No assistant ever lasted a week with the billionaire in the wheelchair until she showed up talking to herself and driving him crazy.

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The third assistant in three days was crying. And it wasn’t a quiet kind of cry. It was the desperate kind of sobbing that echoed through the glass halls of Phillips International, as if the whole building was witnessing another corporate execution.

“You’re fired.” Thomas Phillips’s voice sliced through the air like a blade. From his wheelchair, perfectly positioned behind the mahogany desk, he watched the woman in front of him with a cold, almost expressionless face. He didn’t need to stand up to take control of the room. His presence did that on its own. His sharp gray eyes were enough to silence anyone.

“But Mr. Phillips, I just asked for five minutes to use the restroom,” she sobbed, trying to hold back her tears.

Thomas checked his wristwatch, his tone void of emotion. “And you took nine. At Phillips International, punctuality isn’t a suggestion, it’s a rule.”

She swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“Good. Human Resources will handle your exit. Best of luck with your next attempt at being efficient.”

As soon as she stepped out the door, the whispers started on the other side of the glass wall. Employees pretended to type, but everyone was stealing glances at the CEO’s office.

“Three in three days,” someone murmured in the hallway. “He’s getting worse.”

“Worse?” another replied without looking away from the screen. “He’s probably trying to beat his own record.”

“The last one only lasted four hours,” said a nervous voice. “She got fired for asking if he wanted sugar in his coffee.”

Inside the office, Thomas turned his chair toward the panoramic window. The city stretched out before him, gray and alive, like a chessboard he controlled with precision. He hated interruptions. He hated mistakes. He hated depending on luck.

Ever since the day fate quite literally knocked him down—the accident—or as he preferred to call it, the inconvenience—had left him confined to a wheelchair. And from that moment on, his life became a manual of total control. No error was tolerated, not from others and not from himself.

The door opened without a knock. Only one person in the world could do that.

“Thomas Andrew Phillips.” The woman’s voice cut through the air with the authority that only years of motherhood and family legacy could carry.

Rosalyn Phillips entered the office with the poise of someone who never needed permission. Silver hair pulled into a flawless bun, pearl necklace reflecting the cold ceiling lights, and eyes that always got what they wanted.

“Mother,” he sighed, lowering his voice.

“Don’t mother me.” She crossed her arms. “Three assistants, Thomas. In three days.”

“They were all incompetent.”

“They were all human.” Rosalyn raised an eyebrow. “And you, my dear, seem to have forgotten what it means to be one.”

Thomas kept his gaze steady, but his jaw tightened. “I have a company to run—and a life to live.”

Rosalyn leaned across the desk, her eyes shining with determination. “And right now, you have a commitment with me.”

“I have a meeting with the board.”

“Rescheduled for an hour from now.” She smiled, victorious. “I already spoke to HR.”

Thomas ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. Arguing with Rosalyn Phillips was the corporate equivalent of facing a hurricane. Inevitable and pointless.

“And this commitment is?”

“Coffee.” She picked up her purse. “Downstairs. Now.”

Before he could protest, Rosalyn was already walking toward the door. Thomas, resigned, turned his chair and followed her.

The café in the lobby was modern, filled with hanging lights and the comforting smell of roasted beans. It was the only place in the building where Thomas could, once in a while, pretend to be just another customer. But that day, fate—or maybe his mother—had other plans.

Rosalyn walked straight to the counter as if the place was an extension of her living room. Thomas stopped a few feet behind, watching the activity. And then he heard it.

“Come on, Grace. You got this. It’s just coffee. You’ve been doing this for years. It’s not surgery. It’s just hot water and ground beans. Easy.”

He frowned. The voice came from behind the coffee machine. A young woman—hair tied up in a messy bun, uniform with a milk stain—was talking to herself as she pushed buttons with a focused and clearly terrified expression.

“The right button, Grace. The right one.” She hesitated. “The other right.”

A loud hiss of steam followed, then a spray of milk that hit her sleeve. “Great. Now I look like I lost a fight with a cow.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. Rosalyn, standing beside him, smiled as if she’d just witnessed something delightful. “She’s charming.”

“She’s a disaster.”

“Exactly.”

Grace took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. She placed a cup on the tray and whispered to herself, “All right, cappuccino. Time to shine. You’re my last shred of competence.”

“Sweetheart,” Rosalyn called, walking over.

Grace nearly jumped. “Oh—hi. Hello. Yes, of course.” She laughed nervously. “I mean—good afternoon.”

