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For ten years, I was the secret girlfriend of my billionaire boss, Arthur. When my mother needed an emergency $50,000 surgery to save her life, I went to him, believing he would help. He coldly refused, citing "company policy" and sending me to his executive assistant, Deanne. She deliberately delayed the loan application. My mother died. When I confronted him, I found him with Deanne, who was wearing a dress he'd bought for me. He didn't just side with her-he fired me on the spot. He called me a gold digger and a slut in front of the entire office. I later learned Deanne had spent a decade sabotaging my career and withholding my bonuses, ensuring I'd never have the money to be independent. And Arthur had let her. But they underestimated me. As I walked out of that office for the last time, I made a call to the one man who had silently protected me for years. And when he answered, he didn't just offer me the money. He offered me a new life.
Contents
Chapter 1
For ten years, I was the secret girlfriend of my billionaire boss, Arthur. When my mother needed an emergency $50,000 surgery to save her life, I went to him, believing he would help.
He coldly refused, citing "company policy" and sending me to his executive assistant, Deanne. She deliberately delayed the loan application.
My mother died.
When I confronted him, I found him with Deanne, who was wearing a dress he'd bought for me. He didn't just side with her-he fired me on the spot.
He called me a gold digger and a slut in front of the entire office.
I later learned Deanne had spent a decade sabotaging my career and withholding my bonuses, ensuring I'd never have the money to be independent. And Arthur had let her.
But they underestimated me. As I walked out of that office for the last time, I made a call to the one man who had silently protected me for years. And when he answered, he didn't just offer me the money. He offered me a new life.
Chapter 1
My mother was dying. The hospital air, thick with antiseptic and despair, clung to my clothes, my hair, my very skin. Fifty thousand dollars. That was the number echoing in my head, a cruel, impossible sum for an experimental surgery that promised a slim chance, a flicker of hope where there had been none. It was a lifeline I desperately needed to grasp.
I stood outside Arthur' s opulent office, the polished marble floors reflecting my desperate face like a distorted mirror. Ten years. Ten years I' d spent loving him, living in his shadow, believing his promises. Now, those years felt like a heavy chain around my neck.
He was behind his desk, a monolith of power and indifference. His eyes, usually sharp and assessing, barely registered my presence. He was busy, always busy. I clutched my hands, the knuckles white.
"Arthur," I started, my voice thin, almost a whisper against the hum of the city outside his soundproof windows. "It's my mother. She needs an experimental surgery."
He looked up, a flicker of something-annoyance? -crossing his face before settling back into a mask of professional detachment. "Alyssa," he said, his tone devoid of warmth, "you know company policy. All hardship requests go through HR, and then Deanne handles the committee review."
My blood ran cold. "Company policy? Arthur, this isn't a company hardship. This is my mother. This is life or death. I need fifty thousand dollars. Just... a loan."
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking to the endless skyline outside. "A loan? Alyssa, you're an employee. We have procedures for this. It's a standard process. You apply, present your case, and the committee decides. Deanne is very efficient with these things."
"Deanne?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You want me to go to Deanne for a personal loan? After everything?" The words hung in the air, weighted with unspoken history.
He finally looked at me, a cold fire in his eyes. "Alyssa, I have a board meeting in five minutes. This isn't the time for emotional outbursts. Go to Deanne. She'll get you the forms."
My heart, already bruised and battered, felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. He was dismissing me, dismissing my mother' s life, as a bureaucratic inconvenience. He saw me as a problem to be managed, not a partner to be supported. A wave of nausea washed over me, threatening to buckle my knees.
Just then, the door opened. Deanne Weber, Arthur' s executive assistant, glided in, her posture impeccable, her eyes scanning me with barely concealed disdain. She held a tablet, her fingers already dancing across the screen.
"Arthur, your meeting is in T-minus three minutes," she announced, her voice honeyed but firm, a clear signal for me to leave. She didn't even look at me directly, treating me like an annoying fly buzzing in the CEO's office.
I stood frozen for a moment, the humiliation burning my cheeks. This was his answer. This was his love. A cold shoulder and a dismissive referral to the very woman who had always treated me as a nuisance. The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"Alyssa," Arthur said, his voice flat, "we can discuss this later. Go." He waved a hand, a gesture of dismissal that stung more than any angry word.
I couldn't breathe. The air in his luxurious office, filled with expensive leather and polished wood, suddenly felt toxic. I turned, my vision blurry, and walked out without another word. Each step was a testament to a decade of blind loyalty, a decade of hoping for a love that was never truly there. The pristine white walls of the corridor seemed to mock my shattered dreams. The elevator doors, gleaming chrome, swallowed me whole, carrying me down from the heights of his indifference.
