His Secret Lover Their Supposed Mistress

To keep our relationship hidden, my boyfriend requested a transfer to our northern regional branch in Chicago. In three years of long distance, he only returned to our headquarters in Charleston three times. Every single visit was strictly for official corporate debriefings. He never even gave us the chance to share a quiet dinner. "Our situation is delicate," Samuel always said, his voice measured and reasonable. "People talk. It wouldn't be professional for us to be seen having dinner alone." When our fourth anniversary arrived, I prepared myself to spend it by myself once again. But as I scrolled through my feed, I noticed his social media location tag had unexpectedly updated: "Charleston, SC". My heart fluttered with a sudden, foolish hope. I thought that maybe, just this once, he had remembered. Then a new post surfaced on my feed: [Mr. E says: what she wants, she gets. I guess real happiness is having someone drive through the night across state lines just because you whispered that you missed authentic southern cooking.] The attached photo showed a lavish spread of lowcountry dishes at an upscale downtown table. Across from the camera, a man’s hands were gently passing a pair of polished utensils toward the lens. On his wrist was the braided red cord I had given him. On the scorching July morning he was transferred to Chicago, I had climbed the nine hundred and ninety-nine stone steps of the old historic sanctuary, sweating beneath the blistering sun, just to have that cord blessed for his safe travels. Back then, he had pulled me into his arms, choked with emotion, promising we would get married the moment his rotation ended. My fingers trembled as I tapped into the woman’s profile. It was an endless, curated archive of sweet everyday moments with "Mr. E." And the very first post was dated on the exact day my best friend, Lola, had volunteered to transfer to the Chicago office—promising she would "keep an eye on Sam" for me. I glanced back at Samuel’s profile. His location had already switched back to Chicago. Charleston to Chicago was roughly seven hundred miles. That was the exact distance he once claimed was far too vast to cross when I was being stalked in the dark, pleading for him to come. … I couldn't bring myself to believe that the two people I trusted most in the world had built a life together behind my back. I booked the earliest flight out of Charleston, bought a celebratory cake at the airport terminal, and stood outside Samuel’s Chicago apartment, knocking on the door. The moment my knuckles left the wood, his voice drifted through the door—tender, teasing, laced with an indulgence he had never once offered me. "I drove through the night to bring you real home cooking and you're still ordering takeout, you little glutton?" "Takes one to know one! If you can't afford to spoil me, go find someone else!" The sound of playful scuffling followed. I swallowed down the suffocating instinct to turn and run. A second later, the door swung open. Samuel and I locked eyes. The lingering curve on his lips vanished instantly. His brow furrowed into a sharp, defensive line. There was no joy, no surprise—only an immediate, cold interrogation: "What are you doing here?" Behind him, laid out across the dining table, was the exact same feast I had seen on my feed. A chill spread through my chest, settling deep in my bones. I forced a faint, dry smile. "If I didn't come, how else would I know they served such authentic Charleston food all the way up in Chicago? Quite an education." Lola stood up from the dining chair, her movement clumsy enough to knock the box containing my bakery cake off the edge of the entry table. Her face drained of color. "Corinne? What... why didn't you tell us you were flying in?" She rushed over, hooking her arm through mine as if we were still the closest confidantes, guiding me toward the table. "I've been in Chicago for so long, and I missed home so badly. Sam just happened to mention he hadn't been back south in a while, so he brought a spread back on his way. You have such a thoughtful boyfriend, Corinne. You're so lucky." "Thoughtful?" I pulled my arm free from her grasp, a bitter taste rising in my throat. The restaurant whose takeout boxes sat on the table was infamous in Charleston. Getting a table required waiting over an hour in line on any given weekday. Samuel was indeed thoughtful—just never for me. I remembered a rainy night last autumn. I had worked late at the office and was followed on my walk home by an aggressive, intoxicated man. I called Samuel over thirty times before he finally picked up. When he did, his voice was sharp with irritation: "If someone is following you, call the police. What good is calling me? You're an adult woman—stop wandering the streets in the middle of the night. Can you be sensible for once and stop creating problems for me?" I had sat alone in the police precinct until dawn, shivering beneath a scratchy municipal blanket. When I came down with a high fever the next day and called in sick, he didn't send a single message of concern. Instead, during our annual performance review, he marked me down with the lowest score in our department, citing