Where Love Begins

arm, calloused fingers mapping the curves of her body like he was committing every inch to memory. She arched against him, lost in the rhythm of their breathing, the way their skin slid t

ddy Witherson stirred, his brow furrowing slightly as sleep loosened its hold. His vision was still hazy when his eyes opened halfway, and he reached out instinctively, expecting to find the warm body he'd held all night. When his hand met only cool sheets, he blinked and focused on the woman standing across the room. Her back was turned toward him as she hurriedly finished dressing, pulling her hair back into a messy bun that only made her look more beautiful. A small, amused smile touched his lips. He'd always known she was beautiful-he wasn't blind-but seeing her like this, flustered and trying to be quiet, was something entirely new. He thought to himself "Why is Caramel shy today?" Mira didn't turn around. Her heart nearly stopped beating altogether, and she had to press her palm against her chest to make sure ,Without a word, she grabbed her purse from the couch, rushed to the door, and slipped out of the room, closing it softly behind her as if the quiet click might somehow erase the entire night from existence. Inside the room, Teddy stretched lazily against the pillows, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched the empty doorway. He'd meant to tease her-Caramel had always been a little shy after they'd been together-but something about her haste had felt... off. Then his phone rang. The sound cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and demanding. He groaned slightly and reached for the device on the bedside table, squinting against the bright screen. The caller ID made him smile-Caramel in elegant script. He answered immediately, bringing the phone to his ear. "Morning, beautiful. I was wondering why you..." "Teddy." A soft female voice spoke through the line, but it wasn't the one he'd expected. There was no warmth in it, only professional distance. Before he could respond, she continued quickly, her words tumbling over each other. "I am so, so sorry I couldn't attend your company's anniversary celebration last night. I had an emergency at the hospital-one of my patients went into crisis and I had to perform emergency surgery. I tried calling you, but your phone was off, and by the time I was done it was nearly three in the morning..." Teddy sat upright instantly, the last of his sleepy haze vanishing like morning mist. The sheet slipped from his chest, but he didn't notice. "What do you mean you weren't here last night?" he asked, his voice suddenly sharp. Silence fell on the line, thick and heavy. His mind began to pound, pieces clicking into place with alarming speed. The way the woman had dressed so quickly. The way she hadn't turned to face him. If Caramel wasn't here... Then who was the woman in his bed? "What's wrong?" Caramel asked after a long pause, her voice laced with concern. "Are you angry with me? I know I said I'd be there, but you know how unpredictable surgery can be-" "Don't I have the right to be angry, Caramel?" he said coolly, cutting her off. The familiar frustration was already building in his chest-the same frustration that had been growing for months as her career consistently took priority over everything else. "In your mind, work is always more important than me. Than us." Before she could answer, he ended the call, tossing the phone onto the bed beside him. The room fell quiet again, but now it felt empty, cold. Teddy stared ahead at the window, his thoughts racing. He'd been seeing Caramel Montgomery-one of the city's top cardiothoracic surgeons-for six months now, and while they got along well enough, something had always felt... missing. But last night... last night had been different. Intense. Real. If it wasn't Caramel... then who did I spend the night with? Later that morning. Mira walked into the gleaming glass lobby of Witherson Industries with a tight knot in her chest, so tight she could barely breathe. She'd taken the stairs from the parking garage instead of the elevator, hoping the extra walk would steady her nerves, but her hands were still shaking as she pressed her ID badge to the scanner at the entrance. Her heels-now back on her feet, polished until they shone-echoed faintly across the polished marble floor as she hurried toward the bank of elevators. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if she were carrying the weight of the entire building on her shoulders. Her mind hadn't stopped replaying the night, the morning, the terrifying moment she'd opened her eyes and realized exactly who was sleeping beside her. I've worked for him for three years. I bring him his coffee exactly how he likes it-black, two sugars, never cream. I know he prefers his reports printed double-sided, that he hates it when people knock before entering his office, that he always takes his lunch at exactly twelve thirty. How could I have let this happen? The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and she stepped inside, pressing the button for the fourteenth floor-executive offices-with a trembling finger. She forced herself to breathe, counting to ten as the car climbed higher, higher. When she finally reached her department floor, she stepped out carefully, her eyes immediately darting toward the glass-walled corner office at the end of the corridor. Empty. The blinds were still closed, the lights off. Relief flooded through her so powerful she nearly sagged against the wall. He's not here yet. Maybe-just maybe-she could survive the day without seeing him. Maybe he'd already forgotten about the woman from last night. Maybe he'd think it was just another one-night stand, something he'd had no problem walking away from before. Mira walked toward her cubicle-positioned just outside his office, as it should be for his executive assistant-though her thoughts were far from work. She set her purse on her desk, her eyes falling to the framed photo of her parents that sat beside her computer. They were smiling in the picture, young and happy, taken years before the debt had crushed them, before the illness had taken them both within months of each other. Clearly I didn't drink that much... she thought again, her fingers tracing the edge of the frame. I remember dancing with him. I remember laughing. But after that... nothing. Her memory kept circling the same question, the one that made her stomach twist with shame. So how did I end up in the same bed with Mr. Witherson? Her face burned with humiliation, and she quickly turned to her computer, logging in with hands that still shook slightly. She had bare