Ethan Sinclair actually wouldn’t grant me leave. His reason: he needed me, and I owned 0.5% of Sinclair Holdings.
I wanted to tell him off.
But professional standards stopped me. "Mr. Sinclair, I don’t want the shares. Can you cash them out for me?"
He looked up from his files and gave me a "dream on" look. "I’ll cash them out for you when you get married."
"If I never marry in this life, does that mean I never get the chance?"
"I had someone check the stars for you," he said. "You’re meant to have two children. You’ll be a good luck charm for your husband."
Ha!
He finally granted me a week’s leave.
I stayed in the hospital for a week.
What I really wanted was two weeks—to rest my exhausted heart.
I was afraid I might act on impulse and confess to Ethan. Unrequited love is torture; every day I worried I’d lose control and throw myself at him.
I chose to be discharged at noon.
He said that since I’m his chief secretary, I should live close by.
So he arranged for me to live next door—of course, it was his property.
I’d lived there five years, comings and goings side by side.
But we really did live in two separate apartments.
I stepped out of the elevator and bumped right into him and a woman coming out of his unit.
She had big, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders, striking features, immaculate makeup, and a hot figure—undeniably an alluring beauty.
I froze.
Ethan looked at me and froze, too, then raised an eyebrow. "Out of the hospital?"
I snapped back to myself, tamped down the curiosity and hurt, and smiled. "Yes, Mr. Sinclair."
Ethan clearly didn’t want to introduce her.
I could only smile and give a small nod.
The woman returned my nod with a smile.
I could clearly sense a faint sharpness in her eyes—subtle, hidden, the kind you notice when you’ve worked with corporate sirens long enough.
"Since you’re out, hurry up and clean yourself up and come to work," Ethan said, then turned and led her into the elevator.
Even after the doors closed, I stood in the hallway in a daze.
It was the first time I’d seen Ethan bring a woman home.
My heart ached.
Like a tipped-over jar of vinegar—sour, layered with other bitter feelings, tight and suffocating.
Back home, I tried to steady myself and called my deputy. "Mia, anything major happen at the office while I was gone?"
"This morning a new female VP joined the company. She’s a very glamorous woman, huge presence," Mia said.
Could it be her?
She arrived that morning and by noon was already going home with him to sleep? That’s awfully forward.
No sooner had I hung up than another call came in.
I glanced at the screen—Mr. Lang, a former partner of ours, was calling.
I answered immediately. "Mr. Lang, hello."
"Claire Bennett, send me an invitation to Mr. Sinclair’s engagement party. I must attend."
My chest tightened. Engagement?
After I hung up, my heart sank completely. No smile left my face.
I hadn’t known Ethan was getting engaged—an utter humiliation for me as his chief secretary.
I didn’t even know we’d hired a new female VP.
Well, I’m just a secretary, not a decision-maker.
Why would Ethan consult me?
Even though I felt suffocated, I had to keep it in.
Thinking he was getting engaged and that, as chief secretary, I’d have to handle the event—
No. I couldn’t guarantee I’d maintain flawless professionalism at his engagement party. I needed to go back to my hometown for a bit.
I typed a message: Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Lang called asking for an invitation to your engagement party. I don’t know the specifics but haven’t refused. Also, I need one week leave to return to my hometown.
As soon as I sent it, his call came through. "Claire, clever—you even find an excuse to go home to be lazy."
He didn’t deny the engagement.
My emotions tumbled.
"Mr. Sinclair, congratulations are in order. You’re getting engaged?"
"Yes, I’m getting engaged," Ethan said in a low voice. "So I’m busy—don’t complicate things."
My heart dropped into an ice pit.
I had to thank Ethan for years of training that let me still find my voice and seem composed.
"Mr. Sinclair, I really need to go back."
"We’re getting engaged in three days," he said. "Do this: after the engagement party, you can go."
"That soon?" I blurted out.
Then I quickly corrected myself to avoid sounding odd. "I mean—someone of your status shouldn’t have a rushed ceremony."
"It’s just an engagement party, not a wedding," he said, sounding curt and impatient.
"That doesn’t mean it should be sloppy," I replied, matter-of-fact. At his age and with his life decisions, he should understand the importance of marriage.
"So you’ll issue invitations, book the venue, pick gowns, handle logistics and details."
"You haven’t done any of that?" I asked, stunned.
"That’s why I’m having you do it," he said, sounding self-righteous.
Apparently I’m that useful to him. For reasons both practical and emotional, I couldn’t shirk this.
Maybe the more the heart breaks, the faster it learns to let go.
My answer came out: "Okay. I’ll head to the office now."
"Mia, Mr. Sinclair says when you get here go straight to his office," Mia told me the moment I arrived, worried. "How are you feeling? Better?"
"Much better," I smiled.
"Good." Mia whispered in my ear, "The new VP, Ava Harrison, is in there. I just heard—she’s Mr. Sinclair’s fiancée and the engagement is happening soon."
"The new VP?"
I glanced toward Ethan’s office.
"Yes. His fiancée."
Mia looked at me with sympathy. Maybe because I’d been too devoted to Ethan over the years, she suspected I liked him. But I couldn’t show anything. Mia knows me well enough to see through me.
"Got it. You do what you need. I’ll go find him."
I nodded, gathered the documents I’d prepared, and walked into Ethan’s executive office with a smile.
After knocking and getting permission, I entered.
Ethan sat in his big chair. Across from him sat the striking woman who had come from his home this afternoon.
They both turned to look at me.
"Ava, I’m sorry—I’ll be frank. I took leave last week and didn’t know you’d started. Or that you were Mr. Sinclair’s fiancée. That’s negligence on my part. It won’t happen again," I said first, smiling and perfectly composed.
Ava smiled. "It’s okay. I just didn’t let Ethan tell you."
Ethan frowned. "Mia talks too much. Claire, compared to her you’re still better, but she needs some training."
"Understood," I nodded. "Mr. Sinclair, did you call me here for anything urgent?"
"About the party. Do you have any leads?" he asked.
I handed over the list I’d printed before I left the hospital—the banquet halls still available three days out.