an "unprofessional attitude." Lola bit her lip, looking down. "Corinne, please don't get the wrong idea. There's really nothing going on between us." Before I could even speak, Samuel stepped between us like a knight shielding a maiden. "Corinne, drop the passive-aggressive tone. Lola is completely alone in this city with no family around. She's your best friend. What is wrong with me looking out for her?" A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I pulled out a chair and sat down. "Then by all means, eat up. We wouldn't want it getting too late. It might be unsafe for Lola walking home alone—we wouldn't want her getting stalked like I was." Lola cast a helpless, pleading glance at Samuel. Samuel stepped directly in front of her, his tone unyielding. "Chicago rent is absurd, and Lola’s entry-level salary barely covers the basics. I had her move in with me." My gaze drifted across the living room. Pastel pink curtains hung over the windows. Embroidered couple’s throw pillows rested on the sofa. Draped casually over the edge of the armchair was a delicate lace bralette. Back when Samuel and I were both working in the southern branch, I had asked him multiple times if we could move in together. Every time, he had turned me down cold. He said working in the same company meant we had to maintain professional boundaries. He asked me why I couldn't carry myself with more dignity, warning me that being too eager made a woman look cheap. I was an entry-level associate back then, surviving on meager stipends, struggling just to afford groceries, let alone a decent apartment. I spent two winters huddled in a damp, freezing basement studio. Lola bit her trembling lower lip. "Corinne, if this makes you uncomfortable, I can go stay at a hotel tonight. I'll find a new place tomorrow, I promise. Please don't fight with Sam over this." Samuel's temper flared. "Do you have an ounce of empathy in you? Lola only transferred to Chicago in the first place so you wouldn't worry about me being here alone! Can't you even show some basic gratitude to your best friend? I honestly don't know what she ever saw in you to sacrifice so much!" I looked down at the floor. The cake Lola had knocked over lay upside down on the hardwood, smashed further beneath the heavy tread of Samuel's shoe. "There's no need for you to leave," I said quietly, looking up at Lola. "Stay as long as you like." In that moment, a quiet clarity settled over me. A man who will not cross an ocean—or a few state lines—for you will never be waiting at the other end, no matter how many seasons you waste on him. Samuel was never going to give me that promised wedding. He had already built a home in Chicago. Lola took my hand with an exaggerated, girlish sigh of relief. "Corinne, I knew you were the best! Let me go clear out a room for you. Only the storage room has a spare cot right now, so you'll have to make do for tonight." Later that night, drifting in and out of a restless sleep on the narrow cot, I felt an arm wrap around my waist. The scent of an unfamiliar, sweet floral perfume clung heavily to his skin. I shifted away uncomfortably. His grip only tightened. Samuel leaned in, his voice a soft murmur against my ear. "It was my fault. Work has been overwhelming, and I let our anniversary slip my mind. Since you're here, let me take tomorrow off. I'll take you to the movies, okay?" The faint flicker of warmth that rose in my chest was extinguished a second later. "Lola is your friend after all," he whispered. "You created such a rift between you two tonight. She cried herself to sleep." I didn't answer. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. The next morning, Samuel called my phone, impatiently telling me to come downstairs to the parking lot. I walked over to the passenger side and pulled the handle. Lola was already sitting inside. She offered me a bright, apologetic smile. "Corinne, do you mind sitting in the back? I've gotten so used to riding up front!" I stood frozen beside the door. The passenger dash was adorned with pink accessories, and right in the center was a custom pastel decal that read: "Lola’s Spot." A few months ago, custom car decals had trended online. Remembering Samuel's obsession with keeping our relationship hidden, I had spent hours designing a minimalist, nameless decal for his dashboard. He hadn't even looked at it before tearing it off and tossing it into the trash can. "Don't put this childish nonsense in my car," he had snapped. And now... Samuel looked back at me through the rearview mirror, his face tight with annoyance. "Get in the back and sit down. We're going to miss the opening credits." I climbed into the backseat in silence, watching the two of them chat and laugh the entire drive. When we arrived at the theater, Lola picked a seat in the center row, and Samuel immediately took the seat right beside her. I walked over, intending to take the seat on Samuel’s other side. He pointed to a seat three rows back and several chairs over. "What are you doing? Someone already reserved that row. That's your seat over there." I blinked, stunned. Behind us, patrons waiting in the aisle started grumbling. "Hey, can you sit down already? Move it!" Swallowing