Where love begins

Chapter Two: Unwelcome Encounters

Teddy’s brows drew together slightly as he stared at Mira after her sudden outburst, his amber eyes narrowing with confusion. “I’m not the one!” The words still hung awkwardly between them in the quiet corridor, echoing faintly against the polished marble floors and glass walls. The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and twist around them like living things. For a moment, neither of them moved. Teddy stood perfectly still, his hand still resting lightly on her arm, his mind working to make sense of her strange response. Mira held her breath, her chest tight, waiting for him to connect the dots, to see her not as his assistant but as the woman from his bed. Then Teddy gave her a strange look—part confusion, part mild irritation—and his gaze drifted downward, past her face, past her neatly pressed blouse, to the floor at her feet. “You dropped your pen.” Mira blinked, her heart still hammering against her ribs. “What?” She followed his eyes to the floor, where her black fountain pen lay rolled against her shoe—her favorite one, the Montblanc she’d saved three months’ worth of café tips to buy, the one she used for every meeting note because it wrote so smoothly, so perfectly. It was the only luxury she allowed herself, a small reminder that she was worth something more than just debt and struggle. “Oh!” she exclaimed, bending down quickly to pick it up, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she fumbled with the cap. When she straightened again, her fingers tightening around the familiar weight of the pen, Teddy had already walked past her without another glance, his long strides carrying him calmly down the corridor toward his office. His dark suit disappeared behind the frosted glass doors with a soft click. Mira stood frozen, her hand still raised slightly as if she’d been about to say something. “He didn’t recognize me…” she murmured softly, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. She looked down at her hands—steady now, thank god—and then back toward his office, half-expecting him to reappear, to demand an explanation. “He doesn’t remember me.” The words came out again, quieter this time, almost disbelieving. She’d spent the entire morning convinced he’d look at her and know—know exactly what they’d done, exactly how close they’d been. But he’d barely glanced at her, had only noticed she’d dropped her pen. Her expression was a strange mixture of relief and confusion. Part of her felt like a heavy weight had just lifted from her shoulders—she could keep her job, keep her secret, keep struggling to pay off the debt without adding scandal to her list of problems. But another part of her… didn’t know how to feel at all. A strange, hollow ache settled in her chest, and she pressed her palm against it as if that could somehow push it away. Just then a sharp voice snapped her out of her thoughts, cutting through the quiet like a whip. “What are you daydreaming about during work hours?” Mira jumped slightly, her pen nearly slipping from her grasp again. Lucy Chen—her direct supervisor, the executive office manager who’d been with the company for fifteen years and acted as if she owned the place—stood a few feet away with her arms folded across her chest, her expression stern and unimpressed. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, her glasses perched low on her nose, and she tapped one perfectly manicured nail against her arm as she waited for an answer. “If you don’t want to work,” Lucy continued coldly, her eyes sweeping over Mira’s slightly disheveled appearance, “then pack your things and leave for me. There are twenty other people who’d kill for your position as Mr. Witherson’s assistant.” “I’m so sorry, Miss Lucy,” Mira said immediately, bowing her head slightly in deference. She’d learned quickly that arguing with Lucy never ended well. “It won’t happen again. I was just… thinking about the schedule for today.” Lucy studied her for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line, before rolling her eyes dramatically. “Good. Because you don’t have time to stand around like a statue today. We have a very important visitor arriving.” Mira looked up nervously, her mind already racing through the list of appointments she’d prepared the night before. She didn’t remember any important meetings scheduled for this morning. Lucy’s lips curved into a small smirk, the kind that always made Mira feel like she was about to be the punchline of a joke she didn’t understand. “Caramel Montgomery—our future boss’s wife and the famous cardiothoracic surgeon—is already downstairs in the lobby. She insisted on coming early to ‘discuss wedding plans’ with Mr. Witherson.” Mira froze, her pen slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor again. Future boss’s wife? The words echoed in her mind, sharp and painful. She’d worked for Teddy for three years and had never heard him mention a fiancée, never seen so much as a photo on his desk, never noticed a ring on his finger. “You’re responsible for receiving her,” Lucy added, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Make sure she’s comfortable, make sure she gets whatever she wants, and for god’s sake—make sure she doesn’t see anything that might upset her. Mr. Witherson is already in a foul mood this morning, and we don’t need her making things worse.” Shock flashed across Mira’s face, and she bent down to retrieve her pen, her hands suddenly shaking again. “The boss’s… wife?