Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 234

Archie’s POV

My laptop dies mid-sentence, the screen going black with the finality of complete battery death. I curse under my breath—I'm in the middle of the security briefing for Xander, and I need to finish this tonight.

The charger is at my apartment, and Maya and I are at hers in the estate's staff quarters.

"Maya?" I call toward the bathroom, where I can hear the shower running. "Can I borrow your laptop? Mine just died."

Her voice comes back muffled by water and distance. "Yeah, it's on the desk. Password is the same as my phone."

I cross to her small desk, open the laptop. It wakes immediately—she must have used it recently.

The screen lights up showing her desktop, and I'm reaching for the browser icon when I notice the email window already open in the background.

I'm not snooping, I'm just looking for a browser.

But the preview pane catches my eye because the subject line is blank and the sender is just a string of numbers—the kind of thing that looks immediately suspicious to someone who's spent fifteen years in security.

My finger hovers over the trackpad.

I shouldn't read this. It's Maya's private correspondence. But something about that number string, the blank subject, the fact that the message window is open like she was reading it recently…

I click it.

The message expands to fill the screen, and the words hit me like a physical blow:

"Time is up. Execute final protocol or face exposure. You know what's at stake. Don't forget why you're there."

I stare at the screen. Read it again. And again. The sender is listed as a string of random numbers and letters, nothing identifiable.

No signature. No context. Just those three sentences that rewrite everything I thought I knew about the woman currently showering ten feet away from me.

Final protocol. Exposure. Why you're there.

My hands shake as I close the laptop, the snap of it shutting sounding too loud in the quiet room. My heart hammers against my ribs. I set the laptop back exactly where I found it, positioned at the same angle, trying to make it look untouched.

The shower shuts off.

I grab my dead laptop and retreat to the small couch, forcing my breathing to steady, trying to arrange my face into something that doesn't scream I just discovered you're lying about everything.

Maya emerges from the bathroom moments later wrapped in a towel, hair wet and dripping, skin flushed from the hot water.

She looks so normal. So much like the woman I've fallen in love with that for a moment I want to believe I misread that message, that there's some innocent explanation.

"Did you get your report done?" she asks, crossing to her dresser for clothes.

"My laptop came back to life," I lie, holding it up like evidence. The screen is still black, but she's not looking closely. "Weird glitch. Didn't need yours after all."

"Oh, good." She pulls out pajamas, moves back toward the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

I watch her go, and something fundamental has shifted in how I see her.

The way she moves—is that calculated? The casual comfort in her own space—is it genuine or performance? Her smile when she looked at me just now—real or practiced?

When she returns, fully dressed, I notice things I didn't before. Or things I noticed but dismissed. The way her hands shake slightly when she picks up her phone from the nightstand.

How she checks it compulsively, thumb swiping across the screen even though no notification lit up. The way she avoids holding eye contact for too long, her gaze sliding away after just a second or two.

We watch a movie—her choice, something I'm not paying attention to. I'm cataloging instead. Recontextualizing every moment of the past few months through this new lens.

The security alert from Xander's office at two AM. Maya's explanation about batteries for Nina's dragon—it seemed plausible at the time. But was it true? Or was she accessing something in Xander's office she shouldn't have been?

The times I've found her in places she has no real reason to be. Always with explanations. Always reasonable. The east study she knew about when most people don't even realize it exists.

The archives where personnel records are kept. Her laptop open to Xander's file structures that one time—she said her machine was slow, needed to email the caterer.

The email on her laptop that I glimpsed weeks ago. The one that triggered this whole spiral of suspicion. I'd convinced myself I was being paranoid, that loving someone meant trusting them.

But that message tonight: "Don't forget why you're there."

Why is she there? What is she there for?

The Hale estate isn't just a job for her. It's something else. Something with protocols and exposure risks and reasons she needed to be reminded of. Something that requires encrypted messages from anonymous senders.

My stomach turns. I think about how Xander deferred to my judgment—"if you trust her, Archie, then there's nothing to worry about."

I vouched for Maya to one of the most high-profile families in the city. If she's hiding something, if she's dangerous in some way…

The movie ends. Maya stretches, asking: “Shall we make dinner?”

“Yeah.” I agree because I don't know what else to do.

We move to her small kitchen, and the domesticity of it feels surreal. Maya chopping vegetables. Me boiling water for pasta. Both of us moving around each other like we've done this a hundred times.

She's making tea after dinner when I make my decision. Can't keep pretending. Can't spend another minute acting normal when that message is burning in my brain.

I walk into the kitchen and close the door behind me. The soft click makes Maya glance up, teacup halfway to her lips.

"We need to talk," I say. My voice comes out calmer than I feel, controlled, the professional tone I use when interviewing potential security threats.

"About what?" But something flickers in her eyes. Wariness.

"About why you're here." I hold her gaze, watch for her reaction. “And what you’re hiding.”

Maya goes completely still. The teacup trembles in her hand, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim before she sets it down carefully on the counter.

"I don't know what you mean." Her voice is steady, but her face has gone pale.

"'Don't forget why you're there,'" I quote. "That's what the message said. The one you left open on your laptop."

All the color drains from her face. "You read my email?"

"You told me to use your laptop. It was already open." I take a step closer. "Who sent that message, Maya? What final protocol? What are you hiding?"

She opens her mouth. Closes it. I watch her calculate, see the gears turning as she tries to decide how to handle this.

"Where did you…" she starts, then stops. "I can explain."

"Then explain." My voice is harder now, the calm cracking. "No more excuses, no more convenient stories. I want the truth, Maya. All of it. Right now."

The silence stretches between us. Maya's hands grip the counter edge like it's the only thing keeping her upright. Her eyes are wide, trapped, and I can see her making the impossible calculation—lie again or finally tell the truth.

"Archie…" Her voice breaks on my name.

"The truth," I repeat, and my hands are shaking now too. "Tell me the truth or I walk out of here and I go straight to Xander. Your choice."