"The best hotels in the city—only these three have availability, and only for evening slots. Catering specs and price ranges are noted. You decide the budget."
Ethan paused, glanced at the papers, and glanced at Ava.
Ava also glanced at me.
I kept smiling and handed over a full packet of color-printed options. "For attire, we’ll have to buy off-the-rack due to time. Here are six men’s suits and six women’s gowns. You two can pick. If none work, I’ll get more samples."
"Claire, impressive—such efficiency. We only just learned about the engagement and you’ve prepared all this?" Ava praised.
"As I told you, with Claire on this, there’s nothing to worry about," Ethan told his fiancée.
I was a bit stunned—apparently my position in Ethan’s mind was high; I was practically omnipotent.
"Consider me schooled," Ava said with a loaded smile.
"You’ll see. With Claire around, I worry a lot less. She’s my protector on the journey," Ethan said, flattering me in his own way.
I didn’t need that—he was basically casting me as his warrior monk protecting a naive pilgrim. Ethan a pilgrim? Maybe in looks he could pass. But his exploitative tone was far from kind.
"Mr. Sinclair, Ava, finalize the catering level and approximate number of guests from both sides and pick outfits. I’ll take the results and confirm with vendors, okay?"
"Go on. It’s not urgent," Ethan said.
"Mr. Sinclair, it’s urgent—the venues will be booked by others," I warned.
The only person in the world who’d be this casual about booking his own engagement would be Ethan. I felt a little sorry for Ava—marrying a workaholic takes courage.
Ava, a sharp woman, caught my glance and immediately shot a look at Ethan.
Ethan’s frown deepened as if he were going to a funeral. This wasn’t an engagement—it was a life-or-death deadline.
"Discuss it between you two. I need feedback to give them by 3 p.m. I’m heading out now," I said, and stepped back.
Ethan gave me a look that suggested he wasn’t entirely pleased.
After I left, my energy sagged as if weighted down.
Back at my desk, Mia handed me a cup of warm water. "Claire, your stomach’s sensitive—I didn’t dare give you tea or coffee. Water okay?"
"Perfect," I said and thanked her.
"Don’t be so formal around me," Mia smiled.
"Go to Creative Dept. and prepare the invitation designs—make them distinctive," I said. We needed to start that early.
"Got it. On it," Mia replied.
I’d barely taken a sip of water when Ethan rang the internal line. "Claire, come in."
I set the cup down and went back.
He and Ava were still there. Ethan looked at me and said in a low voice, "Book the venue. Expect about two hundred relatives and friends between both sides. No need to notify other client groups."
I nodded. "Both sides’ relatives—who needs hotel rooms reserved? Mr. Sinclair and Ms. Harrison should give me a list and I’ll book the hotel."
"This is that complicated?"
Ava blinked, then glanced at Ethan.
Ethan looked at me with slight surprise too.
"I’ll ask," I said. "Mr. Sinclair, you’re from out of town—won’t most of your relatives need hotel rooms? How about Ms. Harrison’s side?"
"I’m from out of town too."
"Then they’ll all need rooms."
I did a quick calculation. "Banquet tables seat ten people each for the traditional symbolism of completeness, and most hotel banquet tables are about 1.8 meters—ten per table is the usual setup. We need twenty tables, plus two extra in case more people show up. Is that okay?"
"You handle it."
Ethan said, "Pick my suit."
I turned to Ava at once.
She smiled.
"I have no objections."
"Which dress do you prefer?" I asked.
"This one."
Ava pointed at a picture.
"I’ll take this one, and Ethan can take that."
In the end Ava chose the dress—her prerogative—so I nodded and stepped back.
Things got busy after that. There were a lot of details to finalize for Ethan’s engagement banquet.
That night, dragging my exhausted body, I showed Ethan the electronic invitations I’d designed. He looked genuinely startled.
"Aren’t you supposed to send them?"
"Mr. Sinclair, these are for your and Ms. Harrison’s friends and family. We still have two and a half days—shipping anything faster won’t get paper invitations to everyone in time. You should send the e-invites."
I couldn’t understand why Ethan was rushing the engagement at all.
"Right," he said, nodding. "I’ll send them myself."
I started to leave his office.
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"You’re not looking well. Is your illness really that bad?"
Of all people, the businessman noticed my pale face.
"It’s been bad for a while. You didn’t approve my leave, so I couldn’t rest."
"I thought a week off would be enough," he said, looking me over.
"Clock out. Ride with us after work."
"You guys?"
"Ava is staying at my place," Ethan said. "It’s on the way."
"No, I won’t be a third wheel. Mr. Sinclair, I actually have things to deal with—go ahead without me."
I smiled and refused.
"Stop being dramatic. We used to go together, didn’t we?"
"That was then. This is now."
I smiled again. "Men are simple-minded."
He snorted. "So what—since you live next door, you’re going to move out?"
My stomach tightened. I knew it was time to go.
"I was going to. After your engagement party I’ll move."
"You want to move?" Ethan froze, clearly annoyed. "What about my life?"
"Mr. Sinclair, your life will be handled by your wife. If you prefer me to stay on, I suggest hiring a male secretary—might be more convenient."
"I’m not comfortable with that."
Well, that’s your problem. I can’t spend my life glued to you, can I?
"Get used to it."
Ethan’s brows tightened; he sounded impatient. "No need to move. We’re neighbors, not in the same apartment. What’s the worry?"
He didn’t want me to go. Part of me felt comforted, but most of me felt a sharp ache.
I didn’t want to watch him come and go with his wife every day. I wanted my freedom and my rights.
This argument could wait until after the banquet. There was no point fighting now.
"I’m leaving. Send the invitations."
In the past, whenever Ethan worked overtime I never left early; this time I did. I didn’t want to see him with Ava. It was selfish—but it was my right.
I grabbed a taxi home, showered, changed into pajamas, opened my laptop, and the doorbell rang.
I peeked—Ethan and Ava were standing at my door. Through the peephole Ethan looked remarkably handsome.
I opened the door and plastered on a perfect smile. "Good evening, boss, Mrs. Sinclair."
"This is some congee Ava wanted to bring you. Didn’t you say your stomach’s been bad?" Ethan handed it over.
