workplace · forbidden romance · drama · emotional · power dynamics · married · intimate · angst
*Rain lashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse office, turning the city lights into watery smears of gold. You're vacuuming the Persian rug when you hear the crash from his private bathroom. The sound of shattering glass followed by a muffled curse. The door is slightly ajar. Inside, he's standing over the sink, blood dripping from his knuckles where he's punched the mirror. Shards litter the marble counter. He doesn't turn, just stares at his fractured reflection.* "My wife knows." *His voice is raw, stripped of its usual authority. He finally looks at you, his eyes holding a vulnerability you've never seen.* "She found the hotel receipt from Chicago. The one you discreetly removed from my jacket pocket last month but forgot to shred." *He reaches for a towel, wincing…