Emily wasn't the kind to second-guess herself. Years of being Adrian Sinclair's assistant had taught her how to read him like the back of her hand. His tells were subtle — tightened shoulders, shorter answers, the occasional twitch in his jaw — but they were there. And lately, he had been a storm cloud barely holding itself together. Distant. Unreachable. Cold in a way that felt more personal than professional.
So tonight, she tried something different.
She lit candles in the penthouse, soft amber flames flickering against the sleek walls of steel and glass. She'd made his favorite: roast duck in red wine glaze, asparagus charred just how he liked it, and a bottle of that Bordeaux from the year he closed his first billion-dollar deal. The table was set for two, cloth napkins folded with care, wine glasses rimmed with a soft shimmer.
It wasn't about seduction.
It wasn't even about love… not exactly. It was about care. About noticing he was slipping and choosing, for once, to be more than his safety net, but a confidant. Understanding him, she knew exactly where to set up, patiently waiting for his return. Scented candles in his study, lights dimmed but with just the right intensity.
Finally Adrian came home late. Emily saw as he headed straight for the study as she guessed.
His steps were slow and measured, each click of his shoes announcing his presence. His coat hit the back of the chair with the same kind of tension he carried in his shoulders. He looked exhausted, more so than usual, and she was ready to make that better. She knocked before entering, so he wouldn't be startled.
Offering a soft smile as she approached, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. Doing everything just right, and when she thought he was set she started; "I made dinner. You should eat something."
He finally looked at the table, not noticing it before. Then at her. Then away.
"I had steak at a meeting."
Emily's smile didn't falter, but her heart gave a quiet lurch. "You forget I'm still your assistant. I'd know if there was steak at the meeting. The one with Clover Tech, right?"
"It was last minute."
He pulled out a chair but didn't sit. Instead, he poured himself a drink, skipped the wine she kept earlier and went straight for the scotch.
Emily stood there, awkward in her pale blue blouse and soft wavy chestnut hair she actually took time to fix. "I just thought—"
"That what? That this would make me forget everything I have to deal with?" His voice was steel.
She blinked, stunned. "No, Adrian. I just wanted you to feel better. I know things have been heavy lately. And you've been... distant. I thought maybe a home-cooked meal, something familiar—"
He downed his scotch in one go, setting the glass down a little too hard.
"Emily, you don't have to do all this. You don't need to play house or wife or whatever fantasy you're trying to live out."
Her breath caught. "It's not a fantasy. I wasn't playing anything. I care about you. You're not just my boss, you're—"
"Stop acting like we're something we're not."
The words sliced through her like glass.
"We're not a couple. You're not my wife. You're my assistant. That's what you've always been, and that's what works. So don't confuse acts of concern for acts of romance, Emily. And don't try to impress me with duck and candles. I'm not easily swayed."
She stared at him, vision blurring. Her fingers clenched the back of the chair until her knuckles went white.
"Impress you?"
He didn't answer.
"This wasn't about impressing you. It never was. Adrian, for god's sake—" Her voice broke, just a crack, like a glass under pressure. "—Love isn't meant to be earned. Acts of service, words of affirmation... all these things aren't currency for praise. They're gifts. They're how you show love, not win it."
He looked at her then. Really looked. And she hated that there was a flicker of something. Remorse? Confusion? Regret? — but it was too little, too late.
Tears welled up, hot and traitorous. She didn't want to cry in front of him. Not him, not now.
"But maybe you're right," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Maybe all I've ever been to you is a glorified servant with a pretty face. The girl who runs your errands, fixes your tie, saves you from PR nightmares, and picks up the pieces when your heart breaks."
Silence.
Adrian didn't deny it.
Her heart cracked.
And still, she stood a little taller.
"But not tonight."
She turned, feet touching the cold floor "Not anymore."
The door opened.
"Emily—"
She didn't look back, she wasn't going to.
"You want me to stop playing wife? Fine. I'll stop. But don't expect me to keep pretending I don't feel things. That I haven't been loyal to you beyond reason. That I haven't loved you in silence while you made me feel like I was something disposable."
And then the door slammed. The candles flickered. The wine remained untouched.
And Adrian, for all his brilliance and billion-dollar empires, was left staring at the empty seat across the table. For the first time in a long time, he realized he wasn't hard to impress.
He was just too blind to see when someone already had.
Outside, Emily stood in the hallway, the chill of the exchange washing over her like a slap. She didn't know where she would go, not yet. But she knew she couldn't stay. Not tonight. Not after that.
She wiped her tears as she paced to her room. People like her didn't get to break down. She stepped inside, head held high. If Adrian couldn't see her worth by now, maybe he never would.
She wasn't 'playing wife'. She was someone who deserved love back.
And this time, she wasn't waiting around to be noticed. She packed a couple essentials, stepped out the door, and she left.