"Ah, thank you, thank you, I haven’t eaten yet." I took it, flattered. "Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair. Of course—how could the boss think of everything?"
Ava smiled. "Claire, you don’t have to be so formal. You’ve taken such good care of Ethan all these years. I’m grateful."
"It’s my job. Mr. Sinclair puts food on my table; I’ve always treated him like family."
I made sure to distance myself in words. Ethan snorted. "You can call me big brother if you want—no need for ‘dad.’ Am I that old?"
"Saying ‘dad’ shows respect, doesn’t it?"
"I don’t have the patience for this."
Ethan turned and left.
Ava gave me a bright smile. "Men. Don’t take it to heart."
"Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair. If you need anything, just tell me."
I immediately shifted into full-on flattery mode, feeling slightly ashamed of myself inside. Was I afraid she’d see through how much I coveted Ethan? Ha.
Watching them go into the same apartment made my eyes sting, but my face stayed composed. I felt like I deserved an award for acting—but I didn’t want to act anymore.
I barely slept, haunted by images of Ethan and Ava together. After two hours of restless dozing in the small hours, I got up, stared at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror, and tears fell uncontrollably. I looked not only ugly but fragile.
Their engagement party had 220 guests—friends and family from both sides, a few more from Ava’s side. I learned they were high school classmates; she’d been abroad these past years and had just returned. Ava put up a third of Ethan’s startup capital—meaning she owned a third of his company. Ethan’s family didn’t hide any of this; they mentioned it repeatedly at the banquet.
His parents were truly decent—steady and kind. They’d stuck to their principles.
And me? Seven years by Mr. Sinclair’s side, running errands, doing everything—I got 0.5% of the company and acted like it was the world.
Comparing myself to Ava made my chest ache. I felt petty and envious. It hurt.
After the banquet, things got worse.
Ethan’s mother pulled my hand aside. "Claire, you’ve worked hard all these years. You’re talented—a model secretary."
Her words felt like needles. I took them as a pointed reminder to mind my place.
I kept smiling, unconquerable on the outside. "Auntie, you’re too kind. Mr. Sinclair has treated me well—he gave me 0.5% of the company. I work for my own livelihood, it’s not so hard."
Her face stiffened, surprised by my bluntness, and she looked at me a beat longer.
"Don’t worry," I added. "I’ve already found a male secretary for Mr. Sinclair—he’ll be ready soon."
She blinked, then smiled. "Claire, you do things impeccably."
"You’re flattering me, Auntie."
I bowed and found an excuse to slip away.
The next day, after seeing off guests, Ethan and Ava returned to the office. I went to find Ethan immediately.
"Mr. Sinclair, may I take leave to go back to my hometown today?"
"In a few days," he snapped.
I frowned—he was so inflexible. Asking for time off had never been this hard.
Ava happened to come in and overheard. "Ethan, Claire did so much for our engagement. Look at her—she really looks unwell. Let her rest a while."
Ethan finally looked at me, his brow furrowed. "Are you really that sick?"
I nodded quickly. "Yes, Mr. Sinclair. You promised before—if possible, I’d like a month."
"A month?"
"Ethan, a month isn’t too much. Claire’s worked nonstop for years. Now I’m back and can help take some load off him. Let Claire go home and rest for a month."
I blinked and immediately thanked her.
"Thanks to Mrs. Sinclair for considering the staff. Mr. Sinclair, please agree. I really need this."
"A month," Ethan said after another look. "Approved."
It seemed Ava’s words carried weight.
I thanked him and packed to go home.
There wasn’t much going on at home—I just hadn’t visited in years. I planned to spend some time with my parents. But my mom immediately began nagging about marriage.
"You’re twenty-nine, almost thirty. After thirty you’d be an old mother. You’re still single after all these years—do you have any idea how worried I am? Raising you felt like a curse!"
"All your childhood friends have two or three kids. Look at you—you’ve burned yourself out into an old maid. Who would want you now? At thirty, you’ll be lucky to find a divorced guy."
After three days I escaped; I couldn’t take the matchmaking pressure. My mom set up ten blind dates in three days. It was more exhausting than work. I bought a ticket and went traveling—first stop, Portland.
No sooner had I landed than my phone rang. It was Ethan.
"Where did you put my tie?"
He Never Knew I Loved Him
Hearing his voice after so long made me feel suddenly dazed.
"Your tie?"
He sounded impatient. "Where's my tie?"
I froze, then replied automatically. "In the closet—second wardrobe, first drawer: light-colored ties. Second drawer: dark ties. Third drawer: solid-color ties."
"What about the belt?"
"Third wardrobe, second drawer."
"Watch?"
"Third wardrobe, first drawer."
I worried he might mess things up and said again, “Every watch has its price and purchase date in the box beneath it. Don’t mix them up. Put everything back where you found it when you’re done.”
“When are you coming back?” Ethan asked suddenly.
I heard the low edge in his voice.
“Boss, I’ve only been on vacation for a week.”
“My side of things is a mess,” Ethan said. “Can you come back right away?”
“Boss, I’m still recuperating.”
Being needed by him—I didn’t know whether to call it a blessing or a curse. All I felt was a deeper sadness.
Like my mom always said, I’m twenty-nine. I’m not against marriage; I’m not waiting to hang myself on any one tree.
Back when Mr. Sinclair didn’t have a fiancée, I still nursed a sliver of hope—fancied maybe someday I could slip in somehow. But seven years later, it was obvious I’d never won his favor. There just wasn’t any destiny for us.
If seven years couldn’t earn me even a glance, it didn’t mean his eyes were blind; it meant there was no spark between us.
I should let go, especially now that he’s engaged.
I was grateful I’d never shown too much. If I had, this would be impossible to salvage.
“Fine. Get some rest,” Ethan finally said without forcing me, and hung up with a huff.
My heart felt even heavier.
I traveled from Portland to Aspen, to Savannah, then Monaco, then Monterey—half a month on the road.
A thousand miles of green hills, a single rushing stream. I looked, and for once everything felt quiet.
When I came back from Portland, I ran into my primary doctor, Dr. Nathan Cole, at the airport—what a coincidence. We even sat near each other on the plane.
