The next morning, the corridors of Thompson Enterprises were thick with the kind of hushed, frantic whispering that usually preceded a corporate execution. Emily walked through the lobby, her chin tilted up, trying to ignore the eyes tracking her every move. She wasn’t officially back yet, but she had things to settle.
“Did you hear?” a woman from accounting hissed to a colleague near the elevators. “Emily Carter is supposedly the new assistant, but everyone’s talking about the Chairman. I always thought Michael Thompson was the city’s most eligible bachelor. I never imagined he’s actually been married this whole time.”
“Even if he were single,” Sophia Reed interjected, her voice cutting through the gossip like a cold blade as she stepped into the circle, “most of you would still have zero chance. Know your place.”
A younger girl leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial tremor. “Well, the rumor is he’s already planning to divorce this secret wife. Is it true? If he’s back on the market, does that mean the rest of us actually have a shot?”
“Too much free time on your hands?”
The voice was like a sudden drop in temperature. Michael Thompson stood at the end of the hall, his silhouette framed by the harsh morning light. The office fell into a terrifying silence. His eyes, dark and unforgiving, swept over the group.
“Pack your belongings and leave the company immediately,” Michael stated. His voice wasn’t loud, but the finality of it made several people gasp.
“What’s happening?” someone whispered in a daze, but the Chairman was already turning away, his mind clearly on more significant matters.
Later that afternoon, Sophia cornered Emily near the executive files. Her expression was a mask of strained professionalism. “Taylor Green, do you have eyes on Mr. Thompson’s schedule for the day?”
Emily adjusted the folders in her arms. She remembered Alex Johnson’s strict warning about confidentiality. “His schedule is private, Sophia. Only you and Taylor are supposed to have access, remember?”
Sophia smirked, her eyes glinting with a secret knowledge. “I already know he’s meeting with CEO Davis from the Celestial Group today. I just wondered if you were smart enough to keep up.”
Emily didn’t answer. She watched Sophia walk away, but a realization hit her. She remembered her conversation with her husband—the voice in the background, the mention of Mr. Davis. She knew exactly where Michael was going.
She found him outside a high-end restaurant near the Financial District, a place known for power lunches and high-stakes deals. Michael looked uncharacteristically disheveled, his hand pressed briefly to his temple as he stepped out of his car.
“Hand over the medicine,” Emily said, stepping into his path and extending her palm.
Michael stopped, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. “What are you doing here? How did you track me down?”
“I did my research,” Emily said, her voice brimming with a new, quiet confidence. “I found out our collaboration partner is Mr. Davis. This is his favorite spot in the city. If you’re discussing a partnership of this scale, he’d never choose anywhere else.” She pushed a small, dark glass bottle into his hand. “What you need right now is a hangover cure, not another double espresso.”
Michael eyed the bottle suspiciously, though he didn’t hand it back. “What’s your motive for approaching me like this, Emily? You were fired.”
“I want to prove I can be a competent assistant,” she stated firmly. “Ryan Patel was the one who sabotaged the files, yet I was the one who lost my job. Why fire me for his malice?”
Michael scoffed, though the edge of his anger seemed to have blunted. “I don’t explain my logic to people who can’t see the obvious.”
As he turned to walk past her, Emily stumbled. Her heel caught on a stray crack in the pavement, and she lunged forward to find her balance. She collided with Michael, her shoulder hitting his chest, and the small bottle of liquid tipped. A dark splash landed squarely on his immaculate, custom-tailored suit.
“You!” he gasped, looking down at the stain in horror.
“Oh no! Emily Carter, I’m so sorry!” she cried, mortified. “That wasn’t intentional! Let me clean that for you, please.”
She began frantically dabbing at his jacket with a silk handkerchief, her movements hurried and desperate. In the chaos of the moment, her foot slipped again on the polished stairs, and she ended up losing her footing entirely, landing awkwardly across his lap as he sat back against the stone planter to steady them both.
“Mr. Thompson! How long do you plan on staying on my lap?” she stammered, her face turning a deep shade of crimson.