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know he was engaged.” Lucy noticed the look instantly and laughed mischievously, a sharp, brittle sound. “Look at your shocked expression. What’s wrong? Did you think you had a chance?” she teased, her eyes narrowing playfully as she stepped closer. “Are you perhaps harboring special feelings for Mr. Witherson? Because let me tell you something, dear—men like him don’t look at girls like us. They marry women like Caramel Montgomery—rich, beautiful, successful. Women who can help their careers, not hold them back.” “No!” Mira shot back instantly, her voice louder than she intended, drawing the attention of a few passing employees who quickly looked away. “Not at all! I was just… surprised, that’s all.” Lucy waved a dismissive hand, clearly not believing her. “Well, don’t just stand there looking like a deer in headlights. Hurry up and go. She’s probably already complaining about the coffee or the chairs or something equally ridiculous.” “Okay, ma’am,” Mira replied quickly, turning toward the elevators before Lucy could see the tears stinging her eyes. She grabbed her notepad from her desk—her hands still shaking—and hurried away, her thoughts spiraling wildly. The boss’s fiancée… and I slept with him. Heat rushed to her face as she mentally scolded herself, pressing the elevator button repeatedly as if that would make it arrive faster. How could you be so stupid, Mira? How could you not know he was seeing someone? How could you let yourself get into this situation? The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open slowly with a soft hiss. Inside stood a woman so stunning that Mira momentarily forgot how to breathe, her hand freezing mid-motion as she reached for the door frame. She was tall and elegant, with legs that seemed to go on forever, dressed in a fitted red silk gown that hugged every curve perfectly. Her dark hair was styled in loose waves that cascaded over one shoulder, diamond earrings the size of small birds’ eggs sparkled against her skin, and a thick gold bracelet encrusted with rubies gleamed under the building’s fluorescent lights. Every movement was graceful, every gesture deliberate, and she exuded the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly how beautiful and powerful you were. Mira straightened immediately, forcing her professional smile into place as she stepped into the elevator. “Miss Caramel Montgomery, I presume?” she said politely, extending her hand with careful formality. “I’m Mira Sharma, Mr. Witherson’s executive assistant. I’ll be your escort for the day.” Caramel looked at her then, her gaze slow and deliberate, as if she were examining a piece of furniture rather than a person. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, but there was no warmth in them—only cold assessment and something that looked suspiciously like disdain. She moved from Mira’s neatly tied hair… to her modest cream blouse… to her simple navy pencil skirt… and finally to her shoes—black leather pumps from Teddy’s design collection two years ago, the ones she’d bought secondhand from a consignment shop after saving for months, telling herself they were an investment in her professional appearance. A faint chuckle escaped her lips, low and cold. But she ignored the outstretched hand completely, turning her attention back to her reflection in the elevator mirror as she adjusted her hair. Instead, she walked past Mira as if she didn’t exist and sat down on one of the plush reception chairs just outside the elevator bay, crossing her legs elegantly as she pulled out her phone. “Get me a glass of water,” she said coldly, not even looking up from her screen. “And make it quick—I don’t have all day to wait for your incompetent service.” Mira hesitated for only a second, her hand dropping to her side. She’d dealt with difficult clients before, but there was something about Caramel’s tone—sharp, condescending, as if she were speaking to a servant rather than an employee—that made her skin crawl. “Yes, Miss Montgomery,” she said quietly, turning quickly and walking toward the cafeteria dispenser at the end of the corridor. She filled a clean glass with fresh, cold water, her hands steady despite the anger simmering in her chest, and returned carefully, holding the glass out with both hands. “Miss Caramel, here is your water.” Caramel took the glass without looking at her, her fingers brushing against Mira’s briefly—cold, perfectly manicured nails against her warm skin. She stared at the clear liquid for a long moment, her brow furrowing slightly as if she’d found something offensive in its clarity. Then she gave a sharp hiss of annoyance, her eyes flashing with anger as she looked up at Mira. Without warning, she tilted the glass and poured the water directly onto Mira’s shoes, the liquid spreading quickly across the leather and dripping onto the marble floor in dark puddles. Mira gasped softly, jumping back to avoid getting more water on her skirt. “Miss Montgomery—” “Didn’t anyone tell you,” Caramel said harshly, cutting her off, her eyes filled with disdain as she gestured toward Mira’s feet, “that I only drink hydrogen-rich water? Imported from Japan. I have a special dispenser in my office at the hospital. I