He looked surprised when he saw me. “Claire Bennett?”
“Dr. Cole. Small world.”
Our seats were right next to each other.
“You here for vacation in Oregon?” he asked.
He shook his head. “I came to see my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I nodded.
“You’re long-distance?”
“Not anymore,” he said with a strained smile. “We broke up.”
For a moment I didn’t know what to say; before I realized it, I blurted, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Dr. Cole looked stunned by my words and stared at me. I hurried to correct myself. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—this relationship can be buried.”
He laughed. “Fair enough.”
On the ride home we chatted off and on. He checked in on my habits and asked about my condition.
“You’ve been gone a while, but you still look pale. When you get back, schedule a full checkup—it's been about a month and you need a follow-up.”
“No, I know my condition,” I waved him off.
“You know?” he said.
“Heartbreak. My mood’s bad.” I didn’t hide it.
He paused, then said, “So we’re the same—both abandoned.”
“No—I wasn’t abandoned.” I shook my head. “He’s blind. He didn’t see me.”
I smiled.
Dr. Cole chuckled—surprisingly amused.
We landed in our city, grabbed our luggage, and unexpectedly bumped into Ethan and James at baggage claim.
The suddenness of it made my heart lurch. I felt tense and suddenly defensive.
Dr. Cole glanced at me, then followed my gaze and saw Ethan. He lowered his voice. “Want a hand?”
I glanced at him and whispered, “Play it by ear, okay?”
“Of course.” He was such a considerate man. Guys like him shouldn’t be dumped—damn long-distance relationships.
Ethan saw us. For a second his eyes looked sharper than I’d ever seen—cold and cutting when he looked between me and Dr. Cole. Then he walked over.
“Claire.” He stood above us, looking me over, then appraised Dr. Cole with those piercing eyes. “No wonder you’re enjoying yourself.”
I forced a polite laugh and kept my tone light. “Boss, are you on a business trip?”
“Of course. I don’t have the leisure you do, traipsing around on vacation.” His tone flickered.
Dr. Cole smiled slightly and watched Ethan.
“Introduce yourselves?” Ethan prompted, lifting a brow toward Dr. Cole.
I thought it unnecessary, but Dr. Cole had already responded. “Hi, I’m Nathan Cole.”
“Oh.” Ethan nodded, voice still odd. “Nathan Cole? Related to Zhao—er, never mind.” He managed a joke that landed wrong.
I wanted to scold him for being so rude, but Dr. Cole didn’t bat an eye. “I enjoy a bit of Three Kingdoms,” he replied lightly.
“I’m Ethan Sinclair.” Ethan glanced at him, then back at me. “Claire, if you’re fit enough to travel, why don’t you come in tomorrow?”
“Boss, I still need a follow-up. Dr. Cole just advised me.” I looked to Nathan. “He knows my condition—you can ask him.”
“He’s your doctor?” Ethan asked.
Nathan nodded. “I’m Claire’s doctor and a friend.”
Ethan turned to me. I nodded quickly.
“Alright then—come back in. One car.” His tone left no room for argument.
I refused immediately. “No, you and James can go ahead. My friend and I will taxi.”
“You’re being picky. Going home together—don’t you want a ride?” he urged.
“Do you live together?” Nathan asked suddenly.
I hurried to explain, “No, I’m his neighbor, not living together.”
My explanation seemed to displease Ethan. “If you want a taxi, fine. I’m leaving first.”
Relief rushed through me. Ethan already had an owner now; I had to keep my distance.
On the way home, Nathan was nothing but a gentleman—he insisted on dropping me off first.
Getting out of the car, he asked softly, “Do you like your boss?”
I nearly jumped. It felt like someone had stepped on my tail—shock flaring—but then I told myself it didn’t matter.
Nathan smiled. “I get it. Still—you should have that follow-up. I’ll be back at work the day after tomorrow. Come see me.”
“You’re right. I’ll come in the day after tomorrow.”
Dragging my luggage out of the elevator, Ethan’s door was open; his suitcase sat on the mat. He happened to turn and see me.
I smiled faintly and greeted, “Boss, you’re quick!”
“Put your bag away, shower, change, and come help me pack,” he ordered, voice flat.
I hesitated. “Boss, I’m still on vacation.”
“Even friends should help, right?” He sounded colder.
“Where’s your fiancée?” I thought surely she could do this.
“Am I her secretary or are you my secretary?” Ethan shot back.
My face fell. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m on leave. I’m not on duty.”
“Then I’ll say it again—come help me pack. Hear me?”
He sounded so hard, as if nothing could be done without me. I was silent for a long moment, then said, “Fine.”
I showered, changed, and stood in front of the mirror. My face looked pale as a ghost. I put on stronger makeup and a cleaner outfit before going to his place.
I knocked—before, I could always enter with a code. Not now. He had a fiancée; I had to avoid appearances. After I helped clean up, we needed to talk about boundaries.
The door opened. Ethan stood there in a white robe, hair still damp. I froze.
Fresh from a shower, he looked immaculate. My eyes traced the hard lines of his throat; the way his Adam’s apple moved made it almost obscene how alive and attractive he was. I felt heat rising to my cheeks.
He looked down at me, clearly annoyed. “You could have come in. Why make me open the door?”
“Boss, I didn’t want to intrude if you and your fiancée were—” I lied with a righteous tone.
Ethan’s brow knotted. “I think your head is full of dirty thoughts.”
I peeked inside; there was no sign of his fiancée. “Not dirty thoughts—just facts.”
“Claire!” he snapped. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d called me by name.
“Yes?” I managed.
“Ava’s not here.” He said it plainly.
“Oh.” I nodded, my taut heart easing a bit, but guilt prickled. I shouldn’t be alone with him; there were impure things in my chest. He was engaged—I shouldn’t covet him. I forced my feelings down.
Ethan went straight to his room. I looked around and was shocked—after a month away, his place was a mess, like it had been ransacked by burglars.
I hadn’t expected him to be so sloppy.
Seeing the chaos, I called the cleaning service.
