My Fiancé Forced Me to Apologize to His Mistress

I stood up from the break room counter. The white roses sat between us like evidence.

"You need to leave," I said. "Now."

Kennedi's expression shifted. The practiced sympathy melted into something wider, more fragile. Her voice lifted—not quite a shout, but loud enough to carry through the door, into the hallway where I could hear footsteps slowing.

"Celeste, please. I'm just trying to talk to you—"

She reached for my wrist. Her fingers closed around it with surprising strength.

I yanked my arm back. Shoved her away.

She stumbled backward. Her hip caught the edge of the filing cabinet. The metal drawer was open. A stack of folders tipped and scattered across the floor in a cascade of paper. Kennedi sank to one knee, one hand braced against the cabinet, the other pressed to her side. She made a small sound. A gasp. Breathy and sharp.

The break room door opened.

Diana Holt stood in the doorway. Behind her, three of my colleagues crowded the frame.

"What's going on?" Diana's voice was tight.

Kennedi looked up. Her eyes were wet. "I just—I came to apologize. I didn't mean to upset her."

"She grabbed me," I said. My voice came out flat. "I pushed her off."

Diana's gaze moved between us. The scattered folders. Kennedi still on one knee. The roses on the counter.

"Ms. Carlson, are you hurt?"

Kennedi shook her head. Pressed her lips together. "I'm okay. I just—I should go."

She stood slowly. Carefully. Like her ribs hurt. Like she was being brave.

"I'll call someone to pick you up," Diana said.

Kennedi pulled out her phone. Her hands trembled. Or looked like they did. "I already texted Joaquin. He's on his way."

My chest tightened. "Of course you did."

Diana turned to me. "Celeste. Wait in your office."

"This is my break room too," I said.

"Now, please."

I walked past them. Past the colleagues who stepped aside without meeting my eyes. Past the receptionist who stared at her keyboard. I sat down at my desk. My hands were steady. I opened my laptop. Stared at the screen.

Twenty-eight minutes later, Joaquin walked through the office doors.

I saw him before he saw me. He moved straight to the reception area where Kennedi waited on the low couch, her face turned down, her shoulders curved inward. He crouched beside her. Said something I couldn't hear. Then his hand settled on the small of her back, and he helped her stand.

Diana emerged from her office. Joaquin straightened. They spoke in low tones. He nodded. Glanced toward my desk.

Then he walked over.

He stopped three feet away. His face was calm. Controlled. The expression he used in boardrooms when someone had disappointed him.

"What happened?" he asked.

I looked up at him. "She came here to show me pictures of the two of you. To tell me you're taking her to the Carlyle tonight. When I told her to leave, she grabbed me. I pushed her off."

"She's half your size, Celeste."

The words landed like a slap.

"She grabbed me first," I said again.

His jaw tightened. "You need to control yourself."

Behind him, Diana stood with two of my colleagues. Watching. Listening. Joaquin's voice wasn't loud, but it carried. It had weight. Authority. The kind of voice people believed.

"I didn't do anything wrong," I said.

He leaned down slightly. Lowered his voice. "You put your hands on her. In your workplace. In front of witnesses. What did you think was going to happen?"

I stared at him. At the man who used to hold my hand through panic attacks. Who used to tell me I was safe.

"You weren't here," I said quietly. "You don't know what she said."

"I know what I need to know."

He straightened. Looked at Diana. Nodded once. Then he turned and walked back to Kennedi. His hand returned to her back. He guided her toward the elevator.

She glanced over her shoulder as the doors opened. Our eyes met. She didn't smile. She didn't need to.

Diana walked to my desk. Her face was professional. Distant.

"Celeste, I'm placing you on administrative leave pending an HR review. You'll need to leave the building now."

I closed my laptop. Unplugged my phone. Slid both into my bag.

"How long?" I asked.

"I'll let you know."

I stood. Pulled my coat from the back of my chair. The office was silent. Everyone pretended to work. No one looked at me.

I walked to the elevator. Pressed the button. Waited.

The doors opened. I stepped inside.

My reflection stared back at me from the polished steel. My face was smooth. Composed. Like nothing had happened.

I pressed my thumb against the inside of my left ring finger and held it there until the doors opened on the ground floor.

Then I walked out into the cold October afternoon and tried to remember how to breathe.