After His Public Engagement, I Resigned Chapter 01

After His Public Engagement, I Resigned Chapter 01

Once the favors were gone, Isabelle Pierce looped her arm through Desmond’s.

“Let’s get a photo. I’ll post it in the family group chat.”

He didn’t object, which she took as consent.

She scanned the room and finally held her phone out to me.

“Would you mind taking it for us?”

I nodded stiffly, missing entirely how dark Desmond’s expression had gone.

Just last night, he’d been the one whispering things to me.

Today he belonged to someone else.

In the photo they stood pressed close, beaming.

I hid behind the camera and pressed the shutter.

For six years, to avoid suspicion, we’d never once taken a picture together.

“Once it’s out in the open,” he used to say, “I’ll let you take all the photos you want.”

I never got the announcement.

Instead, I got his engagement.

Once the photo was taken, Isabelle drifted over, satisfied.

“Nice shot. Any interest in shooting the wedding too?”

I looked up, caught Desmond’s eye, and panicked.

He glanced away, unbothered, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Weren’t you meeting someone for shopping? Now you’re poaching my staff?”

That was enough to send her off.

Once the noise died down, I’d barely sat back at my desk before the gossip started.

“So, Margot, who is she? She actually locked down Mr. Ashcroft—come on, spill!”

I kept my eyes down.

“It’s work hours. Let’s not discuss our boss’s personal life.”

A few colleagues who’d never liked me couldn’t resist the jab.

“So full of herself, considering how she used to hang all over him.”

“Bet she saw the real fiancée and got scared her little scheme would blow up. Probably wants to disappear.”

Their words cut like a dull blade, slow and precise.

I had no defense.

That evening I didn’t wait for him at our usual corner the way I always did.

Near the subway station, his car pulled up beside me anyway. I hesitated, then got in.

One hand on the wheel, he glanced over.

“Why didn’t you wait?”

“Forgot.”

I didn’t even bother making it convincing.

He didn’t push, just started the car.

“It’s your birthday. I booked that restaurant you’ve been wanting to try.”

His tone was so even, it was as if the entire day hadn’t happened.

At a red light, his phone rang.

“Desmond, honey, dinner’s ready—six years, and it’s finally official.”

“I made your favorite. Come straight home.”

When the light changed, he said,

“Easy to catch a cab from here. Go ahead. I’ve got something to take care of.”

I watched his car disappear into traffic before I could breathe again.

So I really had been his mistress for six years.

This hidden relationship—I didn’t want it anymore.