Too Late to Keep Her After Everything I Destroyed

Grace retched into the toilet bowl. Her knuckles gripped the porcelain until the skin turned stark white.

"I need you to step back from the acquisitions project," I said. I pressed a cold, damp towel to the back of her neck.

"The merger is next week, Ethan," she whispered. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face lacked all color, her eyes sunken from days of violent morning sickness.

"I don't care about the merger. I care about you and the baby."

"I can't just drop everything."

"You can," I insisted, pulling her up from the floor. "I will handle the company. You stay here at the estate. You rest."

Grace slumped against the bathroom tiles. "I'm sorry. I feel completely useless."

"Stop talking like that. You're growing our child. I've got the rest."

I didn't have the rest.

Grace's core projects were massive. By Friday, my desk was buried under unread contracts, missed calls, and looming deadlines. My head pounded with a relentless migraine.

The office door swung open.

Chloe stood in the doorway. She wore a simple beige trench coat. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her mascara slightly smudged.

"How did you get past security?" I asked. I dropped my pen onto the stack of paperwork.

"I still have a visitor pass from the last project," she said. "Security let me through."

She walked forward and placed a thick manila folder on my desk. "Ethan, let the past go."

"I have work to do, Chloe. I don't have time for this."

"I know Grace is sick."

I stiffened. "Who told you that?"

"Industry rumors. People talk." She pointed to the folder. "I also know you're drowning. You're trying to do two jobs at once. I have three major client accounts in there, ready to sign."

"What's your angle?"

"No angle." She looked down at her shoes, her tone humble and submissive. "I don't want a title. I don't want to fight. I just want to help as a consultant. Let me take some of this pressure off you."

I stared at the documents. We desperately needed those accounts to close the quarter. The exhaustion gnawed at my bones, and eight years of history hovered in the quiet room. She looked so small, so willing to help.

"Consultant only," I said, my voice hard. "No drama."

"No drama," she agreed. "Thank you, Ethan."

Over the next two weeks, Chloe was entirely professional. She anticipated my needs. She brought coffee. She stayed late to organize the chaos Grace had left behind.

Thursday night. 11:00 PM.

We sat on the leather sofa in the executive breakroom, checking the quarterly reports. A half-empty bottle of Merlot sat on the glass coffee table. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the dim glow of the city skyline through the window.

"Look at these margins," Chloe whispered.

She leaned over. Her shoulder pressed against my chest. "We always made a great team, Ethan."

She looked up at me. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

The alcohol buzzed in my veins. The crushing stress of the past month shattered.

She grabbed my tie and pulled my mouth down to hers.

The kiss was violent. I shoved the reports off the table. They scattered across the rug.

"Fuck," I muttered against her lips. I shoved my tongue into her mouth.

"Take it off," she demanded. Her manicured nails tore at my shirt buttons, popping one off the fabric. "Fuck me, Ethan. Right here."

She pulled me down by the tie. The kiss was hard, almost angry. Reports slid off the table.

I pushed her back onto the leather cushions. I yanked her skirt up around her waist, shoved her skirt up. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"I want you," she said. Her fingers fumbled aggressively with my zipper. "Pull it out. Put it in me."

I unbuckled my belt. The sharp crack of leather slapping against leather echoed in the quiet room. I gripped her pale thighs, spreading them wide open. She arched her spine, thrusting her chest upward. I grabbed her right breast, squeezing the flesh hard. I bit down on her nipple through the thin silk of her blouse, grinding my teeth against the sensitive peak.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned loudly, her hips bucking up against my hand. "Fuck, Ethan, do it. Shove it in."

I reached down to free my cock from my pants.

My hand brushed my own thigh. The cold metal of my wedding ring dragged across my skin.

I froze.

My gaze snapped up. Through the open breakroom door, the moonlight hit my office desk. It illuminated the silver picture frame. Grace smiling. The photo tucked into the corner.

Ice flooded my veins.

"No... no!" I shoved Chloe away.

I sprang up from the sofa. I grabbed my pants, yanking the zipper up so fast it caught on the fabric. I stumbled backward, putting distance between us. My chest heaved.

"Ethan?" Chloe sat up, confused.

"I'm married." I stared at her half-naked body in horror. "Grace is pregnant. We can't do this!"

A sharp, ugly sneer twisted Chloe's mouth. It vanished in a fraction of a second.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She didn't scream. She didn't throw a tantrum.

She quietly pulled her skirt down. She smoothed out her blouse with trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry, Ethan," she choked out. Her voice sounded painfully fragile. "It's my fault."

"Chloe, I shouldn't have—"

"No, don't say anything." She wiped her eyes. She looked up at me with pure devastation. "I couldn't control myself. I missed you so much, and I got carried away."

I rubbed my face with both hands. "This was a mistake."

"I understand." She grabbed her purse from the floor. "You have your responsibilities. You're a good husband, Ethan. You're doing the right thing."

"Where are you going?"

"Home." She offered a sad, broken smile. "Don't blame yourself for this. I promise you, I will never ruin your family."

She walked out the door. The click of the latch echoed in the empty office.

Massive, suffocating guilt clamped around my throat. I had nearly cheated on my pregnant wife. I had let the stress and the alcohol push me right to the edge of destroying my marriage. And I had completely humiliated Chloe, using her to blow off steam before discarding her again like garbage.

The guilt demanded payment.

The next morning, I stood at the head of the boardroom table.

"Effective immediately," I told the executive team, leaning forward on the table. "Chloe will continue as external consultant with expanded access to the Miller accounts she brought in. Temporary. Review in thirty days."

Board Member Davis slammed his palm on the polished wood. "Ethan, you can't be serious! She's an external consultant. She doesn't have the clearance for final sign-offs."

"She brought in the Miller accounts," I shot back. "She secured the supply chain routes we lost last month."

"That doesn't mean we hand her the keys to the castle!"

"The decision is final, Davis."

I stared him down until he looked away. I owed Chloe this much. It was the only way to balance the scales, pay off my guilt, and bury last night forever.

I walked back into my office and shut the door.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

I picked it up. It was a text from Grace.

*Can you come home early? There's a woman here who says she needs to talk to me about you.*