Erased vows

Chapter three

By the time I settled into my corner of the executive floor on my second day, I was already drowning.

I had overslept and now I am fifteen minutes late.

The hallway was as intimidating as it was polished. It had sterile white walls, black marble floors, and tall glass panels that reflected your posture back to you like judgment. Liam Grey's office loomed at the far end like a throne room, guarded by silence and steel.

Every click of my heels echoed louder than it should have, drawing eyes I didn’t want on me.

It was all perfectly designed to make people like me feel small.

But I wasn’t “people like me” anymore.

Not Elsie Monreo, the secret wife he once held at night.

And not Anita Marshals, the personal assistant hired under a name carefully chosen to be forgettable.

I was here for a reason and it had nothing to do with the job.

Still, the job was relentless.

I reached my desk, small but functional, and spotted the sleek black folder waiting atop the screen. It bore a single label in silver print:

CONFIDENTIAL: PERSONAL ASSISTANT ORIENTATION – L. GREY.

My breath hitched. I peeled it open, expecting something formal, maybe from HR or a handwritten note from an underpaid intern.

Instead, I found a list.

THE RULES

1. Mr. Grey does not tolerate lateness.

2. Do not knock unless he requests you.

3. Personal questions are not permitted.

4. Never mention the accident.

5. Discretion is expected in all matters.

6. Do not make black coffee.

‘Well to go, Elsie, you have broken the first rule on your second day’ I thought with a shake of head.

My fingers paused over the sixth line.

He doesn’t drink black coffee anymore.

I thought he hated milk.

Liam used to drink it like water. Black, two sugars, extra strong. I’d brew it before dawn and set it beside him while he answered emails shirtless at the kitchen counter.

Back when he knew me.

Back when he loved me.

I swallowed hard. Was it grief or memory loss that had changed him so completely? Or was it the people around him, slowly rewriting his life one habit at a time?

My thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

“You are late.”

I looked up to see Liam.

“I couldn’t get a taxi on time,” I said standing up.

“That’s your problem, not mine” he paused “this shouldn’t repeat itself.”

“Yes sir” was all I could mutter.

“Lunch time is 1PM,” he said briefly.

“Forty-five minutes lunch and cafeteria fifteenth floor” Not waiting for a reply, he walked away.

The morning passed in a blur of digital calendars, color-coded spreadsheets, and remembering how to work the company’s task interface, which was quite different from my former job.

I used to help Liam work at home.

Liam didn’t speak to me much. Only short phrases, clipped directions, things like:

“Reschedule the Becker call.”

“Move the board meeting to Wednesday.”

“Send the king's empire documents to legal, then archive them.”

He didn’t look at me the way he used to.

But sometimes, when I passed his glass office, he watched.

Not openly.

Just a flicker of his gaze. Staring confused, curious.

Like his mind was trying to place a face it wasn’t sure was real.

It scared me more than if he’d looked right through me.

I stepped into the huge cafeteria and headed to the food stand.

I was starving.

There were varieties from light food to heavy meals.

Setting my Mac and cheese down on a table at the far end of the cafeteria, I took my first bite.

Hmmm not bad.

The cafeteria was well packed with staff loitering around but yet the atmosphere looked calm.

“You must be the new personal assistant”

I blinked and turned to see a woman leaning against the edge of the adjacent desk. Petite, sharp-browed, curly bob, wearing a blue blazer over jeans that made her look simple and classy at the same time.

“Hi,” she said, sticking out a hand. “Tara Mendes. Admin manager. I sit over in logistics but get roped into helping with the executive circus more than I’d like to admit.”

I shook her hand, grateful for the kindness.

“Anita Marshals” I replied. “Second day. First deep regret.”

She laughed. “Yeah, it’s a lot. Liam Grey is a genius, but he’s well. Let’s just say you’ll need a second brain, a spine of steel, and enough self-control not to throw a laptop at the wall.”

“Sounds charming,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry. He doesn’t bite,” she added, then paused. “Unless Maya.”

I stiffened slightly.

“She’s…” I said carefully.

“His on-and-off-and-back-on-again flame. Don’t mind her. She only likes people she can control.”

That I already knew.

“Wait I thought he was engaged to one supermodel.”

“Yeah but I don’t understand the dynamics of the whole thing” she replied.

Tara winked. “When it comes to Maya, let me know if you need backup. I’ve got moves stashed in my drawer and a library of creative curse words.”

I smiled, a real one.

Maybe I wasn’t completely alone in this place after all.

---

Around midday, I returned from printing out contracts and ran straight into her.

Maya.

Or should I say she came for me?

Draped in all black, red lipstick too perfect for anyone sane, and a phone permanently glued to her hand.

“Still here?” she asked, without looking up.

“It’s only been a day.”

“Two,” she corrected. “You made it further than I bet.”

I didn’t respond.

She stepped closer, gaze flicking over the rules sheet still partially exposed on my desk.

Her mouth curled. “Ah. The sacred list. Try not to mess up number four. People don’t forgive things like that around here.”

I glanced at her. “Funny. I thought the whole point of forgetting was to start over.”

Maya’s smile faltered for a second.

Then she turned and walked off, heels clicking like they belonged to a countdown.

I decided to wave off that reaction.

---

I stayed late, finishing up logistics for Liam’s Europe call and replying to requests from two board members who somehow always needed everything five minutes ago.

It was quiet on the floor. Just the sound of the city through the windows, the soft hum of machines that never really slept.

I was packing up when I heard it.

A voice. Just past Liam’s door.

Low. Sharp.

“…She’s not a threat if she doesn’t remember.”

Maverick.

I froze.

My hands trembled as I lowered my body back into the seat.

“I told you to sort it out. If she slips, you’ll deal with it. He can’t afford another breakdown.”

Breakdown?

My breath caught.

There was silence.

Then another voice. Softer. Controlled.

Maya?

“We’re crossing lines.”

I couldn’t hear the response. A door shut a second later. Footsteps receded.

But the damage was done.

Maverick Grey.

Still pulling strings. Still trying to control everyone

I didn’t know what kind of game he was playing but I knew now that I was part of it, whether I liked it or not.

Liam emerged forty-five minutes later, jaw clenched tight, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he’d just had a long conversation with a ghost.

He didn’t notice me at first.

Then he paused.

“You’re still here?”

I stood slowly. “I wanted to finish prepping for the king's meeting. And your call for tomorrow.”

He didn’t move.

Just stared.

Like he was searching my face for something he should remember.

Something he couldn’t quite reach.

“Smart,” he said finally. “Pack your things, I will drop you off”

My heart skipped. ‘How so?’

“We are not going the same way, sir,” I said.

“I am aware,” he said briefly.

I blinked. “Okay sir, please five minutes to get my bag.”

“Okay,” he said coolly. “Don't keep me waiting.”

And just like that, he walked away.

Then he stopped.

“Dinner tomorrow evening with a client and his family, you are coming along!”

No explanation.

No room for negotiation.

Just a command.

I stood rooted to the floor, fingers still gripping the door handle.

Why would he want me there?

It couldn’t be efficiency. Not when he had Clarisse his fiancée or Maya who knew how to play nice ashus plus one.

Well, this is my chance to make my next move tomorrow.

Maybe, somewhere deep in the fractured parts of his memory he still carried a ghost of me.

Of us.

I didn’t know what was more terrifying.

That in the end, he might discover who I really was and might still choose someone else.

Three years is such a long time.

Or that he never remembers me.