His Memory. Questo articolo non è disponibile.His Memory

I had been sitting alone for nearly two hours in one of the city's most exclusive restaurants, a reservation I had made three months in advance. Every detail had been planned carefully. This night mattered to me.

I knew Grayson had been busy lately. Securing a major client at his firm had demanded long hours and relentless focus. Still, he had promised he would be here. Tonight was our fourth wedding anniversary.

Grayson Wright was a senior partner at Wright & Caldwell LLP, a firm known for its discretion and ruthless precision. His world revolved around numbers, deadlines, and control. Mine revolved around us. I believed anniversaries were milestones, reminders of how far we had come as life partners and of the journey that shaped us. I wanted every one of them to matter.

We had fallen in love quickly, almost recklessly.

I was an accounting major when it began, still learning how to balance ledgers and expectations, newly assigned as an intern at Wright & Caldwell LLP. and placed under his supervision. At the time, Grayson was already a director, respected and feared in equal measure. People straightened when he entered a room, voices lowered, and mistakes were rarely forgiven.

My first day felt like something out of a movie. I stumbled, careless and overwhelmed, and nearly landed face first on the office floor. Instead, strong hands caught me mid fall. I froze, mortified, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

When I looked up, I forgot where I was altogether.

He was tall, broad shouldered, built like someone who carried authority effortlessly. A neatly kept midnight beard framed his face, and his eyes were the bluest I had ever seen. He looked like temptation dressed in a tailored suit. I must have been staring because a slow smirk curved his lips when he realized I was openly ogling him.

"You okay?" he asked, amusement clear in his voice.

That was when I noticed I was still holding onto him.

"Oh, sorry," I blurted, releasing him far too quickly. "I am just clumsy sometimes. My grandmother say I was born that way. I cannot help it."

"It happens," he said easily. "Especially when someone is nervous. I am Grayson Wright."

Of course he was. The resemblance to a certain fictional billionaire did not escape me, though unfortunately, I was no Anastasia.

"My name is Calla Bennett," I said, forcing myself to sound professional. "I believe I will be your intern for the next few months."

Despite the age gap, me barely in my early twenties and him already thirty-three, it never felt like something forbidden or wrong. It felt inevitable.

At first, we agreed it was a mistake. We promised professionalism, distance, restraint. But forced formality only sharpened the ache between us. Like a string pulled too tight, the tension grew until it was bound to snap. When a colleague from the firm began flirting with me relentlessly, that was when he broke. He confessed he could no longer pretend, no longer stay away. And so, quietly and recklessly, we began our secret affair. Professional by day. Lovers behind closed doors after work.

Too many stolen nights at my place and his led to one irreversible moment. I found out I was pregnant. He was shocked, but he did what he believed a man should do. He proposed, telling me it was a sign that we belonged together. We married without his mother's blessing. The ceremony was short and simple, hidden from curious eyes because I was still an intern at his firm. I completed my internship in haste and became a full-time housewife, carrying our child with cautious hope.

I lost the baby at six months.