A pair of delicate, pale hands gently pulled back the silver curtains, revealing a breathtaking view through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the ocean shimmered under the moonlight, silvery waves twinkling like scattered diamonds beneath the ethereal glow, as if a delicate layer of snow had kissed the earth. The rhythmic sound of the ocean, soft and soothing, blended perfectly with the night’s tranquility, wrapping the room in a serene ambiance.
Helena, her bare feet soft against the cool floor and undeniably beautiful in their understated elegance, padded across the room with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. Each step revealed her graceful arches and porcelain skin, a testament to her refined femininity. The room, adorned with soft fabrics and gentle hues, mirrored her ethereal presence, creating a serene sanctuary that isolated them from the world outside. Her gaze, filled with a mixture of longing and affection, settled on the man sleeping soundly on the bed. His features were strikingly defined, an elegant sharpness softened by the peaceful embrace of slumber. Even in his rest, an air of dignified grace surrounded him, captivating and alluring.
As she leaned down to kiss him, her lips, full and red like the petals of the roses she had so often admired, brushed against his with a tentative tenderness that spoke of hesitation, vulnerability, and deep-seated love. In that fleeting moment, a rush of warmth enveloped her, igniting feelings both sweet and complex; she felt as if their hearts were dancing to an unspoken melody. The world around them seemed to dissolve into a haze, and time stood still as she savored the intoxicating connection of their lips—the softness, the spark, the promise of something more layered beneath their fleeting kisses.
Stirring from his dreams, he opened his eyes, his grip tightening instinctively around her slender wrist. His voice, low and rich like warm honey, held an imperceptible thread of indulgence, laced with familiarity. "Sweetheart, behave; don’t mess around."
Despite the playful admonition, an uncontainable smile tugged at her lips, a reflection of their shared intimacy and unspoken bond. She chose to ignore his teasing, her fingertips dancing across his skin, tracing soft circles like gentle waves on a tranquil shore, igniting the shared warmth between them. The smoldering tension in the air was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of their relationship’s complexity, building in the quiet embrace of the luxurious room.
Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he flipped her beneath him, their positions shifting in an intimate dance that felt both playful and sincere. The room, suffused with a romantic glow, was alive with the rustle of the curtains stirred by the tender sea breeze, creating a symphony of soft sounds that enveloped them, echoing the rhythm of their hearts as they beat together.
As they reached a pinnacle of emotion and connection, Helena's gaze wandered to the vast, undulating sea beyond the glass, the waves reflecting her inner turmoil. In the softest of whispers she confided, "Roland, let’s get a divorce!" The words hung heavy in the air, resonating with a striking contrast to the serene night, cutting through the tenderness of the moment with an undertow of unresolved pain and disillusionment.
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**Flashback: Two Years Ago**
"Secretary Helena, President Adney wants you to pick up Miss Zora at the airport right now. Her flight number is FH996, and she’s expected at T3 terminal at three this afternoon." The calm, clipped voice of Adney Roland’s assistant resonated over the phone, a stark reminder of the world Helena inhabited. "He has dinner plans with Miss Zora tonight, so please ensure a reservation at the rotating restaurant in Jin Hui Square."
Helena’s lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile, masking an unsettling mix of emotions. "Understood." The word felt heavy in her mouth, a bitter truth tethered to the bright smile she wore for the office.
After ending the call, she felt a familiar rush of anxiety. Within the walls of Bassham & Beagles Groups, it was common knowledge that their president, Adney Roland, was surrounded by admirers. Yet, unbeknownst to them, she was the woman whose name was etched on his marriage certificate—the other half of a union that felt increasingly one-sided, a label that brought little solace or satisfaction.
With the clock ticking closer to three and the afternoon traffic lurking ominously, her heart raced at the thought of what awaited her if she failed to retrieve Zora on time. Adney’s icy reprimands were almost a certainty, a dark cloud that loomed over every interaction since their vows had barely begun to settle around them.
