What’s Wrong With My Secretary?

Shadows in the Glass

The following week began with tension that no one could ignore. Nathan was quieter in meetings, distracted during calls, and more often than not, lost in thought when he should have been leading discussions. Even the staff who admired his composure could sense that something had shifted.

Belle, too, noticed the change. He no longer greeted her with the same warmth, no longer called her into his office for small clarifications. It was as if Nathan had built another wall overnight, this one taller and colder than before.

She told herself it was for the best. Distance was safer. But every time she saw him passing through the hall, her chest tightened.

On Tuesday, she received a message from Claire Anderson. It was short and polite: “Lunch tomorrow. My treat. I’d like to get to know the woman who’s been such a help to my husband.”

Belle froze. Her fingers trembled around the phone as she reread the message. It sounded harmless, almost kind. Yet something beneath the words felt sharp.

When she showed the message to Mia that afternoon, her friend frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. Are you sure you should go?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Belle replied quietly. “She’s the CEO’s wife. Saying no would look suspicious.”

Mia hesitated. “Then at least be careful. She might not be looking for a friendly chat.”

Belle smiled weakly. “I know.”

The next day, she met Claire at a high-end restaurant downtown. Claire was already seated when Belle arrived, flawless as always, her posture straight, her smile perfect.

“Belle,” she said warmly. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” Belle replied, taking her seat.

“Please, call me Claire. We’re not in the office.”

Belle nodded, trying to relax. “All right, Claire.”

They ordered light meals, and for the first few minutes, the conversation was easy. Claire asked about Belle’s background, her studies, her adjustment to the company. Belle answered honestly, careful not to sound too formal or too personal.

Then the tone shifted.

“Nathan speaks highly of you,” Claire said, her smile unwavering. “He says you’ve been a great help.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Belle replied softly.

“Of course,” Claire said. She stirred her drink, watching Belle over the rim of her glass. “You must work very closely with him.”

“Yes,” Belle said. “That’s part of the position.”

Claire leaned back. “And how do you find him? As a boss, I mean.”

Belle hesitated. “He’s professional. Demanding, but fair.”

Claire’s smile thinned slightly. “Professional. That’s good to hear.”

Silence lingered for a moment. Belle tried to hold her composure, but she could feel Claire studying her, weighing every word and gesture.

Finally, Claire spoke again, her tone calm but edged. “I trust you understand how important my husband’s reputation is to this company. People can be cruel when they gossip, especially about powerful men.”

Belle met her gaze. “I understand, Mrs. Anderson.”

“I’m glad.” Claire smiled again, softer this time. “Nathan has worked very hard to build what he has. I would hate for anything—or anyone—to put that at risk.”

Belle felt the words like a quiet warning. She forced a polite smile. “Of course. I have no intention of causing problems.”

“Good,” Claire said simply. “I’m sure we understand each other.”

They finished their meal with polite conversation, but the air between them never lightened. When Belle left the restaurant, she felt as if she had just walked through a storm without getting wet—shaken, but outwardly composed.

Back at the office, Nathan called her in that afternoon.

“How was lunch?” he asked, his tone cautious.

Belle hesitated. “You knew?”

“Claire told me this morning she wanted to meet you.”

She nodded slowly. “It was fine.”

Nathan studied her expression. “Belle.”

She looked up.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Belle said quietly. “She just wanted to know who I am.”

Nathan exhaled. “I’m sorry. She can be… protective.”

“She’s your wife,” Belle said softly. “She has every right to be.”

The truth in her words cut deeper than she intended. Nathan leaned against his desk, running a hand through his hair. “This has gone too far. She should not have involved you.”

“It’s all right,” Belle replied. “I understand.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something in his chest tightened. She was calm, graceful, far stronger than he had given her credit for. He admired her for it, even as guilt gnawed at him.

“Belle,” he said after a moment, “I don’t want this to affect your position here.”

“It won’t,” she said firmly. “I can handle it.”

Nathan’s gaze softened. “You shouldn’t have to.”

Belle smiled faintly. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Anderson.”

He wanted to tell her not to call him that, not when they were alone, not when it made the distance between them feel like a wound. But he said nothing.

That evening, Belle sat by her apartment window, staring at the city lights. The dinner replayed in her mind—Claire’s polite tone, her cold warning, the way she had said “anyone.”

Belle knew what she had meant. And yet, instead of anger, she felt only sadness. Because Claire was not wrong. Nathan had a life, a family, a world she had no place in.

She closed her eyes, whispering to herself, “Stop feeling something that should not exist.”

But the heart rarely listens to reason.

The following morning, Nathan arrived early again. He sat at his desk, staring at the skyline. The silence of his office pressed heavy against his thoughts.

He knew Claire had met Belle. He knew she had seen through his distance, his guilt, his carefully managed calm.

When Belle walked in to bring his schedule, he noticed the faint tiredness in her eyes. “Did you sleep?” he asked quietly.

“Not much,” she admitted.

“You should take the afternoon off.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

Nathan stood, moving closer to her. “You’re not.”

Belle froze. His tone was gentle, not commanding, but it carried something more dangerous—care.

She took a step back. “Please, sir. Don’t make this harder.”

He stopped, realizing what she meant. The air between them stilled.

Nathan’s voice softened. “I never meant for any of this to happen. You have to believe that.”

“I do,” Belle said. “But believing doesn’t change the truth.”

He closed his eyes, fighting the war inside him. “If this were a different life—”

“It’s not,” she interrupted. “And that’s why we have to stop.”

Nathan looked at her, his throat tightening. “Can you?”

She hesitated, then whispered, “I’ll try.”

They stood there in silence, both knowing that trying would not be enough.

Later that day, as Belle walked past the lobby, she caught sight of Claire again. The woman was speaking to the receptionist, her smile sharp and controlled. Their eyes met briefly. Claire said nothing, but her expression said everything.

Belle quickened her pace, heart pounding.

That night, she decided she needed space. She wrote a short email to Nathan before leaving.

“Sir, I would like to request two days of leave. I think it will help me return with a clearer focus. Thank you for understanding. —Belle Rivera.”

She hesitated before pressing send, knowing what it might imply, then clicked anyway.

Nathan read the message minutes later. He stared at the screen for a long time, his hands unmoving. He wanted to tell her not to go, that her absence would only make things worse. But deep down, he knew she needed it.

He replied simply: “Take all the time you need.”

That night, Nathan sat alone in his home office. Claire passed by the doorway, stopping for a moment.

“She asked for time off, didn’t she?” Claire said.

Nathan looked up. “You knew?”

“I saw her email notification when I walked by your desk earlier.” Claire’s voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp. “You should be careful, Nathan. People notice.”

He sighed. “I’m handling it.”

“No,” Claire said quietly. “You’re letting it handle you.”

Nathan looked away. “This isn’t what you think.”

“Maybe not yet,” she replied. “But if it continues, it will be exactly what I think.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him with nothing but silence and the truth he refused to face.

Belle spent her two days away from the office in a small coastal town two hours from the city. She walked along the beach, watched the waves, and tried to clear her mind. But even there, away from the glass towers and boardrooms, his voice followed her.

She thought about the note he had left, about his tired smile, about the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at her.

She wanted to hate him for making her feel this way, but she couldn’t. Because she knew he was just as lost as she was.

Standing by the shore, Belle whispered to the wind, “I’ll come back stronger.”

She did not know if that meant stronger to stay or stronger to walk away.

All she knew was that something between them had already begun, and no distance, no silence, no denial could undo it now.