“Two cappuccinos, please,” Rosalyn said with a smile.

“Two cappuccinos. Perfect.” Grace turned to the machine, murmuring, “Okay. No explosions this time. Please cooperate, beautiful.”

Thomas watched, stunned. She was talking to the machine. And the coffee. And possibly herself.

A few minutes later, she came back with two perfect cups. “Here you go. Two cappuccinos. No injuries. No fires. Miracle of the day.”

Rosalyn picked up the drinks, pleased. Then, as if she weren’t about to change two lives forever, she pulled a card from her purse and placed it on the counter.

“Grace, dear, have you ever thought about working in an office?”

Grace blinked, confused. “Sorry—what?”

“Tell them on the twelfth floor that Mrs. Rosalyn Phillips sent you. Monday morning. Nine o’clock.”

The barista blinked again, as if the words took a moment to land. “I—” She looked at Thomas, then back at Rosalyn. “I’m going to be what exactly?”

Rosalyn smiled. “The new personal assistant to the CEO.”

Thomas nearly dropped his cappuccino. “Mom, what?”

She replied, feigning innocence. “You needed someone who’d challenge you.”

“She talks to objects.”

“And you talk to spreadsheets at three in the morning.” Rosalyn shrugged. “Seems fair.”

Grace, still trying to understand, looked at the card. “Is this real?”

Thomas rubbed his temples, exasperated. “Welcome to my personal nightmare, Miss Grace.”

“Just Grace.” She smiled—unaware of the chaos she was about to unleash.

As mother and son walked away, Rosalyn whispered, satisfied, “She’s perfect.”

“She’s a walking disaster.”

“Exactly,” Rosalyn said, sipping her coffee. “And chaos is exactly what you need.”

Thomas didn’t answer, but for the first time in a long while, something broke through his cold shell. A spark. A strange feeling. Something he didn’t want to admit. Curiosity. And maybe—just maybe—the beginning of a storm that would change everything.

Grace looked at the card for the tenth time that morning. Phillips International. Twelfth floor. Monday at nine a.m. She flipped it over, half expecting to find something on the back. Maybe a warning: Just kidding. Did you really think this was real? But it was blank. Just the company’s gold logo and an address that felt like another world.

“Okay, Grace. Breathe,” she told herself as she crossed the marble lobby. “You’ve got this. It’s just a job in a skyscraper with a CEO who looks like he stepped out of a corporate horror movie. But you’ve got this.”

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Grace stepped in, pressed the 12th floor button, and gripped the rail like she was launching to Mars.

When the doors opened again, she found herself in a shiny glass hallway where everyone looked like they’d stepped out of a business magazine. Everyone wore sharp suits. Everyone walked with purpose. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing.

Grace glanced at her reflection in the glass wall. Plain black skirt. White blouse she ironed three times to get one wrinkle out. Low heels that squeaked with every step. “Right. You clearly don’t belong here,” she sighed. “But let’s pretend you do.”

A blonde, elegant receptionist greeted her with a professional smile. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

“Oh—yes. Hi, I’m Grace. Grace—” She realized she hadn’t given her last name at the café. “Anyway, Mrs. Rosalyn Phillips told me to come here today. Something about a job?”

The receptionist typed something, frowning slightly. “Grace,” she repeated. “No last name?”

“Harrison. Grace Harrison,” she added quickly, feeling her face flush.

The woman typed again. Her eyes widened. “Ah—you’re the new executive assistant to Mr. Phillips.”

Grace blinked. “Sorry—assistant what?”

“Executive to the CEO,” the receptionist replied as if Grace had just asked where the floor was. “Thirty-fifth floor. Private elevator to the left.”

Grace opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Are you sure there’s no mistake? Like—another Grace? Grace with a different last name? Grace who actually knows what she’s doing?”

The receptionist smiled politely. “The system says you start today. Thirty-fifth floor.”

Grace swallowed hard. Right. Thirty-fifth. Home of the man who fires people for breathing wrong. Perfect.

She walked to the elevator like someone heading to their own trial. The ride to the thirty-fifth floor felt like it lasted forever. Grace watched the numbers go up—and with each floor, her stomach dropped a little more.

“All right, Grace. You’ve done hard things before,” she whispered. “Like—like that time you made fifty coffees in half an hour. Or when the machine caught fire and you improvised with the old coffee maker. You can survive this.”

