TOP UP

Reading History

Sign out

Get the APP

THE SPACE BETWEEN US

Name: THE SPACE BETWEEN US
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Winner Wems

Adventure | Ongoing

5.0

Comment(s)

View

Chapters

He only ever wanted to do his job. Until she looked at him like no one else had. When Elijah started working for Daniel Hartman, a powerful and respected executive, he expected a demanding career and a steep climb toward success. What he didn't expect was to fall for the one woman he should never have noticed-Daniel's wife. Lillian Hartman lives behind glass-beautiful, elegant, and utterly alone. Trapped in a marriage that's more strategic than romantic, she begins to drift. And when Elijah-thoughtful, attentive, and forbidden-offers her something she's been missing for years, a dangerous connection forms. At first, it's innocent. A shared joke at a company dinner. A text sent late at night. A coffee that lasts a little too long. But what starts as friendship soon slides into something deeper, something more intimate-and ultimately, something irreversible. Their chemistry is undeniable. Their guilt, suffocating. As the affair unfolds in stolen moments and whispered promises, the walls begin to close in. The truth, when it arrives, is explosive-shattering careers, trust, and lives. Caught between what feels right and what they know is wrong, Elijah and Lillian must confront the wreckage they've created. Was it love? Was it loneliness? Or was it just two broken people clinging to the only warmth they could find? The Space Between Us is a gripping, emotionally charged novel about desire, betrayal, and the fine line between comfort and temptation. It's about the secrets we keep, the lines we cross, and the spaces that love can't always fill.

Adolescence Modern Secret relationship Sexual slave Attractive Age gap Workplace Runaway bride Forbidden love

Chapter 7 THE BEGINING OF THE END

Yesterday 01:47

Chapter 1 LINES WE DON'T RALK ABOUT.

"Everything felt normal-until I realized how much I was noticing her."

---

There's a kind of silence in certain offices that doesn't mean peace-it means pressure. The walls don't echo because no one's allowed to make noise. Phones stay on vibrate. Smiles are subtle, like people are afraid too much expression will cost them their job.

That's what it was like working at Hartman Strategic.

Efficient. Demanding. High-paying. And sterile.

But it was also the kind of place where careers were made or broken in one meeting.

Which is why, when I landed the job as Daniel Hartman's executive assistant-slash-analyst-whatever hybrid title they'd come up with-I didn't complain about the hours or the expectations. I was 28, single, hungry, and fresh off two years of burnout from a boutique firm that folded under its own ambition.

Daniel was a name in this city. Not quite famous, but whispered about. The kind of man whose contacts were worth more than your college degree. He had built his empire with charm and cold-blooded instincts-and everyone either wanted to work for him or feared him.

Sometimes both.

I admired him. At least in the beginning.

I admired the way he moved through the world like it owed him answers. The way he could walk into a boardroom and bend the air around him. It was intoxicating, being that close to power. Especially when you'd never had much of it yourself.

The first time I met his wife was at the company's mid-year gala.

I wasn't even supposed to be there. My name had been left off the guest list, probably an oversight from the overworked HR manager who assumed "junior associate" meant "not important."

But Daniel himself sent me a message that afternoon: "Need you at the gala. Bring the updated deck. And wear a decent suit."

That was Daniel-no hellos, no context. Just instructions.

So I went.

It was held at the Arcadia Hotel ballroom, all glass chandeliers and uncomfortable art. There were people there who owned planes, who talked about the market like it was a personal pet they could train. I stayed near the edge of the room with my drink, watching him make his rounds like a politician. Sharp suit. Confident posture. No hesitation.

And then, she arrived.

Lillian.

His wife.

You could feel it before you even saw her. The way the energy shifted. Heads turned. Conversations paused.

She wore a deep emerald dress, the kind that made no noise when she moved but somehow silenced everyone else. Her hair was up, her neck bare, her eyes watchful. She kissed Daniel on the cheek and smiled for the cameras, and for a moment, they looked like a power couple straight out of a magazine.

But something was off.

Not between them, exactly. More like... in the way she moved. Like someone performing a part they'd memorized long ago. Effortless, yes. But not natural. Not alive.

We didn't speak that night. Just a glance-maybe two.

The second time, I couldn't tell if she recognized me.

It was a week later, during a client dinner. She arrived unexpectedly, sitting beside Daniel like a finishing touch, a final detail to complete the image.

He barely acknowledged her presence beyond introductions.

"This is my wife, Lillian."

That was it. No warmth. No possessiveness. Just information.

She smiled at the table. Said all the right things. But I caught her looking out the window more than once, like she was someplace else entirely.

I didn't think much of it then. Not beyond a casual curiosity. She was just a woman who happened to be married to the man I worked for.

But then came the late nights.

One, two, three in a row-past ten, past midnight. Fixing decks, prepping briefs, recalculating numbers for clients who wanted the moon on a discount.

Daniel stayed late too. But he wasn't always in the office.

Sometimes he'd be out for hours-"calls," he'd say. "Meetings." "Deals in motion."

I didn't question it. It wasn't my place.

Until one night, he left just after 8 p.m. without saying much. Said he'd be back later to go over projections. I stayed behind, hunched over my laptop, the skyline outside going dark as my coffee went cold.

At around 9:15, the elevator chimed.

I figured it was him.

It wasn't.

She stepped out, her heels quiet on the marble. A soft trench coat wrapped around her, no makeup, hair loosely tied. She looked like someone who didn't want to be recognized. Or maybe just didn't care anymore.

"Sorry," she said, catching sight of me. "I thought Daniel might be back by now."

"He stepped out," I replied, standing awkwardly. "Said he'd return to go over numbers. You're welcome to wait."

She shook her head. "No, that's alright."

But then she didn't leave.

Instead, she walked to the window, looking out across the city.

"How long have you been working here?" she asked.

"About five months."

She nodded. "Longer than most."

That surprised me. "Really?"

She smiled faintly. "He doesn't keep people close for very long. He says it's about efficiency, but I think it's about insulation."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

"He says you're sharp," she added after a moment. "That you're good under pressure."

"Nice to know," I said cautiously.

"Daniel doesn't say things to be nice."

She turned to face me then. The way her gaze landed on me felt... precise. Like she was seeing through something I wasn't aware I was hiding.

"You don't strike me as the usual kind of person who ends up working for him."

I raised an eyebrow. "What kind is that?"

"People who need power to define themselves."

I smiled, then looked down at my shoes. "Maybe I haven't been here long enough yet."

She gave a soft laugh, the kind that had sadness in it. "Maybe."

There was a pause.

"You don't have to stay late every night, you know," she said, glancing at the laptop. "He respects people who draw boundaries."

"I'm still trying to earn the right to have them."

She tilted her head slightly, like she was weighing that answer.

"I used to think that too," she said. "Until I realized he doesn't respect boundaries-he just notices who's willing to bleed to prove they deserve to be here."

That landed harder than I expected.

I didn't know what she meant. Or maybe I did, and didn't want to admit it.

When she left that night, she said something I didn't forget.

"You seem like someone who listens closely. That's rare in this building."

It was the way she said it. Not flirty. Not casual. But intimate, somehow.

And that's when I knew the line wasn't as far away as I'd told myself it was.