The next morning, I arrived at the office fifteen minutes earlier than usual.
Not because I was hardworking.
Because I was trying to avoid Nathaniel Graves.
A ridiculous thought.
I was his secretary.
He was my husband.
And somehow, after six months of marriage, I was now nervous about seeing him.
The universe really had a strange sense of humor.
When I entered the CEO’s office, Nathaniel was already there.
He was sitting behind the desk, reading documents.
The moment he saw me, he looked up.
His eyes followed me.
Not like before.
Not like a boss evaluating an employee.
Something else.
I placed the documents on the table.
—Good morning, Mr. Graves.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he leaned back.
—Miss Arden.
My heart skipped.
—Yes?
—Do you always call your husband Mr. Graves?
I froze.
There was no way he could say something like that so calmly.
I looked around.
—Are you feeling sick?
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.
—Why?
—Because yesterday you discovered that your secretary is your wife, and today you’re acting strangely.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
—Strangely?
—Yes.
—How should I act?
I thought about it.
—Normally.
He nodded seriously.
—Then tell me what normal husbands do.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the truth was…
I didn’t know either.
Our marriage had never been normal.
Nathaniel stood up and walked toward me.
Not too close.
But close enough that I could feel his presence.
—Sienna.
I looked at him.
It was the first time he called me by my name.
Not Miss Arden.
Not secretary.
Sienna.
—Why didn’t you tell me?
The question was simple.
But I knew what he meant.
Why didn’t you tell me you were my wife?
Why didn’t you stop me from forgetting you?
Why did you let me treat you like a stranger?
I lowered my eyes.
—Would you have believed me?
He became silent.
Because he knew the answer.
Six months ago, when we signed the marriage papers, he barely looked at me.
He only knew my name because it was printed on the certificate.
To him, I was a solution.
A requirement.
A person completing a contract.
Not a wife.
—You didn’t even remember my face.
My voice was quiet.
Nathaniel’s expression changed.
A trace of guilt appeared.
—I…
He stopped.
Because there was nothing he could say.
It was true.
He had forgotten the woman he married.
That afternoon, Piper came to my office.
She closed the door.
Then immediately started laughing.
Again.
—Stop.
—I can’t.
She wiped her tears.
—Your husband spent six months sending you money and then fell in love with you again without knowing it was you.
I stared at her.
—You are enjoying this too much.
—Of course I am.
She sat down.
—Do you know how unbelievable this is?
—No.
—Your cold, terrifying cousin.
She pointed toward the CEO’s office.
—The man who makes executives cry during meetings.
—The man who rejected thirty marriage proposals.
She grinned.
—Now he spends ten minutes choosing what dessert to put on your desk.
I looked away.
Because…
She was right.
Nathaniel had changed.
Not suddenly.
Not dramatically.
But in small ways.
The next morning, a lemon cheesecake appeared on my desk.
A note was attached.
“The client sent too many desserts.”
I looked at the note.
Then walked into his office.
—Mr. Graves.
He looked up.
—Yes?
I placed the cake in front of him.
—The client sent exactly one cheesecake?
He paused.
—Yes.
—And somehow it was my favorite flavor?
Silence.
Then he looked away.
—Coincidence.
I almost laughed.
—You are terrible at lying.
A small smile appeared.
—Apparently I learned from my secretary.
I stared at him.
—Your secretary?
He looked at me.
—My wife.
The words surprised both of us.
Because for the first time…
He said it naturally.
A week later, Nathaniel asked me to have dinner.
Not as CEO and secretary.
As husband and wife.
I almost refused.
Almost.
But I agreed.
The restaurant was quiet.
Too quiet.
Nathaniel looked uncomfortable.
Which was strange.
This was a man who could negotiate billion-dollar deals without blinking.
But now he was nervous because of me.
—I want to apologize.
I looked at him.
—For what?
He lowered his eyes.
—For making you feel like you weren’t my wife.
I didn’t answer.
He continued:
—My grandmother told me I needed a marriage.
—I treated it like an obligation.
—But you…
He paused.
—You were the only person who was actually there.
I looked at him.
Nathaniel rarely spoke about emotions.
So every word mattered.
—I received your reports.
—Your financial records.
—Your monthly payments.
He smiled faintly.
—But I never checked whether the woman receiving them was happy.
That sentence hurt.
Because it was exactly what happened.
He remembered transactions.
Not me.
Then he reached into his pocket.
And placed something on the table.
A small velvet box.
I froze.
Inside was a ring.
Not the simple wedding band we had used for the contract.
A real ring.
Beautiful.
Elegant.
Personal.
—What is this?
Nathaniel looked at me.
—A wedding ring.
I almost laughed.
—We are already married.
—No.
He shook his head.
—That was a signature.
He pushed the box toward me.
—This is my choice.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
Because six months ago…
I married a man who didn’t even remember my face.
But now…
The same man was looking at me like he was afraid I would disappear.
However, before I could answer, Nathaniel’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression immediately changed.
Piper.
But she wasn’t calling casually.
The moment he answered, his face became serious.
—What happened?
A few seconds passed.
Then:
—Are you sure?
I watched him.
Something was wrong.
Nathaniel ended the call.
Then looked at me.
—Sienna.
I felt my heart tighten.
—What?
His expression was complicated.
—There is something about our marriage that you don’t know.
I frowned.
—What do you mean?
He placed his phone on the table.
On the screen was an old document.
A marriage agreement.
But not the one I knew.
At the bottom…
was my signature.
And another clause.
One I had never seen.
Nathaniel’s voice became low.
—My grandmother didn’t just arrange this marriage.
I stared at the paper.
—Then why?
He looked at me.
And said:
—Because six months ago, before the wedding…
—I already knew who you were.