“I slipped!” she protested, trying to scramble up.
“Move,” Michael said. It wasn’t an unkind command, but there was a strange, low vibration in his voice.
“I genuinely want to know why you won’t give me a chance,” Emily insisted, refusing to move until she had his attention. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his.
Michael sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of the day. “Fine. I’ll tell you why. As an assistant, your primary job is observation. You didn’t notice the documents were swapped under your nose. Not only were you careless, you lacked basic responsibility for the assets you were carrying.”
“Make a bet with me,” Emily challenged suddenly. “Give me one month. If I can prove myself to be the most competent assistant you’ve ever had, you let me stay—and you transfer me to the design department where I belong.”
For a moment, Michael saw a ghost of a smile from his grandfather’s memory. That Emily Carter girl… she’s capable. I see potential.
“Fine,” Michael agreed, his voice softening just a fraction. “Out of respect for my grandfather’s intuition, I’ll give you thirty days. But if you fail, if you make even one more mistake…”
“I’ll pay you six months’ salary as a penalty,” Emily interjected.
Michael looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. “Fine. Give me the deposit then.”
Emily pulled a black credit card from her wallet and handed it over. Michael glanced at the card, and his brow furrowed. There was something familiar about the embossed numbers, a nagging sense of recognition he couldn’t quite place.
“I was just joking about the money,” Emily said, seeing his hesitation. “I know your petty cash means nothing to you, but my word does.” She stood up, smoothing her skirt. “One month. Succeed and stay. Fail and I’m gone.”
“I’ll start work tomorrow morning,” she declared, turning on her heel.
“Idiot,” Michael muttered to himself, watching her walk away. A small, involuntary smile played on his lips. “See you tomorrow.”
The next morning, Emily walked into the office with a new spring in her step. She passed Sophia’s desk with a cheerful wave. “Morning, Sophia!”
Sophia glared at her, her jaw tightening so hard it looked painful. “Emily Carter? Weren’t you fired? Why are you back here?”
“Mr. Thompson has a sharp eye for talent,” Emily replied with a playful glint in her eyes. “He decided to keep me on. How’s that for a surprise? Annoyed?”
Sophia seethed, turning to a nearby colleague. “He’s making exceptions for her again. We still have no leads on the mystery wife, and now another rival is trying to claw her way to the top.”
Later that day, Emily approached Michael’s office with a steaming porcelain cup. “Your coffee, Mr. Thompson. No milk, no sugar, and absolutely no ice. Just the way you like it.”
“Leave it there,” Michael said, his eyes never leaving the glowing screen of his monitor.
“Is there something else?” Emily asked, lingering by the mahogany desk. “Aren’t you even going to try it?”
“Get out,” Michael replied, his voice firm but no longer icy.
Emily sighed and retreated. Once the door clicked shut, Michael reached for the cup and took a slow sip. His eyebrows rose in surprise. It was perfect—the exact temperature, the exact roast. Not bad at all, he thought.
Outside, Sophia was watching through the glass partition like a hawk. She cornered Emily as soon as she stepped away. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t tell me you’re trying to convince everyone you’re the mystery wife.”
“Are you insane?” Emily exclaimed, looking at Sophia with genuine horror. “How could I possibly be his secret wife?”
“You’d better not be,” Sophia warned, her voice a low, dangerous hiss. “Or else I’ll make sure you regret ever stepping into this building.”
“You’re a lunatic,” Emily muttered under her breath, walking away just as her phone began to vibrate in her pocket.
Sophia didn’t miss the movement. She immediately dialed a familiar number. “Ryan? It’s me. Emily Carter is still here, and she’s more of a problem than we thought. You need to help me. I want her gone, and I want her reputation destroyed.”
“I’ll handle it,” Ryan’s voice crackled through the line. “What’s the play?”
“I’m sending her to Redwood International tomorrow,” Sophia said, a slow, cruel smile spreading across her face. “Room 206. Tell our friend to be ready. This time, there won’t be any security footage to save her.”