can’t believe you’d offer me tap water like I’m some common person.” “I’m… I’m so sorry,” Mira stammered nervously, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she looked down at her soaked shoes. “I wasn’t informed of any special requirements. I’ll go change it immediately—” She grabbed the empty glass and turned to leave, already planning to run to the nearest convenience store to buy whatever kind of water Caramel wanted, even if it cost half her weekly grocery money. “Wait.” Caramel’s voice stopped her, sharp and commanding. Mira turned back slowly, her hands clenched around the glass. Caramel stood up from her chair, her red gown swishing around her ankles, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she approached. She was even taller up close, and Mira had to tilt her head back slightly to meet her gaze. “As someone who works for my husband-to-be,” Caramel said slowly, her eyes moving over Mira’s outfit with deliberate scrutiny, “don’t you have any awareness of copyright? Of intellectual property?” “Huh?” Mira’s brows knitted in confusion, her mind spinning. Copyright? What was she talking about? Caramel stepped closer, her perfume—something heavy and floral—filling the air between them. “Don’t you know,” she continued, her voice dripping with mockery, “that Teddy hates imitation the most? He spent two years developing that shoe design—every stitch, every curve, every detail was his. And you have the audacity to wear cheap knockoffs to work?” Imitation? Mira’s thoughts spun in confusion as she looked down at her shoes. She’d bought them from a reputable consignment shop, had even checked the serial number inside the heel to make sure they were genuine. She’d saved for months, had given up buying groceries some weeks just to afford them. Just then— Ding. The elevator chimed again, its doors sliding open with a soft hiss. Teddy stepped out, adjusting his tie as he walked, his gaze immediately scanning the corridor as if he’d sensed the tension. His eyes drifted toward Mira first—standing awkwardly, her shoes still damp, her face pale—and then to Caramel, his expression hardening slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asked calmly, his voice carrying across the quiet corridor as he walked toward them. Caramel’s entire demeanor changed instantly, like a light switch being flipped. The cold disdain vanished, replaced by a bright, warm smile as she hurried to his side, slipping her arm through his and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “Teddy! You’re here! I was just telling your assistant how much I admire your design work. But look—she’s wearing these terrible imitations of your shoes from two years ago.” She pointed toward Mira’s feet, her lips curling in disgust as she looked up at him. “I tried to explain to her how important originality is to you, but I don’t think she understands.” Mira’s heart sank, and she felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. She’d worked so hard to look professional, to be taken seriously, and now she was being accused of wearing fakes in front of her boss. Only then did she understand the accusation, and she quickly, nervously, began removing the shoes, her fingers fumbling with the buckles. “Are they fake?” she said anxiously, holding one up for him to see. “They are clearly the genuine ones I saved up for and bought through a consignment shop. The owner said they were authentic—she even showed me the original receipt.” She looked up at Teddy, her voice trembling slightly as water dripped from the leather onto her socks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were imitations. I’ll dispose of them right away—I’ll never wear them again.” Holding the shoes in her hand, her face burning with shame, she turned to leave, desperate to get away from their stares, from the humiliation of standing there in wet socks in front of her boss and his fiancée. But as she turned, Caramel suddenly noticed something—something small and silver that had been hidden by her skirt, now swinging slightly as she moved. Her expression froze, her smile vanishing so quickly it was as if it had never existed. “Wait.” She stepped forward quickly and grabbed Mira’s wrist, her grip surprisingly tight as she pulled her arm out to examine it. Dangling from the edge of Mira’s skirt, caught on a loose thread, was a delicate silver bracelet—thin as a hair, with a small heart charm engraved with the letter T. Caramel’s eyes widened, her face paling slightly as she lifted it carefully, as if it were something dangerous. “Why,” she asked coldly, her voice barely above a whisper, “is the lover’s bracelet between Teddy and me… with you?” Shock exploded across Mira’s face, and she stared at the bracelet in horror. She’d never seen it before in her life—she didn’t even wear jewelry, couldn’t afford to. How had it gotten there? Her heart nearly stopped as she looked from the bracelet to Caramel’s furious face to Teddy’s expression, which had changed instantly. His eyes were fixed on the bracelet, his jaw tightening as recognition flashed across his face. The silver chain, the tiny heart, the way it caught the light—he’d given that bracelet to Caramel six months ago, had had it custom-made for her birthday. He’d seen her wearing it just last week. The air between the three of them turned dangerously silent, thick with tension and unspoken accusations.