now him?

Ryan!"

Ethan rushed in, choking from the smoke, hand over his nose.

The smell hit me before the smoke did.

That thick, bitter burnt smell.

My pot of sauce — seriously burnt. Black at the edges, smoke filling the whole kitchen.

"Put it down! Turn it off!"

I jolted and quickly turned off the stove, coughing, hurrying to open all the windows with shaking hands.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice small. "I just... I drifted."

Ethan carefully picked up the pot with a towel and put it in the sink. Then he just stood there, hands on his waist, looking at me like I was a stranger.

"Mind telling me where your mind went to? You almost burnt down the house."

I stared at him. I wanted to say work stress. I wanted to say I'm tired.

But for the first time, I couldn't even lie to myself.

Then silence.

Just the smoke alarm still faintly beeping and both of us coughing.

Ethan turned on the tap and started running water into the burnt pot.

"You're working too hard in that," he said finally. Not angry anymore. Just tired. "You come home and you're not even here."

I hugged my arms. My hands still smelled like burnt tomatoes.

"I know. I'm sorry."

He looked at me. Really looked at me.

"Is everything okay? With him?"

Him. Alexander.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Yes! Yes, of course. He's just... demanding. You know how bosses are."

Ethan nodded, but he didn't believe me. I could tell.

He dried his hands and walked over and kissed my forehead. Like I was a child.

"Go sit down. I'll order something. You need rest."

He left the kitchen, pulling out his phone.

I couldn't tell my husband I had been transferred to the penthouse.

How do you even say that?

"Hey babe, so my billionaire boss moved me from the busy office building to his private, empty, silent penthouse where it's just me and him and a pool I fell into?"

No.

Ethan already thinks I work too much.

He would lose it.

And maybe I don't want him to suspect anything because there is nothing to suspect. Right?

I kept telling myself that.

I'm still his personal assistant. Just... in a different location.

Ethan asked me yesterday, "How was the office?"

And I said, "Same. Busy. The usual."

I said it so fast.

I don't want things to be weird in my marriage. I love Ethan. I love our normal, quiet, safe life.

But now I have two lives.

And I don't know which one is making me feel more guilty.

The penthouse had a pool. One of those infinity ones that looked like it dropped straight off into the city.

I was trying to be professional. Measuring the lounge chairs, writing down notes like needs outdoor cushions like I knew what I was doing.

It had rained earlier. The tiles were slick.

I stepped back to get a better look and my foot just... went.

I didn't even scream at first. One second I was standing, the next I was in the water with my clothes on, and the water was so much colder than I expected.

I can't swim that well. I went under and my notes were floating everywhere.

"Ryan!"

Alexander jumped in full clothes, shoes, everything and pulled me up.

We both collapsed on the edge, me coughing, mascara everywhere.

Then I realized my white shirt was completely soaked and transparent, and my red bra was showing. I tried to cover my chest with my hand.

I was shivering so hard when he came back with dry clothes his big grey sweatshirt and sweatpants.

"Go on... put it on."

I was just standing there holding them, looking at him.

Still standing, I whispered, scratching my ear shyly

"Privacy pls..."

He looked at me, scoffed — not mean, just like are you serious right now — and walked to his room and closed the door.

"You have three minutes, Ryan. Then I'm coming out whether you're decent or not.

---

Alexander was in his study room.

I walked up to him after changing. His sweatshirt swallowed me. It smelled like him. The sweatpants were so long I had to fold them three times at the ankle. I looked ridiculous.

He was on a call. AirPods in, totally calm.

I had to wait in the doorway.

Of course he took his time. Like he knew he made me feel uncomfortable and he was enjoying it.

Finally he dropped the call.

It's been 1 week of working in his penthouse and I don't know if I was his wife or still his personal assistant.

I just sit in this house. No workers. No housekeeper. No one. Just me.

When he isn't around, I'm lonely. I walk around this massive, silent penthouse with my little notepad pretending to be busy.

I had to ask him why he kept me here because I do nothing to deserve that amount of salary.

He dropped his phone on the desk and looked up at me, crossing his legs slowly.

"What, Miss Ryan?"

I swallowed. My hair was still dripping onto his sweatshirt.

"Sir... I wanted to ask you—"

"What?"

"What is your reason for keeping me in your penthouse?"

I blurted it out.

"It's been 1 week. I barely do anything. I sit here. I water one plant. I measure the same chair three times. Why am I still here?"

He leaned back in his chair, looking at me, in his clothes, barefoot in his study.

"Do you want to quit?"

"No! I do not but—"

"But what?"

"But I don't understand what you want from me."

And he just stared.

Can you give me what I want if I tell you?

I swallowed hard

I want to rip off your clothes and have rough sex with you

I want you to scream my name so hard

I want your legs to squabble from the countless orgasms I can give you

Can you give me that?

I remained silent

No? Then stick to watering my plant

He said as he picks up his phone

And started another official phone call