The Secret Girlfriend's Revenge: No Second Chances

For three years, I kept my relationship with Grayson a secret to protect his tech career, playing the role of his strict, single coworker.

But I opened our company internal software today to find hundreds of colleagues enthusiastically betting on when he would propose to my best friend, Kloe.

I screenshotted it and sent it to Grayson, asking for an explanation. His reply was dismissive: "Just office banter. Can you not be such a prude about it? It's embarrassing."

Instead of shutting the rumors down, Grayson basked in the attention.

"Jealousy is a career killer, Blair," my coworkers sneered, plastering my desk with sticky notes.

I had paid half his mortgage and sacrificed my youth for his success, only to be thrown away for twenty minutes of cheap office applause.

I stared at the word "embarrassing," my nails digging into my palm to keep the tears from falling.

I took a deep breath and peeled the mocking sticky notes off my desk one by one, tucking them into my bag-they wanted to see me break, but I was going to walk out of this with my head held high.

I signed my transfer papers to Denver, dialed the best defamation lawyer in Seattle, and prepared to tear down their perfect facade.

Chapter 1

Blair POV:

Today, two hundred coworkers launched a poll on our internal company software, betting on whether Grayson would propose to my best friend, Kloe, at tonight's rooftop mixer.

And Grayson Guzman and I have been secretly dating for three years.

For three years he told me company policy would ruin us, made me play the role of his strict, single coworker, and had us enter through different revolving doors seven minutes apart every morning. Until today, when the campus social channel pushed a poll to the front page-"Team GrayKloe: Official Rooftop Mixer Countdown!"

Below the banner, sixty-eight photos: Grayson handing Kloe her iced oat milk latte at eight in the morning; Kloe wearing his Arc'teryx jacket in the breakroom; Grayson leaning over her desk in the design bay while she whispered in his ear.

"Blair, have you seen the thread?" Marcus rolled his chair over, phone shoved in my face. "Everyone on floor four is placing bets. Ten bucks says Gray makes it official tonight. Look at this one-he saved her a seat next to him and swept your client proposal into the trash along with the folder, said the desk was too messy and it was giving him a headache."

That was the proposal I'd been working on for next week's pitch-the printed draft still had my red-pen edits from three in the morning. I asked Grayson about it. He said the conference table was crowded and I was being overly sensitive.

"They look compatible," I said, keeping my voice level.

"Compatible is an understatement! Matching ceramic mugs in the kitchen, Kloe brings him homemade muffins every Tuesday, they take two o'clock walks around South Lake Union. The thread has almost five hundred comments."

My chest tightened, but I kept my face still. We'd been living together for three years-while I worked late until nine, eating a cold convenience store sandwich alone, he was sitting at Kloe's desk sharing a box of strawberries. He'd text me: "Gotta monitor things a bit longer tonight, go ahead and eat without me."

I asked him about it. He said, "She just transferred in, I'm showing her the ropes, don't overthink it."

"Showing her the ropes" had been going on for six months. From her first day to now, it had produced matching mugs, Tuesday muffins, and South Lake Union walks. And my explanation was always "don't overthink it."

I had believed him completely. I declined every team dinner where he was present, never dared to take his arm in the hallways. Six months ago, when Kloe transferred from Austin, I was the one who introduced her to Grayson-she was my college roommate. On her first day, I told her: Grayson is my boyfriend. She'd hooked her arm through mine and laughed: "Relax, I don't touch my friends' men."

I didn't lash out immediately. First I long-pressed and saved the poll page and the sixty-eight photos, screenshotted the account that posted it, the comments, and the repost chain, then sent it to Grayson: "What is this?"

Five minutes. Ten minutes.

Grayson: "Just office banter. Can you not be such a prude about it? It's embarrassing."

I closed my laptop, grabbed my bag, and walked toward the glass skybridge.

At five o'clock, the transit concourse was packed with the after-work crowd. Ahead of me were Grayson and Kloe. She wore a pastel pink knit sweater, shivering in the cold. He had his briefcase on his left shoulder, her canvas tote on his right. Around his neck was the charcoal cashmere scarf I'd bought him for his thirty-second birthday in Paris.

I stepped forward and blocked their path.

"Grayson."

His pupils contracted slightly, then he switched to a polite, distant corporate smile. "Hey, Blair. Heading home?"

"It's freezing out here," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "Give me back my scarf."

His jaw tightened, and he took half a step back. "What are you talking about? Don't make a scene here."

"That scarf is mine. I want it back."

Kloe gasped and hugged her arms. "Oh, Blair, it's Gray's scarf. He was just about to lend it to me."

Grayson immediately unwound the scarf. But he didn't hand it to me-he draped it around Kloe's shoulders and tucked the ends neatly into her collar. "Wear it. You caught a chill at last week's launch. You can't afford to lose your voice before tomorrow's review."

Three engineers by the turnstiles stopped, and one called out loudly, "Look at that! Guzman, put a ring on her already!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Kloe buried half her face in the scarf-it still carried the cedar scent of my favorite laundry detergent. She glanced at me through her lashes, the corner of her mouth twitching almost imperceptibly, then lowered her head.

In that moment, I saw it clearly: he wasn't protecting our relationship. He was protecting his license to be adored. The secrecy had only ever applied to me.

Grayson glanced at his watch, his brow furrowing with impatience. "We're heading to the parking garage. You coming with us, or are you going to stand here blocking the way?"

I looked at Kloe wrapped in my gift.

I took one step back, putting a clear distance between us. A calm smile settled on my lips.

"No," I said. "You two go ahead."

I didn't wait for his answer. I turned and walked toward the up escalator.

Back on the eighth floor, I opened the HR system and pulled up the Denver transfer intent form I'd left sitting for three days. Last month the regional director had asked if I'd consider leading the new Midwest expansion hub. I'd hesitated because of Grayson's "I could never leave the Pacific Northwest."

Now, in the feedback box, I typed: "I request an immediate transfer to the Denver regional office. Please expedite."