the lump in my throat, I walked over to the isolated seat and sat down alone. The lights dimmed, and the screen lit up with a blood-soaked, terrifying face accompanied by a deafening screech. It was a gory horror film. I had been terrified of horror movies since childhood. I couldn't stomach the imagery, and both of them knew that perfectly well. Instinctively, I turned my head toward Samuel. Through the dim blue glow of the screen, I saw him wrapping his arm around Lola's shoulders, whispering gentle reassurances as she buried her face in his chest. When the credits rolled and the house lights flickered on, Lola practically bounced over to me. "Corinne, that was so good! It wasn't even that scary. Sam and I picked it together—I honestly think you need to build up some courage!" My face was pale; I didn't say a word. Seeing my silence, Lola’s eyes welled with instant tears. "Corinne, why aren't you talking to me? Are you mad that I ruined your date? I... I should just go. I won't get in your way anymore!" Before anyone could stop her, she turned and bolted toward the exit. Samuel moved to chase after her, but the exiting crowd blocked his path. Just as we stepped into the lobby, two women from our company's regional branch walked toward us. "Sam! Are you here seeing a movie with Lola?" When their eyes landed on me, their expressions hardened into open disgust. "Wait, you're not Lola. Who is this?" Samuel glanced anxiously toward the revolving doors where Lola had disappeared. He barely spared me a look. "She's Lola's friend." His obsession with "discretion" had gone so far that, in his world, I didn't even deserve a name. As the lobby cleared, Samuel took long strides toward the parking garage. "Wait here. I'll bring the car around." Before I could move, the two women stepped forward, blocking my path. One of them sneered, crossing her arms. "Going to the movies alone with your best friend's boyfriend? Real classy." The other shoved my shoulder roughly. "You really love playing the homewrecker, don't you?" "I am Samuel's girlfriend," I said evenly. The two of them burst into mocking laughter. "Right, and next you're going to tell us that the unloved one is the real third wheel?" One of them pulled out her phone and shoved the screen in my face. It was a grid of nine photos Samuel had posted on his personal social feed just days ago. Eight candid, glowing snapshots of Lola. And right in the center, a photo of the two of them together, his arm resting securely around her waist. The caption read: [Some people make the lens come alive.] With shaking fingers, I pulled out my own phone and opened his profile. Nothing. Not a single post. The man who had preached professional distance to me for three years—the man who demanded I delete every casual like or comment I ever left on his public posts—had blocked me from his feed just so he could post my best friend for the world to see. Outside, the Chicago sky broke open into a torrential downpour. I texted Samuel. No reply. I called his number. It rang until it went to voicemail. Then my phone buzzed with an incoming call from Lola. "Corinne, I'm so sorry, Sam is driving right now so he can't pick up," her voice purred through the speaker, sweet and breathless. "Sam said the rain was too heavy and you know how terrible I am with directions, so he came to pick me up instead. We're almost back at the apartment. You should just order an Uber back, okay?" Standing in the cold rain outside the theater, my screen lit up with another notification. It was an email from our corporate CEO: [Corinne, regarding the leadership transfer to head our new expansion branch in Seattle—have you given it any more thought?] The Seattle branch was a massive, career-defining opportunity. The executive board had approached me three times about leading the expansion. Every time, I had turned them down. I had been terrified of long distance. The seven-hundred-mile gap between Charleston and Chicago had already torn me apart. If I took Seattle, the distance between Samuel and me would become seventeen hundred miles. Standing in the freezing rain, I finally understood. Distance doesn't breed insecurity. People do. I wiped the cold raindrops from my cheeks and typed a steady, resolute reply: [I accept the transfer to Seattle.] Because the official Seattle paperwork would take a few days to process, headquarters arranged for me to work out of the Chicago regional office as a temporary liaison. With a clear destination on the horizon, the noise around me ceased to matter. When I returned to the apartment, I didn't ask Samuel about the hidden post. His decision to hide it from me was answer enough. I no longer needed his excuses. The next morning, as I finished getting dressed for work in a tailored blazer, I ran into Samuel in the foyer. He took in my business attire with a look of utter bewilderment. "Where do you think you're going?" I didn't look at him as I slipped into my heels. "Corporate asked me to work out of the Chicago office for a few days." Samuel’s face darkened instantly. "Then find your own way there. I'm not driving you—" "I know," I cut him off calmly. "We have to keep our distance. Anything else?" When he stood there struck