When I told him, I said, “Boss, I can’t get this sorted on my own. I called the cleaners. Please get dressed.”
Ethan came out in his robe, clearly impatient. “I can’t find any clothes. Nothing decent to wear.”
I was speechless.
“Then you can go without,” I snapped, then went back to work.
The cleaners could do the general tidying, but some files had to be handled personally. And Ethan’s study couldn’t be entered by just anyone.
Ethan followed behind me. “Claire, I’ve noticed—you’ve been different since my engagement.”
A sudden tightness seized my chest. Panic rose up, nearly breaking my composure.
“Right. I have to avoid any appearance of impropriety now, boss.”
I didn’t turn around. “You’re a married man now. I can’t be casual or reckless.”
Ethan snorted. “You’re a very competent secretary.”
“Of course. Thanks to your years of mentorship, I am who I am today.”
“Since you’re so grateful, go find me some clothes.”
I shot him a look, exasperated.
“If I don’t help you, are you really planning to stand there naked?”
“Do you want to see me naked?”
He crossed his arms.
I gave him a cold look. “No. I don’t go for married men. If I wanted to see a single guy, I could call some rich heir outside.”
“Claire.”
He said my name for the second time that day.
I shrugged.
He turned and went into his room, slamming the door so hard it echoed. The closed door left me with a desolate, aching emptiness and a bone-deep chill that swept over me. I wanted to turn and run.
Then the door opened.
I froze. Ava stood there in the doorway, pulling a suitcase.
I forced a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Ava looked surprised to see me. I could detect a flash of displeasure in her eyes, as if my presence was an intrusion. I felt it too—maybe I was overstepping. After all, the man in that room was hers. I needed to keep my distance.
“Isn’t Claire supposed to be on leave?” Ava asked.
“Yes. The president saw me come back and asked me to help tidy up. The cleaning lady will be here soon,” I explained quickly, trying to head off any misunderstanding. “He’s in his room—may I go?”
Ava inspected me and finally nodded. “You’ve been such a help, Claire. I’ve been on a business trip these past few days and didn’t get a chance to tidy up.”
“No trouble. I actually called the cleaning lady; she’ll be here any minute.”
I smiled. “I’m going back to pack. I’m moving out, so I won’t be as available to help Mr. Sinclair anymore.”
“You’re moving?” Ava seemed taken aback.
I nodded. “I put a down payment on a place that’s been renovated for a while. I’m going to move into my own apartment.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Leave the cleaning lady’s number with me, then.”
“Sure.” I went to grab a business card from my things.
When the cleaning lady arrived, I introduced her to Ava and mentioned she was Mrs. Sinclair. The cleaning lady looked at me with an almost pitying expression. I smiled, pretending not to notice.
Then the door opened again.
“Claire, I’m hungry—” Ethan called, then stopped short.
He’d seen Ava. His expression hardened. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you call first?”
I slipped away quickly.
That night I packed and moved. In the middle of the night, as movers were hauling my boxes, Ethan ran out and blocked me, clearly irritated.
“Moving in the middle of the night—what’s your game?” he demanded.
I shrugged. “Boss, keep your money out of sight.”
“Of course I’m moving at night.”
“Who gave you permission to move out?” he snapped.
“Boss, I’m free. I don’t need anyone’s permission.”
His tone treated me like a servant with no rights. I’d about had it.
“Who will help me organize my things when you’re gone?”
“There’s the cleaning lady’s number with Mrs. Sinclair,” I said.
Ethan faltered for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “Because of Ava?”
The question was absurd. Of course it was because of Ava. But I wouldn’t say it.
He pressed on. “Claire, answer me. Are you moving because of Ava?”
“Answer what?” I shot back coldly.
“Are you leaving because of Ava?” he repeated, icy.
“Mr. Sinclair, you’re overthinking.”
I wouldn’t admit it—how could I? That would put Ava in an awkward spot. “I’m getting older and commuting so far is exhausting.”
“How old are you?”
“Almost thirty,” I said with a wry twist of my mouth. “I need to find a man and settle down. Maybe I can’t be your secretary forever; the job is demanding and I’m not sure I can keep up.”
Ethan inhaled sharply, as if I’d said something scandalous. “You want to get married.”
“Yes. I’m not against marriage—my mom’s been on my case. I’m going on blind dates. If you know anyone suitable, you can introduce me. I don’t need much—just someone steady.”
That was my simple requirement.
He didn’t answer, but his chest rose and fell with some inner agitation. When he finally spoke, he didn’t say he’d introduce someone. Instead he fixed me with a sharp look, like he could see through me. I kept my face calm—he’d trained me to do it.
“Goodbye, boss,” I said, really meaning it this time.
I thought it was over—my secret crush, done and dusted.
But he caught my wrist.
I jumped. His eyes were dangerously red. I’d never seen him look at me like that—so intent, as if cataloguing every inch of my face. My heart pounded. More than panic, there was a sour ache.
I forced a small smile and tried to stay calm, looking at his hand holding my wrist. It was long-fingered and clean, nails neat—I'd even bought the nail clippers.
“Boss—boundaries,” I said lightly.
He let go as if he’d been burned, a little embarrassed. I walked away. He didn’t follow. That was fine by me.
A week later, while I hadn’t returned to the office yet, Ethan’s mother called. “Claire, I’m at the café under your building. Can you come over?”
Surprised, I put on makeup and made myself presentable before meeting her.
“Hello, Aunt Sinclair. Did you need me for something?” I greeted.
“Sit.” She smiled kindly. “Claire—may I call you that?”
I nodded. “Of course, Aunt.”
Ethan looked a lot like his mother—strong features and a presence that suggested he’d come from someone striking. She wasn’t young anymore, but she was still beautiful. I wondered what she wanted.
“How are your parents?” she asked suddenly.
I blinked. Why was she asking about my family? Before I could answer, she moved on. “Ethan told me—is it true you’re an only child?”
“Yes, Aunt, it’s just me.”
“Then they’ve been pushing you to get married, I’m sure.”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m on blind dates.” My phone buzzed—my mom calling—and I told Aunt Sinclair I needed to take it.