As the elevator descended, my hand instinctively fumbled for my phone. There was only one person I could call, one name that still felt safe in the wreckage of my life. Glenn. Glenn Moreno. It had been years, but his voice, his steady presence, was a distant comfort I desperately needed.
"Glenn?" I choked out, the word barely audible through my tears.
"Alyssa? Is that really you?" His voice, warm and familiar, was a balm on my raw nerves. "What's wrong? You sound... awful."
"Glenn, I... I need help," I stammered, the words tumbling out. "My mother... she needs surgery. Fifty thousand dollars. I have nowhere else to go."
There was a pause, a beat of silence that felt like an eternity. Then, his voice, firm and unwavering. "Say no more. I'll transfer it right now. What's your account number?"
My breath hitched. "W-what?" I wasn't expecting it to be so... easy. So immediate. "Glenn, I... I can pay you back. I promise."
"Don't be silly," he chuckled softly. "It's already done. And Alyssa..." His voice softened, taking on a serious edge. "A long time ago, I promised you something. I told you if you ever needed me, for anything, I'd be there. I asked you to marry me. Does that offer still stand?"
My mind reeled. Marriage? Glenn? Now? It was pragmatic, yes, but also... real. A stark contrast to the hollow promises I'd just been offered. "Yes," I whispered, the word a sudden gust of wind pushing me forward. "Yes, Glenn. It does."
"Good," he said, his voice filled with a quiet triumph I hadn't heard in years. "Because I'm still in love with you, Alyssa. And I always have been."
I hung up the phone, a strange blend of relief and sorrow washing over me. Relief for my mother, sorrow for a love that had never been. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out a short, brutal message. One that ripped through ten years of my life like a surgeon's scalpel.
"Arthur, we're done."
I didn't wait for a reply. I just sent it. The confirmation sent a jolt through me, a mixture of terror and exhilarating freedom. I marched back to Arthur's office, my head held high. Deanne was still at her desk, typing furiously. I didn't say a word. I simply placed my company ID badge and the small, silver key to Arthur's executive washroom on her desk. They clattered softly against the polished wood, the sound like a final, definitive period at the end of a long, painful chapter.
Deanne looked up, her expression unreadable. I met her gaze, a new resolve hardening my own. There was no going back. I turned and walked toward the elevator, not bothering to wait for the next car. I took the stairs, each step lighter than the last, leaving behind a decade of whispered secrets and unfulfilled promises. The world outside felt cleaner, sharper, somehow more real.
Deanne Weber had always been there, a silent, watchful presence in my secret world with Arthur. From the moment I stepped into his life as his clandestine girlfriend, she was the gatekeeper, the intermediary for our every interaction outside the confines of his penthouse. If I wanted to schedule dinner, I' d email Deanne. If I needed to know Arthur' s travel plans, Deanne would relay them, always with a subtle inflexion in her voice that suggested I was an inconvenience. She was an extension of Arthur' s control, a hyper-competent wall between me and any semblance of normalcy in our relationship.
She even managed my daily life with Arthur. She' d order my groceries, arrange for dry cleaning, even decide which new clothes I might need, always choosing sensible, almost forgettable pieces. I' d bristled at it, of course. Who was she to dictate my wardrobe?
"Arthur," I'd complained once, early in our relationship, "Deanne keeps ordering my clothes. And she picked out this... beige cardigan. I hate beige."
He' d just shrugged, not even looking up from his tablet. "She's just being efficient, Alyssa. You know how busy I am. She streamlines everything. Trust her judgement. She has excellent taste. Besides, you're not exactly a fashion guru, are you? You have a tendency to..." He trailed off, waving a dismissive hand. "...oversimplify your style."
The casual insult, the implicit suggestion that I was incapable, had stung. But I' d swallowed it, just like I' d swallowed so many other slights over the years. Deanne was Ivy League-educated, polished, effortlessly chic. I was just... me. A kind, resilient woman who had fallen for a tech CEO. What did I know about high fashion or the intricate dance of a billionaire' s life? I' d just accepted my place, grateful for the scraps of his affection and the illusion of a future.
Now, as I walked away from his office, from a decade of being managed and marginalized, I realized the bitter truth. Deanne had been more than just an efficient assistant. She was a silent, calculating saboteur. And Arthur, in his arrogance, his cold detachment, had let her. He had chosen her efficiency over my humanity. He had chosen to keep me small, to keep me dependent. He had given Deanne the power to dim my light, and she had wielded it with ruthless precision. The thought of them together, building a life on the ruins of mine, filled me with a sudden, fierce resolve. Arthur was hers now. He was her prize. And he deserved every cold, calculating inch of her. His "company hardship loan" suggestion hadn't been a moment of temporary cruelty. It had been the culmination of a decade of systematic emotional neglect, orchestrated by Deanne, enabled by Arthur, and ultimately, accepted by me. Not anymore. I was done accepting.
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