dumb, I pulled the door open and walked out. My lack of tears and anger seemed to unsettle him far more than any screaming match would have. I arrived at the regional office and finished checking in with local HR. Just as I stepped into the main lobby, I saw Lola stepping out of Samuel's car. Before she walked inside, Samuel reached out and affectionately tousled her hair. I looked away after a single second and continued heading toward the executive conference room. As I turned the corner, the two women from the theater stepped in front of me again. "And here I thought you actually had some shame," the taller one sneered, her voice loud enough to carry across the open floor. "Showing up at our office the very next day? You must have put in some serious overtime in bed to land this transfer." Her friend chimed in with a smirk, "Did you see them in the parking lot? That's what a real girlfriend looks like. No matter how hard you claw your way in, you'll never be anything more than a pathetic side piece." I didn't waste my breath on them. Even if this was only a transitional assignment, I had real oversight responsibilities to execute. I had the department coordinator schedule a regional alignment meeting for ten o'clock. When I walked into the boardroom, I found the two gossiping women sitting at the table. Seeing me take the head of the table, their smirks faltered. I had no intention of mixing personal drama with business. I opened my binder, preparing to speak, but the two of them couldn't hold their composure. They slammed their notebooks onto the mahogany table. "This is unbelievable! Since when do we let homewreckers run departmental strategy?" "Exactly! What are you going to teach us? How to sleep your way into an executive suite?" They shoved their chairs back and stormed out of the room. The remaining staff didn't dare leave, but a wave of hushed, toxic whispers rippled across the room. The rest of the day went just as poorly. Every task I assigned was met with passive resistance and evasive excuses from the local team. Progress ground to a complete halt. During a brief afternoon break, I stepped out of the restroom, only to cross paths with the two self-appointed moral crusaders once again. The taller one rolled her eyes dramatically. As she brushed past me in her stilettos, she drove her shoulder violently into mine. I hadn't anticipated the hit. The freshly mopped tile was slick, and in my heels, I lost my balance completely. My knee slammed hard against the marble floor, and my ankle twisted with a sickening pop. The woman covered her mouth in mock horror. "Oh goodness, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you standing there, Supervisor Foster. Do you need a hand getting up?" Her friend snickered. "Don't touch her! Who knows what kind of filth you'll catch from someone with a private life like hers." They strutted away laughing. I spent the evening in the urgent care clinic having my sprained ankle wrapped. When I finally limped back to the apartment, Samuel was rushing toward the door, coat in hand. Remembering the hostility in the office, I blocked his path. "You saw the messages in the department group chat today. Why didn't you clear things up?" His profile icon was listed under the 'Read' receipts for the defamatory messages. Yet he had chosen absolute silence. "The truth speaks for itself," he said, frowning impatiently. "If I publicly defended you, the team would turn their anger toward Lola. You're leaving back south in a few days anyway, but Lola has to keep working with these people." So he knew. He knew perfectly well that his public treatment of Lola made everyone assume she was his partner. He just didn't care that the fallout landed entirely on me. I stepped aside, clearing his way to the door. My phone chimed with an update notification from Lola's profile: [The kind of security Mr. E gives me is being there every single time I need him.] The photo showed Samuel’s handsome profile as he handed his credit card to a bartender. In the second photo, Lola was grinning with the two women who had spent the entire day harassing and tripping me at work. I dug my fingernails deep into the palms of my hands until the skin nearly broke. He had rushed out into the night just to pay for drinks for my best friend and the bullies who had assaulted me. My primary task in Chicago was auditing regional project accounts. As I reviewed the quarterly ledgers, I flagged a glaring discrepancy in a multi-million-dollar supply contract. When I checked the project ownership, Lola’s name was listed on the sign-off sheet. I took the flagged report and walked directly over to her workstation. When I pointed out the accounting error, Lola looked up with complete indifference. "Where's the mistake? Corinne, you aren't using your position to target me just because of what happened earlier, are you?" She glanced past my shoulder, and her expression instantly shifted into one of fragile, tearful vulnerability. "Corinne, I know you hold a grudge against me, but I pulled all-nighters to finish this report. Please don't take it out on my career..." "What on earth are you talking—" Before I could finish, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. I