For three years, I was Dashiell Davenport’s secret. His right hand at the office, his lover in the shadows. When he announced a major company announcement, I thought my time had finally come. I’d seen the receipt for a custom bouquet on his phone. I was so sure it was for me that I flew to Paris overnight just to have the perfect dress made.
I rushed back the next day, arriving just in time to see him on a stage in the lobby, his arm wrapped around another woman.
“I’m getting married,” he announced to the crowd, his voice booming. “And to put an end to any rumors, and discourage anyone with ambitions of climbing into my bed, I’d like to introduce you all to my fiancée, Seraphina.”
As the room erupted in applause, she buried her face shyly in his chest. Across the sea of people, his eyes found mine. I held his cold gaze, offered him a smile, and then, without a single look back, I walked away.
