Monday morning arrived with the weight of unfinished conversations.
Aida sat at her desk, staring at the quarterly report on her screen without reading a single word. Her mind kept circling back to Saturday night, the gala, Julius's grip on her jaw in the car, Nat's message that she'd deleted but couldn't forget.
If you ever need anything, I'm here.
She shook her head and forced herself to focus.
Work. She could control work.
Her phone buzzed. An internal email.
Subject: Q3 Project Assignments - Action Required
She opened it and scrolled through the list of team leads and their current workload. Her eyes stopped on one name.
Nat Johnson.
Current projects: Two. Manageable. Not overwhelming.
Her cursor hovered over his name.
She could assign him the Tektun merger analysis. It was complex, high-profile, would require multiple check-ins and strategy sessions. Close collaboration.
Her hand hesitated.
Why are you doing this?
She knew why.
She wanted to see him. Wanted to talk to someone who didn't make her feel small. Wanted to be near someone who saw her as more than a burden or a failure or a barren wife.
She clicked his name and typed quickly before she could change her mind.
To: Nat Johnson Subject: New Assignment - Tektun Merger AnalysisNat, I'm assigning you lead analyst on the Tektun merger. This is high visibility and will require close coordination with my office. Let's schedule a briefing today at 2 PM. — Aida
She hit send.
Then immediately regretted it.
Then didn't.
At 1:55 PM, there was a knock on her office door.
"Come in," she called.
Nat entered, folder in hand, expression professional but warm.
"Ms. Aida," he said. "Thanks for the assignment."
"Of course." She gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Have a seat."
He sat, setting the folder down. "I've already started reviewing the preliminary financials. There are some red flags in their debt structure."
She blinked. "You've already started?"
He smiled slightly. "I like to be prepared."
"Clearly." She opened her own folder. "Walk me through what you found."
For the next thirty minutes, they worked. Numbers. Projections. Risk assessments.
It was easy. Natural.
He asked good questions. Challenged her assumptions without being condescending. Listened when she spoke.
She realized, halfway through, that she was smiling.
Actually smiling.
"You disagree?" Nat asked, noticing her expression.
"No," she said quickly. "I was just… thinking how refreshing this is."
"Refreshing?"
"Working with someone who actually listens."
He tilted his head. "That's a low bar."
She laughed softly. "You'd be surprised."
He held her gaze for a moment. "I wouldn't."
The air between them shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough that she noticed.
She looked down at her papers. "We should meet twice a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays. To keep momentum."
"Sounds good," he said.
She nodded, gathering her files. "I'll send calendar invites."
He stood. "Ms. Aida?"
"Yes?"
He hesitated, as if weighing his words. "I'm glad you trust me with this."
"You've earned it," she said.
He smiled. "I'll see you Thursday."
After he left, Aida sat in the quiet of her office, staring at the closed door.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from Julius.
I'll be home late tonight. Don't wait up.
She stared at the message.
No explanation. No apology. Just an order.
She set the phone down and returned to work.
But her mind kept drifting to Nat.
Across town, in a penthouse suite overlooking the city, Julius sat on a leather sofa, legs spread, phone in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other.
Across from him, Mrs. Karisa paced, her heels clicking sharply against marble floors.
She was striking, in her early fourties, tall, sharp-featured, the kind of woman who commanded rooms without raising her voice. Her husband was a senator. Her power was her own.
"The numbers don't add up," she said, voice clipped. "We diverted 40 million from the foundation account. The ledger shows 25."
Julius took a slow sip of his drink. "Relax."
"Relax?" She stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Fifteen million is missing, Julius. If anyone audits…"
"No one's auditing," he interrupted smoothly. "The foundation's clean on paper. The abductions are untraceable. We covered our tracks."
She crossed her arms. "You're too confident."
"I'm careful," he corrected.
"Careful men don't leave trails."
He stood, setting his glass down. "There is no trail, Karisa. Trust me."
She studied him, eyes narrowed. "I'm trusting you with my reputation. My husband's career. If this falls apart…"
"It won't."
She exhaled sharply, then nodded. "Fine. But I want a full accounting by Friday."
"Done."
She walked toward the door, then paused. "Your wife was at the gala."
Julius's jaw tightened. "I know."
"She looked uncomfortable."
"She's always uncomfortable."
Karisa turned, one eyebrow raised. "Is she a problem?"
"No," Julius said. "She's manageable."
"Good." Karisa stepped closer, voice dropping. "Because if she becomes a liability…"
"She won't."
Karisa held his gaze, then smiled slowly. "You're sure?"