Married for just over a month, Helena had barely glimpsed her husband’s presence since their wedding day. He had returned only to slip out again without so much as a call or inquiry about her well-being. The memory of their argument on their wedding night still echoed in her mind: "You don’t have the right to expect me to care." Those words were like flesh wounds, a reminder of an emotional distance that felt insurmountable.
This bitter realization had since transformed her role as Adney’s secretary into one of perpetual cleaning up after his parade of mistresses, embroiling her in a reality she could hardly bear to consider.
Snapping back to reality, Helena grabbed her car keys with an urgency that surged through her as she hurried into the elevator, aware of the weight of her tasks pressing heavily on her shoulders. The elevator doors slid shut, trapping her thoughts within the metallic confines as they descended.
Inside the bustling, brightly lit airport terminal, she stood at the international arrivals exit, a vibrant bouquet of lush roses clutched tightly in her arms like a shield against the insecurities buzzing in her mind. The moment felt electric as a tall woman emerged from the terminal, her figure commanding attention in a snug skirt and dark sunglasses—Zora, the young model embroiled in yet another whirlwind romance with Adney.
"Miss Helena!" Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, her expression morphing into a composed professional smile that belied the tumult within. "I’m Adney’s secretary, Helena. Mr. Roland is, unfortunately, tied up in a meeting, so he asked me to fetch you."
With that, she intended to extend the dew-kissed red roses toward Zora. Without a hint of hesitation, Zora took the bouquet and handed it off to her assistant, her tone laced with disinterest, like the flower was a mere afterthought. "Let’s go."
"Mr. Adney's meeting is scheduled until 6:30 PM, so I’ll escort you to the Adney Hotel for a brief rest." Helena explained, her voice steady, her composure masking the growing knot of anxiety in her stomach. "Tonight, he’ll come to pick you up personally for dinner at the revolving restaurant in Billman Plaza."
As she spoke, she stole a glance at Zora, who towered even higher on her skyscraper heels, amplifying her stature to at least 185 cm. The height difference made Helena acutely aware of her own delicate frame and the insecurities that often shadowed her.
"I see." Zora looked down, her gaze sweeping over Helena, who barely reached her nose. Draped in a black professional suit that leaned towards the conservative side, Helena carried herself with an understated elegance, her glasses accentuating the naturally beautiful contours of her face. Pale skin glowed under the terminal lights, and her features—a sophisticated brow, a petite upturned nose, and vibrant red lips—formed an exquisite visage enveloped in simplicity.
Zora’s brows knitted slightly, but recalling the stories of Adney’s fleeting affections and his pattern of infatuation with more glamorous figures, she quickly dismissed any competitive notions regarding the woman before her. After all, if Adney Roland had truly been enamored, he would have pursued Helena long ago instead of this transient model.
As they stepped out into the bright parking lot, Zora’s mood soured. "It's so sunny!" she exclaimed, discomfort evident on her face, a sign that even the most beautiful in the room could have their moments of vulnerability.
Her assistant flustered, rushing in to mend the discomfort, and said, "I’m really sorry, Sister Zora! I forgot the umbrella."
At that moment, Helena, standing beside her, retrieved a small umbrella from her bag. With a polite gesture, she lifted it above Zora’s head, shielding her from the glaring sun while leaving herself fully exposed to the harsh brightness. It was a small act of kindness, but one that reflected the unyielding shadow her marriage cast upon her spirit.
Zora’s frown deepened, a glint of derision dancing in her eyes as her previous doubts about Helena evaporated. A wry smile danced across her lips, satisfied with the unexpected display unfolding before her. It was a swift reminder of her superiority in the social hierarchy they navigated, a dance of power that Helena would play into without realizing her worth.
In the sweltering heat of the afternoon, two women stood beneath the same umbrella, but in their hearts, they bore different burdens—one seeking the shadows, the other yearning for recognition amidst the countless whispers of an unremarkable existence.