On the call my mom was already in full matchmaking mode. “I found a good young man. He’ll be downstairs by your office tomorrow. You two should meet.”
I laughed inwardly. “Fine, give him my number.” My mom went on, criticizing my job. “Quit that secretary position. What’s a girl doing as a secretary? You’re losing face.”
I glanced at Aunt Sinclair; she didn’t show much reaction. My mom continued on the line, grumbling that people might not believe the relationship between boss and secretary was innocent.
“Mom, don’t be ridiculous,” I said.
She sighed. “Whatever—you’re getting older. Once you marry, people will see the truth.”
She hung up. I looked back at Aunt Sinclair; she seemed a bit embarrassed. Taking a breath, she said, “Claire, the reason I asked you to come today is…”
She hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “You tell me honestly—does Ethan have a problem in that department?”
My mouth dropped open. Of all the things—Ethan’s mother had misunderstood our years of purely professional relationship. Of course, being a secretary carries risks of gossip. But for seven years, Ethan and I had been completely clean—aside from my own petty, lecherous little heart.
I’d thought I’d hidden it well. Apparently, not even Ethan’s mother knew.
"Aunt, there's nothing untoward between Mr. Sinclair and me. You asking me that—I honestly can't answer. Maybe Mrs. Sinclair can."
I was a little angry.
But common sense and decorum told me not to make a scene.
"Her?"
Mrs. Sinclair gave a bitter little smile.
"Never mind, I understand. You're a good girl."
Mrs. Sinclair didn't push it further, but my mind kept buzzing.
Could there really be something wrong between Ava Harrison and Ethan Sinclair?
Especially in that department.
Maybe Ethan really does have problems down there—otherwise why haven't I seen other women coming and going at his place in the past seven years?
Except for Ava Harrison, of course.
It was bizarre. How humiliating that I fell for a man who might be incapable. Such a shame about that handsome face.
The next day, I met the match my mom set me up with at the coffee shop.
He was an engineering type—decent-looking, tall, but totally a straight man. The first thing out of his mouth was, "You look fine. Why haven't you had a boyfriend? Is it because you're being… cozy with the boss?"
I froze, speechless.
He added, "I don't mean anything by it, just curious."
I couldn't keep my composure. It felt like an insult, a violation.
I smiled through the anger because that's been my habitual posture for years.
Before I could blow, a shadow fell over the table.
I looked up and met Ethan Sinclair's dark, brooding face.
I was stunned.
The engineer saw Ethan and his look changed instantly, like a traitor caught red-handed.
"Claire, I called you in on business, not to come flirt. Why are you smiling like that?"
Ethan's words made my fur bristle.
He'd scolded me like that before when other men hit on me, but coming to a café and yelling at me—this was infuriating.
The guy got up and stormed off.
Matchmaking was hopeless; I didn't stop him. I had planned to clap back anyway—saved the trouble.
"Midday and you're not at work, not even recovering, just here enjoying ambiance? Claire, I pay you to work, not to go on dates and show off."
Buzz!
My head felt like it exploded.
That date was ruined.
I snapped. "Ethan Sinclair, I've had enough. I'm done."
"What did you say?"
He didn't expect me to talk back.
I was worked up, neck stiff, glaring, all the resentment of seven years pouring out.
"I said you're a control freak. You work like a maniac—overtime, business trips. Every time you jerk me awake in the middle of the night with some call, I come running. When have I ever said no?"
"I'm twenty-nine and you're engaged! Since when do you get to interfere with my dating life? Why is me going on a date 'flirting'?"
"I've wasted my youth on you. Now I'm thirty, single, accomplished nothing, while you're loaded—what do I even have to show for it?"
"You've got the nerve to call me the flirt? You're the one sold out—your whole family is."
"I'm done. I'm quitting. As of today, I fire you."
Ethan's eyes widened—I'd never seen them that big. His composure almost cracked. He gasped and shouted, "You even wrote a resignation letter? This was planned?"
"Yeah, I've been planning it forever."
I raised my voice over his. "I've wanted to quit for a long time."
I had planned to chase him before; now I planned to leave. Seven years gone—no more wasting my life being his so-called chief secretary. I'm done with this title. Get lost.
I turned and walked out. He chased after me. In the middle of the street, I screamed, "Pervert! Help!"
Someone stopped him. I ran.
When I got back to my apartment I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
That tight knot of frustration—finally released.
Maybe Ethan didn't expect me to yell like that?
Mia called, voice low. "Claire, how did you anger the boss? Mr. Sinclair came back and trashed the office and told Mrs. Sinclair to get out."
"What?"
I hadn't expected that. I was surprised.
"No, I just quit."
"Mr. Sinclair said he's taking away your shares."
Of course—Ethan never meant it. I knew it was an empty promise.
"Whatever. Let him."
I didn't think he'd actually give me anything. If he won't, fine.
"Did you really quit?"
"I did."
"I thought you wouldn't leave."
"All good things come to an end."
I laughed softly.
"Take care."
I hung up and my mother called. She was convinced I was having an affair with the boss and demanded an explanation.
Ha! The engineer had tattled.
"Mom, don't set me up again. I'll find someone myself. Trust me—I will be married before my thirtieth birthday."
"What if you can't get married?"
"Then I go back to my hometown and take care of you."
"Promises."
"Promise."
I had some savings. Ethan had paid me well; I'll give him credit—he never shorted my paycheck. So I wasn't desperate. I spent a few idle days at home. At three in the afternoon, Mia arrived, wearing a miserable look, and burst into tears.
"What's wrong?"
She scared me. "Please, Claire, you have to go back and save Mr. Sinclair."
My heart dropped. "What happened?"
"Ava Harrison is demanding forty percent of the company and wants to break up with Ethan."
I froze. "Why?"
"She claims that without her investment the company wouldn't be what it is. Her money entitles her to more than thirty percent—she's asking for forty."
"What did Ethan say?"
"He's vomiting blood in the hospital."
Hearing that, my face drained. I admitted I was genuinely worried—he'd been coughing up blood? That terrified me.
"Who's caring for him?"
"You arranged for Xiao Xu; he's at the hospital with Mr. Sinclair. I also notified his parents."
