How Does 'The Coworker' End?

Grace Anderson is a striking young lady with a no-nonsense and inimical attitude. She barely smiles or laughs, the feeling of pure happiness has been rare to her. She has acquired so many scars and life has thought her a very valuable lesson about trust. Dean Ryan is a good looking young man with a sanguine personality. He always has a smile on his face and never fails to spread his cheerful spirit. On Grace's first day of college, the two meet in an unusual way when Dean almost runs her over with his car in front of an ice cream stand. Although the two are opposites, a friendship forms between them and as time passes by and they begin to learn a lot about each other, Grace finds herself indeed trusting him. Dean was in love with her. He loved everything about her. Every. Single. Flaw. He loved the way she always bit her lip. He loved the way his name rolled out of her mouth. He loved the way her hand fit in his like they were made for each other. He loved how much she loved ice cream. He loved how passionate she was about poetry. One could say he was obsessed. But love has to have a little bit of obsession to it, right? It wasn't all smiles and roses with both of them but the love they had for one another was reason enough to see past anything. But as every love story has a beginning, so it does an ending.

“True love stories never have endings.” Dean said softly. “Richard Bach.” I nodded. “You taught me that quote the night I kissed you for the first time.” He continued, his fingers weaving through loose hair around my face. “And I held on to that every day since.”

My husband, Kylan Beck, brings his colleague, Daniel Willis, home with him. He claims that Daniel and his wife aren't compatible with each other in bed, which has completely wrecked Daniel's confidence and pride as a man. As a result, he gets kicked out of his house by his wife. One day, Kylan has gone on a business trip to another city. That's when Daniel secretly climbs into my bed with gleaming eyes. "Ashley, can you help me prove to my wife that my capabilities in bed aren't the problem here?"

"Suzanna, tell me the truth. Am I built better than Luis?" I had gotten up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and accidentally caught a glimpse of my husband's coworker, Hank, with his girlfriend. They were tangled up together, without a care in the world about who might see them. I should have walked away. However, my legs did not seem to work anymore. Hank saw me. The next day, he blocked my path outside the bathroom. "Suzanna," he said, his voice low and amused, "you didn't believe me. Maybe I should prove it." Before I could react, he was already pulling down his pants.

I booked a consultation with a renowned traditional medicine practitioner six months in advance to treat my surgeon wife's arousal disorder over the holidays. However, on the appointment date, Wendy did not show up. Just as I was about to call to question her, I noticed a photo her male friend had posted on social media. In the photo, my usually aloof wife was hugging the guy with a radiant smile. The caption read: [Only I can cure your problem.] But what caught my attention was my wife's flushed face in the photo, clearly displaying signs of arousal. With a cold smirk, I immediately liked and commented: [You must have magic fingers that work wonders!] The comment section exploded, with everyone speculating whether I would tear my wife's lover apart. What awaited my wife was our official divorce after the cooling-off period ended.

On the day my internship officially turned into a full-time job, I used the black card my dad gave me to buy a bicycle. The moment Karen Kosner—the office's self-appointed queen of frugality—found out, her face went dark. "Two hundred thousand on a crappy bike? You're not afraid karma's gonna strike you dead for throwing money away like that?" The veins in her forehead bulged, her expression twisted with rage. "What's the point of this useless thing? You can't eat it. A bus pass would've made way more sense. My brother's out there busting his hump for every hard-earned dollar, and you're spending like water. Keep this up, you'll make him jump off a roof." My face dropped. I rubbed the sore spot on my forehead where she'd jabbed me. "Are you out of your mind? I'm spending my own family's money. What the hell does that have to do with your brother or your family?" Karen kept muttering under her breath, but I wasn't about to stand there listening to her crap. I turned and went to get some water. When I came back, the black card in my bag was gone. She leaned toward me, still playing the part of the vicious future sister-in-law. "Who knows which random guy gave you that card. Trashy. I threw it away, so get real and live right with my brother. "From now on, every penny you spend has to go through me. You buy something only if I say yes. I need to break you of this reckless spending habit." My temples throbbed with anger. Fine. So she thought she was some kind of financial genius, did she? We'd settle this nice and slow—once she lost her job and got blacklisted by the entire industry.