As soon as he was gone, I unlocked my secret phone, the one he didn’t know about. Sure enough, there it was—a new post on his private feed on Instagram. One visible to everyone... except me.
“To the sweetest assistant in the world—sorry for making you wait ten minutes. Promise I'll make it up to you. Don’t work too hard, Lacey.”
I double-tapped it, liked it, and at that moment, I received a notification from Mr. Romano. The contract. I clicked the link and signed the document without a shred of hesitation. I had made my decision.
The next morning, Keaton was up before dawn. He returned with a box of pastries from a bakery I’d always wanted to try. For a moment, I thought he’d bought them for me, but when I reached for the chocolate croissant, he slapped my hand away.
"Those aren't yours. You like the plain ones, right? I got one just for you," he said, his voice absent of any warmth.
I froze, the reality crashing down on me. The chocolate croissants weren’t for me; they were for Lacey.
I couldn’t take it anymore. "We’ve been together for 5 years, and you still don’t know I’m allergic to plain croissants?" I said, my voice cracking.
Keaton’s expression darkened. He stood abruptly, tossing the pastries onto the table. "Stop making a scene. Eat or don’t. I don’t care."
As he prepared to leave, I walked to the closet and grabbed a bag. "When you see Lacey today, make sure you give this to her."
His brow furrowed, but he took the bag. When he peeked inside and saw the lace bra, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. He opened his mouth, probably to explain it away, but the cold, indifferent look on my face silenced him. "I'll make sure she stops leaving her things around," he said, almost too casually.
"Good," I whispered.
For a second, Keaton hesitated, his eyes trying to read my expression. Then he offered, "I can give you a ride to work today."
Five years, and not once had he offered to drive me, even when I was seriously ill, even when it rained so hard the roads were almost flooded. Work and personal life were always separate. But Lacey? On her first day, she’d been chauffeured around by the Mafia Don himself.
I shook my head, grabbed my keys, and brushed past him, trying not to let the tears spill. I had one foot out the door when I heard Keaton's phone ring. "Alissa, wait—"