Mia added, "I'm worried Ethan might die."
My expression shifted. "I shouldn't have said that."
"Why would Ava break up with him?"
"She said he's impotent."
I was stunned. Oh my God. I had fallen for a eunuch.
I was speechless.
"Claire, you don't know—during their argument Ava actually said it: after living together for so long they still couldn't consummate it. It's humiliating. I didn't even know Ethan was 'that' kind of man—so handsome and yet…"
Forget it. It's pitiful if it's true. I should go see him; it's not the time to rub salt in the wound.
"Claire, Ava is dead-set on taking the company."
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"Where is Ava?"
"Don't know."
"Then let's go to the company."
Twenty minutes later we were at Sinclair Holdings.
"Get legal in here."
"Okay."
When I walked in everyone looked at me with bright, respectful eyes—maybe even more respect than before. I had to admit I owed a small thanks to Ava for clearing up the rumors that I'd slept with Ethan. At least for that, I was grateful.
We had an hour-long meeting with the legal team and I called Ava to arrange a face-to-face.
When she arrived, there was a coldness in her eyes—no pretense. She cut straight to it: "So? Back to be Ethan's secretary?"
I nodded. "Yes."
"Heh, you really are loyal."
"At a time like this, you don't stab someone in the back."
I smiled. "Did you come to persuade me to change my mind?"
"No." She had no patience left.
"Then what do you want?"
"I'm here to tell you you won't be getting one tenth of the shares."
I regarded her coolly.
She lost it. "Who are you to tell me that? Do you even know the agreement between me and Ethan?"
"I didn't before. I do now."
I smiled slightly. "You did have an agreement, but nothing in writing—only a verbal agreement."
"You—"
"You gave Ethan one million," I said, sliding a photocopy of a bank receipt across the table. "There's a bank transfer record—marked as a loan."
She was furious. I continued, "One million over seven years—using common bank annual rates: at 1.75% that's 17,500 a year; at 3.25% it's 32,500; at 5.9% it's 59,000. Even if you demanded ten percent interest a year, it's only about 100,000 a year. Over seven years that's roughly 700,000 interest, plus principal about 1.7 million total."
"You have Ethan's authorization to speak for him?" Ava sneered. "Is he even a man?"
"Funny you should ask—he himself said that."
Ava smirked, "So that's why you haven't advanced after being by his side seven years?"
I said calmly, "Maybe you tried everything and couldn't get what you wanted, so now you want more money."
"This is what he owes me."
"Ms. Harrison, thirty percent was already generous. If you're not satisfied, we'll go through legal channels."
"You can't represent Ethan."
"She can't represent him? We can."
At that moment, Ethan's parents appeared.
I was surprised. Both of them looked sternly at Ava, clearly disappointed. I had to thank Mia for bringing them.
Ava froze too, standing up with a dark expression. "Uncle, Auntie."
Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair sat. Ethan's mother looked at me. "Claire, we just came from the hospital. You have full authority to represent Ethan—this is his power of attorney."
I saw the printed authorization with Ethan's signature, flowing and unmistakable.
I nodded and looked at Ava Harrison.
"Ms. Harrison, my offer is simple. Let's be upfront: I'll give you a check for ten million. If you agree, sign it. If you don't, take it to court. I’ve consulted our lawyers — with a receipt claiming it was a loan, you'll lose. And your name isn't on the stock certificate."
"What gives you the right?"
"Because I'm a shareholder. My name is on the stock book, and I have Mr. Sinclair's authorization."
"You—"
"You could've had thirty percent," I said coldly, leaving no room for negotiation. "But you shouldn't have spoken about Mr. Sinclair like that. Don't hit someone and then rub it in. Ms. Harrison, you went too far."
The Sinclairs nodded in agreement.
"Because of this scene, my son will never get married now."
"Serves him right," someone snapped. "Don't blame me."
"Ava, you divorced overseas and came back — don't think we didn't know." Mr. Sinclair's mother suddenly called out.
I was a little surprised.
Ava hadn't expected her past to be dragged out; her face flushed red.
"Two million? No, two million!" she demanded.
I looked to Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. They barely nodded.
"One point five million. Not a penny more," I said.
She must have realized I wouldn't bend; she actually nodded.
"Fine. Give me the check."
I smiled. "Legal will come down, we'll sign, record a video, and it'll be settled."
Ava wore a stunned expression. "You're sly."
"Ms. Harrison, it's not craftiness. If I hadn't thought things through, Mr. Sinclair and I wouldn't be where we are, and this company wouldn't either."
"Hmph. You're still just a poor employee."
"As his secretary, I'm responsible to my boss. I sleep fine at night."
"Hmph."
Ava signed, took the check, and the legal team said everything was in order. Only then did Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair and I leave.
His mother clutched my hand, tears streaming. "Claire, we never expected this from him."
"Auntie, maybe this isn't what it looks like," I soothed. "Ava's words were one-sided."
Her eyes lit up at the mention of my name. I suddenly felt guilty.
I must've been struck silly, because in that moment I said, "Mr. Sinclair absolutely isn't what Ava claimed."
Mrs. Sinclair took that as meaning I and her son were involved. She misunderstood me. I didn't correct her.
I figured I'd be leaving eventually; preserving his dignity felt like the least I could do for the man I cared about.
A few days later I visited Mr. Sinclair at St. Mary's Clinic.
When he saw me, his gaze darkened.
It was our first meeting since our argument the last time, when I'd stormed off. He still had those perfect brows and sharp features, and even his tightly pressed lips looked soft — he’d been well cared for in the hospital.
I smiled, pulled a stool up to his bedside, and sat.
"I shouldn't have yelled at you last time. I'm sorry."
"Hmph." He snorted.
"I'm not sorry for what I said, though."
"Claire Bennett." He ground out my name. "You've been dying to yell at me for a while, haven't you?"
I grinned and nodded. "Yep."
"You actually admit that?"
"Well, after all this, why should I lie to you?"
He gave me a sly look. "Doesn't it make you happy that I'm… incapable?"
I shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't believe it."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Also, thanks for helping keep my dignity in front of my parents."
He knew? I was a little caught off guard.