looked up into Samuel's furious eyes. "Corinne!" I took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm not targeting anyone. Look at the ledger yourself." I extended the report toward him. He didn't even glance at the pages. He shoved my hand away. "Enough! If Lola made a mistake, I'll take full responsibility and fix it. Stop using your temporary supervisory title to throw your weight around and pick fights." The absurdity of it all settled over me like a sheet of ice. A quiet, humorless laugh escaped my throat. Around us, the floor was buzzing with swooning murmurs. "Oh my god, is that an executive protecting his girl? That is so attractive!" "Right? I need to find a man like Mr. Ellis—putting the side piece in her place and protecting his woman." "Imagine having the nerve to bully someone right in front of her man. Completely shameless." Amid the rising chorus of derision, my phone began to vibrate. It was the corporate head of HR calling from headquarters. "Corinne, your official transfer to Seattle has been approved by the board. Your flight confirmation is already in your inbox." I nodded slowly, watching Samuel's protective stance beside Lola. If I was the unwanted outsider in this story, I was more than ready to exit the stage. The HR director’s tone suddenly shifted, lowering with slight concern. "By the way, did something happen up there in Chicago? Mr. Ellis just called corporate requesting a disciplinary suspension for you." My heart felt a dull, final thud. "He's a regional peer, so he doesn't have the authority to suspend an executive transfer," the director continued with a scoff. "I simply told him your temporary assignment concludes today anyway." I finished handing over my remaining audit notes and returned to the apartment to pack my belongings. Just as I zipped my suitcase, a text message arrived from Lola. It was only two words: [Help me.] I tried calling Samuel to handle it, but his line was busy. I stared at the screen, hesitating. Despite the venom that had poisoned our bond over the last few days, there had been years of genuine sisterhood between us before all of this. In a genuine emergency, I couldn't simply leave her to the wolves. The address she sent was a private lounge downtown. When I pushed open the heavy door to the VIP suite, I saw several middle-aged corporate executives with unbuttoned collars, surrounding Lola on the velvet sofa. I recognized them immediately—they were local contractors notorious for aggressive, predatory behavior during business negotiations. Without a second thought, I grabbed Lola's wrist to pull her away. She violently shook off my grip, throwing herself into the arms of the man who had just burst in behind me. She sobbed hysterically, "Sam! What took you so long? Corinne made me come drink with these clients... they kept forcing shots on me, I was so scared!" I stared at her in utter disbelief. Samuel’s eyes were bloodshot with rage. He grabbed an empty scotch bottle from the table and smashed it violently across the forehead of the lead client. Glass shattered across the floor. He swept Lola into his arms, turning to leave. The injured client stumbled forward, shouting through the blood on his face, "Ellis! Don't forget that multi-million logistics contract is still on the table! Walk out that door and ten other firms will take our business by morning!" Samuel stopped in his tracks. "What do you want?" The client wiped his brow, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Nothing complicated. You want to leave? Fine. But there are two pretty ladies in this room. You leave one behind to finish the drinks, or the deal is dead." I turned my head and looked directly at Samuel. His eyes flickered with a faint, momentary hesitation. In his arms, Lola weakly tugged at his lapel, whimpering, "Sam... my stomach hurts so badly..." That fleeting trace of hesitation vanished from Samuel’s face. He looked at me, his voice flat and detached. "Corinne, your suspension notice is crossing corporate desks soon anyway. If you handle this meeting smoothly tonight, I'll put in a good word with headquarters to clear your record." He didn't wait for an answer. Without a single backward glance, he turned and carried Lola out into the corridor. The client’s heavy, alcohol-slicked hand reached out toward my shoulder. I didn't flinch. I picked up a heavy wine bottle from the sideboard and cracked the neck clean against the marble table edge, aiming the jagged glass straight at his throat. "Mr. Henderson, I assume your wife’s family—who happens to control eighty percent of your firm’s voting shares—would love to see the security footage of how you conduct business after hours?" The man froze, his face shifting from malice to terror. He backed away, cursing under his breath. He was a son-in-law who had married into old money; one word to his father-in-law would ruin him. I tossed the broken bottle into the ice bucket, smoothed my blazer, and walked out into the chilly night air. The rain was still falling over Chicago. I returned to the empty apartment, grabbed my packed luggage, and hailed a cab directly to O'Hare International Airport. Let the rain fall behind me. From this moment on, I was rising.