The Reveal
1577 Words
Chapter 2: The Reveal
Alissa’s heels clicked against the polished marble floor as she stepped into the sleek, glass-walled lobby of Wright Cuisine the next morning. The early rush of employees buzzed around her, all in varying shades of professionalism—crisp suits, smart dresses, hair pulled back tight. She, on the other hand, felt like a fraud in her tailored pencil skirt and soft blouse.
She adjusted her work badge and inhaled slowly.
Last night still lingered like a weird dream—Asher’s knowing smile, his parting words, the way he saw through her without even trying. I’ve got a feeling this won’t be the last time we see each other.
She gave a soft, humorless chuckle. “Understatement of the year,” she muttered under her breath.
Alissa ducked into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifteenth floor—Accounting and Finance. Her real domain. Or rather, the part of her life that wasn’t built on lies, half-truths, or inconvenient legacies she didn’t talk about.
The doors opened with a ding, and she slipped inside the office space, hoping to get to her desk unnoticed.
“Al! You’re late.”
Jamie, her cubicle neighbor, grinned at her from over the top of his monitor. “Morning coffee line must’ve been a warzone?”
Alissa offered a tight smile. “Something like that.” She slid into her seat and powered up her computer, praying today would be ordinary.
But ordinary died the moment the intercom crackled.
“Alissa Jackson. Please report to the executive floor. Mr. Wright would like to see you.”
Her fingers froze mid-keystroke.
Her heart dropped like a stone.
She glanced up. Jamie was staring at her, eyebrows raised.
“You got promoted or fired and didn’t tell me?” he joked.
But Alissa wasn’t laughing.
She rose slowly, legs suddenly made of lead, and forced herself toward the elevator again. Maybe it’s a coincidence, she told herself. Maybe it’s a different Wright. Or a different Asher.
Wishful thinking.
By the time she reached the top floor, she knew—nothing was going to be the same.
The executive suite was intimidating: minimalist design, polished wood floors, and towering floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city. An assistant at the front desk gestured for her to go right in.
Alissa’s stomach tightened as she pushed open the door.
And there he was.
Asher Wright.
Wearing a crisp gray suit, sleeves rolled slightly, his jawline as sharp as ever. He sat behind a sleek mahogany desk, but when he saw her, he stood—slowly, like he’d been expecting her all along.
“Miss Jackson,” he said, lips quirking into that familiar, infuriating smile. “Funny seeing you again.”
Alissa closed the door behind her, already feeling the walls closing in. “So... you’re the Asher Wright. CEO of Wright Cuisine.”
He folded his arms. “And you’re not nearly as bad a date as you pretended to be.”
She flushed. “I—I can explain.”
He waved her off, stepping around the desk to lean against the edge. “No need. I figured it out halfway through your rant about competitive hot dog eating and spreadsheet kink.”
Alissa groaned and rubbed her temples. “Look, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to go that far. Ashley asked me to—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “She called me this morning. Apologized profusely and said it was all a joke that spiraled.”
She blinked. “She what?”
He nodded. “She came clean. Which, ironically, made me like you more.”
Alissa narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
He grinned. “You could’ve ghosted me. Lied. Played dumb. But you showed up to work, fully prepared to deal with the awkwardness. That takes guts.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “Okay, so what now? You’re firing me?”
He shook his head. “Actually... I need a favor.”
Alissa blinked. “A favor?”
He straightened. “You’re good under pressure, obviously creative, and—let’s be honest—you owe me a little.”
“Excuse me?”
He held up a hand. “My parents are arriving in town this weekend. They’re pushing hard for me to ‘settle down’ and hand over a proposal. I told them I’m already in a committed relationship. Which was a lie.”
Alissa stared at him.
“And now,” Asher continued smoothly, “I need someone to play the part. Just until they leave. A few dinners, maybe a gala. Appearances only. Keep things clean, simple, and fake.”
“You’re insane,” Alissa said flatly.
“Maybe,” he replied. “But it’s a mutually beneficial deal. You play along for a week, and I forget all about last night. No write-up. No HR drama. Your job’s safe.”
Alissa opened her mouth, but he cut her off again.
“Oh—and I’ll pay you. Generously.”
The words hung in the air.
Pretend to be his girlfriend?
The idea was absurd. Risky. Reckless.
And yet...
Alissa thought about her mounting bills. The slim margin between her current paycheck and disaster. The quiet threat of her real identity—the one she’d hidden carefully since she walked away from Sterling Foods and her family’s twisted corporate web.
She nodded once, stiffly. “Fine. But only for a week.”
Asher smiled, and something about it made her stomach flutter. “Deal.”
He extended his hand.
Alissa shook it, trying not to think about how warm his skin felt against hers.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he added casually, like an afterthought.
“What now?”
“My parents?” he said. “They’re not the only ones watching.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
He gestured toward the glass wall behind his desk. Below them, the open office buzzed with motion—employees, board members, assistants. Everyone looking up at the corner office. Watching.
“You’re already on stage, Alissa,” he said quietly. “Might as well play your part.”
And suddenly,
her pulse thundered in her ears.
She wasn’t just pretending for Asher’s parents.
She was pretending for the entire company.
Alissa forced a tight smile as she followed Asher into the lavish restaurant. Everything about him screamed authority—the way he walked, the way he scanned the room, and especially the way the staff practically bowed in his presence.
This man wasn’t just powerful. He was feared.
And if he ever found out the truth…
She sat opposite him, her heart racing. The menu in her hands blurred. Her fingers trembled, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice. She had no idea what someone like him would eat, much less what to order.
Asher watched her, amused. “You look nervous.”
“Just... first date jitters,” she muttered, laughing weakly.
He tilted his head. “That’s a lie.”
Her breath caught.
“I read people for a living, Alina. You’re not just nervous. You’re terrified.”
Alissa froze.
Alina.
That name didn’t belong to her. Not really.
But she had to play along.
"Maybe I'm just intimidated by you," she offered, voice soft.
He smirked. “You should be. I’m not known for being kind.”
She looked up sharply. His gaze didn’t waver.
"And yet," he continued, "you still came. Why?"
Because her cousin begged. Because she needed the money. Because she didn’t know he’d be him.
“I guess I was curious,” she whispered.
Asher leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice lower. “And what have you learned so far?”
Alissa’s eyes met his. She hated how drawn she felt to the danger in his stare.
“That I should’ve worn better shoes,” she said, forcing a laugh.
He chuckled. Deep. Rich. Dangerous.
But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Dinner went on. She barely ate. He talked. She nodded. And each second felt like walking a tightrope with no safety net.
Then dessert came.
And with it—the question.
“So… what’s your real name?”
Her fork slipped. Clattered against the plate.
Her throat dried up.
Her mask cracked.
“I—I told you. Alina.”
His smile sharpened.
“No. That’s the name you gave. Not the name you own.”
Alissa’s hands curled into fists under the table.
How did he know?
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it. A dark cloud passed over his expression.
“I need to take this,” he muttered, rising. “Stay here.”
She nodded, heart pounding.
As soon as he stepped away, she fished out her phone.
One message. From her cousin.
> “He wasn’t supposed to be that Asher. Alissa, leave. Now. Before it’s too late.”
Her blood turned to ice.
She stood, nearly knocking over her chair.
But just as she turned toward the door—
“Going somewhere?”
His voice. Behind her.
She froze.
Turned slowly.
And there he was—Asher, holding her wallet in his hand.
The one she thought she left zipped in her purse.
He opened it, flipped to the ID
inside, and held it up.
“Alissa Williams,” he read aloud, voice calm but deadly.
“Care to explain?”
- Writer