"No, it was an accident. Your mom misunderstood," I said.
"Claire."
"Yes?"
"Do you like me?" he asked suddenly.
My heart tightened. Had he seen through me already?
"No," I lied at first.
"Changed your mind when you thought I was impotent?" He scoffed.
That stung. I met his eyes and answered honestly. "I like you. I've liked you for years. You just never paid attention."
He blinked, as if surprised I'd admit it.
"And now?" he asked.
I stared at his face. I couldn't say I didn't like him. I nodded.
"I still like you."
"If we were a platonic couple — you'd be okay with that?" He asked.
Caught off-guard, I hesitated. "What's there to be afraid of?"
I decided it was worth the risk. Emotional fulfillment mattered more than the rest. He watched me with a faint, unreadable smile.
After he was discharged, there was no proposal or ring. He took me straight to the courthouse and had us register. Then he insisted on moving into my place, saying I should take care of him.
Seeing his parents' gentle, almost flirtatious looks toward us made me want to cry. Why had I been so concerned with appearances that I helped cover for him?
I cursed myself silently for being so saintly — even marriage seemed like a gamble. He might be impotent forever; I'd be an old maid.
Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair promised a grand wedding once he recovered. I demurred. "Keep it low-key."
That night he teased me, "When you say 'low-key,' do you mean you're planning to divorce and remarry later?"
He’d seen through me again. I sheepishly smiled. "No. I just don't want people to gossip if there's another big public change."
He smirked. "Don't think I don't know what's on your mind."
I felt guilty but refused to admit anything.
After a shower that night, wrapped in a towel, I stepped out. He looked at me with something deep and quick, then went to the bathroom as if to bathe.
I rolled my eyes and muttered, "What's the rush? Can't now?"
He turned, step stilled. "What did you say?"
"Nothing." I feigned innocence. "Boss, cohabitation is fun."
"It's married life is what matters." He corrected.
"Alright, as long as you're happy." I wasn't — I didn't want to be an old maid forever.
"Claire." He answered hoarsely. His voice made my face warm.
"Have you seen a doctor?" I finally asked, careful not to hurt him.
"No."
"Why not? Are you okay living like this?"
"Because I haven't tried. I don't know if it would work."
He looked at me, and in his black eyes a frightening brightness glinted. I flushed.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He stared into my eyes and said, "Even before seeing a doctor, I should try — what if there's nothing wrong?"
"Neither you nor Ava tried?" I couldn't help but pry.
He soured. "Hmph. She thinks she can have me? Dream on."
I sighed. "Boss, I think no one can actually have you."
He hummed. "Claire, you're capable of anything. I have faith in you."
I blinked. "Really? Maybe I'd succeed then."
He shot me a look and asked, "Wanna try?"
I felt electricity. My pulse quickened. He was so handsome — maybe he’d always been repressing something; maybe I could bring it out.
I shut off the light and threw myself at him.
It turned out I really was capable of anything.
Mr. Sinclair didn't need a doctor after all. He proved beyond rumor that he was perfectly normal — a real man.
The next morning I stared at him, stunned and amused. "The rumors were wrong. You really are fine."
He arched a proud brow. "Told you, Claire. You're amazing."
He smiled and pulled me into his arms. "You got me. Enjoy it."
I grinned. "I won't hide it — I'm going to laugh out loud about it, ha ha…"
He hugged me and muttered, "I've kept myself chaste and people still think I'm limp — nothing will clear that."
"You care what people think?" I asked, surprised.
"It's about a man's dignity," he said. He was proud; of course he couldn't bear the gossip.
"What can we do? Can't announce in the company memo that you're fine."
"So I thought: the best proof is to have you bear my child. That will clear my name."
I balked. "Even if I had a baby, people would say I cuckolded you."
The rumors were already rampant. It would be hard to prove anything definitively.
He was confident. "Don't worry. My genes are strong — they'll show in the child."
I shot him a side-eye. "Then you'd better work hard."
He nodded. "Yes. It needs your cooperation — plant early, reap early."
I rolled my eyes. "I wanted a couple of years of just the two of us."
"Be patient. Have a child, and we'll enjoy both."
"Liar."
"Haha. My greatest achievement was tricking you into marrying me."
After we married, we appeared in the office together. He took my hand and announced, "I have news. Claire Bennett and I are married. Claire will no longer be my secretary — she'll be Vice President."
Everyone congratulated us, but I could feel their pity aimed at me and suspicion at him. People thought he'd used marriage to cover up his problem.
New rumors at Sinclair Holdings said our marriage was convenient: he covered his dignity, and I promoted myself to VP.
I was speechless. He'd even treated my 0.5 percent shares like my dowry — he'd taken it. So heartless.
I went to work with him every day, we had a lavish wedding, my parents were satisfied, and his parents were overjoyed.
Ethan and I were inseparable—damn it, he wasn’t incapable, he was just shameless.
We never had a dull night.
I asked him why.
He said he never expected something like that to be more addictive than making money. If he’d known it felt this good, he wouldn’t have buried himself in work all those years—he would’ve been enjoying me.
God, I wanted to bite him.
Thanks to Ethan’s relentless effort, the barren field that was me finally bore fruit.
A year after we married, I gave birth to our son—a little Ethan in miniature.
People kept whispering that I’d cheated on him, that I’d put a green hat on him. I didn’t bother to explain.
They could gossip all they wanted; I knew the truth.
When my son was six months old, I brought him to the office. The moment everyone saw the kid’s face, the rumors collapsed.
“Ah—Mr. Sinclair isn’t castrated after all. Vice President Bennett’s baby is Mr. Sinclair’s. Look at those features—like he was stamped from the same mold.”
“Tch. See? I told you Mr. Sinclair had to be a man if he married Vice President Bennett.”
“He really is a real man—only Vice President Bennett would do!”
…Those fair-weather folk who once insisted I cheated on Ethan had all shifted their tune.
A flood of relief washed through me.
Still—I never asked him why he’d been engaged to Ava in the first place.
A mature woman must have confidence in herself.
When both his life and heart are with you, why get tangled up in the rest?
Just live your life well.
Author: Yun Shanghua