"Positive."
She reached up, fingers brushing his collar. "You know what I like about you, Julius?"
"What?"
"You're ruthless when you need to be."
He smirked. "I learned from the best."
She leaned in, lips brushing his. Not tentative. Not shy.
A kiss. Deliberate. Claiming.
Behind them, the door opened.
A man in a dark suit stepped inside—Karisa's bodyguard. He froze, eyes widening slightly.
Karisa pulled back slowly, turning to face him without a trace of shame.
"Problem?" she asked coolly.
The bodyguard's gaze flicked to Julius, then back to her. "No, ma'am. Just checking in."
"Good." She adjusted her lipstick in a compact mirror. "Tell the driver I'll be down in five."
"Yes, ma'am."
He left quickly.
Julius chuckled. "You enjoy that."
"Enjoy what?"
"Reminding people who has the power."
She smiled. "My husband thinks he runs things. But we both know better."
"Do we?"
She leaned close again, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm untouchable, Julius. And as long as you're useful, so are you."
She kissed him again. Longer this time.
Then she walked out without looking back.
Julius stood alone in the suite, staring at the closed door.
His phone buzzed.
A text from his mother.
Mama: Aida looked thin at the gala. Is she eating? Is she taking care of herself? A woman must be healthy to bear children.
He deleted the message and poured another drink.
At home that night, Aida sat on the couch with her laptop, reviewing files.
The house was silent. Empty.
Julius still wasn't home.
She glanced at the clock. 11:47 PM.
Her phone buzzed.
She picked it up, expecting Julius.
It wasn't.
Nat (Work): Just finished the second round of Tektun analysis. Found something interesting. Can we meet tomorrow instead of Thursday? I think you'll want to see this.
Her heart skipped.
She typed quickly.
Aida: Tomorrow works. 10 AM?
Nat: Perfect. See you then.
She set the phone down, exhaling slowly.
The front door opened.
Julius stood in the doorway, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled. His eyes were dark. Unfocused.
He'd been drinking.
"You're still up," he said, voice thick.
"I fell asleep," she said quietly, sitting up. "I was working."
He stepped closer. She smelled whiskey.
"Long day?" she asked carefully.
He didn't answer. Just stared at her.
Something in his expression made her stomach turn.
"Julius?" she said softly.
He crossed the room in three strides.
"Stand up," he said.
She hesitated. "What?"
"Stand. Up."
She stood slowly, pulse quickening.
He grabbed her wrist. Not gentle. Not careful.
"Julius, you're hurting me…"
"You talked to that man again," he said.
Her breath caught. "What man?"
"At work."
Her mind raced. "He's on my team. It's my job…"
"Don't test me." His grip tightened.
"I'm not testing you"
His other hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back.
She cried out.
"You think I'm stupid?" he hissed. "You think I don't see what you're doing?"
"I'm not doing anything…"
He shoved her. Hard.
She stumbled backward, hip slamming into the edge of the coffee table. Pain shot through her side.
"Julius, please don't…"
He was on her before she could stand. His weight pinned her down against the couch. His hand covered her mouth.
"Don't," he said quietly. "Don't say a word."
Her eyes went wide.
She shook her head, trying to speak against his palm.
"You're mine," he whispered. "You seem to forget that."
She tried to push him away. Her hands pressed against his chest, useless.
He grabbed both her wrists with one hand, pinning them above her head.
"No," she tried to say. The sound died against his palm.
"You don't get to say no to me," he said. "I'm your husband."
Tears spilled down her temples.
She thrashed. Kicked. Tried to twist away.
He was too strong.
His free hand pulled at her clothes. Rough. Impatient.
She screamed against his palm.
He pressed harder, cutting off the sound.
"This is what you owe me," he said. "For everything. For being patient. For staying."
She felt fabric tear.
She felt his weight shift.
She felt everything inside her shatter.
When it was over, he stood.
Adjusted his clothes.
Looked down at her like she was something broken he'd have to clean up later.
"Don't make me do that again, when I need it give it to me" he said quietly.
Then he walked to the bedroom and closed the door.
Aida lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Her body ached everywhere. Her mind felt distant. Separated.
She couldn't move.
Couldn't cry.
Couldn't breathe properly.
Minutes passed. Or hours. She didn't know.
Eventually, she sat up slowly. Her hands shook as she pulled her torn blouse closed.
She stood. Legs unsteady.
Walked to the bathroom.
Locked the door.
Turned on the shower.
Stood under scalding water until her skin turned red.
Scrubbed until it hurt.
But she couldn't wash it away.
She couldn't wash any of it away.