The doors opened and Grace stepped into another world. The thirty-fifth floor was all glass, steel, and silence. No cubicles—just sleek desks, high-end computers, and people who looked like they hadn’t blinked in hours.

At the back, behind a glass wall, she saw Thomas Phillips. He was behind a huge desk, typing something with a focused expression. The wheelchair was perfectly aligned, as if even it followed some invisible rule of perfection.

Grace took a deep breath and walked toward the door. She knocked gently.

Thomas looked up. For a second, he seemed surprised. Then his expression reset. Cold. Controlled. Unreadable.

“Come in.”

Grace opened the door slowly, like a quick move might break something expensive. “Good morning, Mr. Phillips. I’m Grace—the—well—the coffee girl. The one your mother hired—or said she hired. I’m still not sure if this is real or if I’m having a very strange dream.”

He stared at her for too long. “You came.”

“I—Yes.” Grace hesitated. “Mrs. Phillips told me to come—so I came. But if this was a misunderstanding, I can go back to the café and pretend none of this ever happened.”

Thomas turned the wheelchair slightly, folding his arms. “Do you have experience as an executive assistant?”

“No.”

“Administrative experience?”

“Not exactly.”

“Experience with scheduling? Reports? Corporate presentations?”

Grace bit her lip. “Well—I do make really good coffee.”

Thomas tilted his head like he was examining a rare kind of disaster. “Miss Harrison, I don’t know what kind of arrangement my mother made with you—but this company is not a charity.”

“I know that.” Grace lifted her chin, trying to look more confident than she felt. “And I didn’t ask to be here. But your mother thought I’d be good at this—and I don’t usually let down people who believe in me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Even if you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Especially then.” Grace crossed her arms. “I’m a fast learner—and I’m great at improvising.”

“Improvising?” Thomas repeated the word like it was poison. “In this company, improvisation is another word for failure.”

Before Grace could answer, the phone on the desk rang. Thomas answered, annoyed. “Yes.”

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Rosalyn’s voice echoed—sweet and firm. “Has Grace arrived?”

Thomas looked at Grace. She waved nervously. “Yes.”

“Great. I hope you’re treating her politely.”

“Mom—”

“Thomas Andrew Phillips, you’re giving this girl a chance. One week. If after seven days you still think she’s not right for the job, I’ll fire her myself—but until then, you will be civil. Understood?”

Thomas clenched his jaw. “Understood.”

“Wonderful. Good luck.” Rosalyn hung up before he could argue.

Grace tried not to laugh.

Thomas stared at her darkly. “You have one week—Miss Harrison. Seven days to prove you’re not just another one of my mother’s failed experiments.”

“And what do I need to do in those seven days?”

“Survive,” he said without a trace of humor. “If you make it to the end of the week without getting fired—maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Grace swallowed hard but kept her eyes steady. “Challenge accepted, Mr. Phillips.”

He turned his chair back to the computer like she no longer existed. “Your desk is out front. Someone from HR will give you the details. You may go.”

Grace left the office with shaky legs—but something new glowing in her chest. Determination.

As she sat at the assigned desk—neat, organized, and terrifyingly empty—she whispered to herself, “All right, Grace. You’ve entered the lion’s den. Now just don’t get eaten.”

On the other side of the glass, Thomas watched. He wouldn’t admit it—but something about that woman bothered him. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t submission. It was authenticity. And for the first time in years, he felt something he swore he’d never feel again. Curiosity.

The next morning, Grace arrived fifteen minutes early. She’d learned during her first week at the café that getting there early always gave her a moment to breathe before the chaos started. And if a café was chaotic, she didn’t even want to imagine what a multi-million-dollar company was like.

She sat down at the desk, turned on the computer, and looked at the screen like it was an impossible puzzle. “Good morning, computer. I hope you’re friendlier than the boss,” she murmured, typing in the password HR had given her. The screen lit up. Icons. Folders. Emails. A lot of emails.

Grace took a deep breath. “Okay, you can do this. Just click the things. Everyone clicks things. You can click, too.”

“Talking to yourself again, Miss Harrison?”

Grace nearly jumped out of her chair. Thomas was standing at the office door, watching her with that expression she was starting to recognize. Half annoyed, half curious.

“I was just checking if the computer was working.” She smiled nervously. “You know how it is. Technology—sometimes it needs encouragement.”

“Encouragement,” he repeated, expressionless. “For a computer.”

“Exactly.” Grace nodded, trying to look confident. “Motivation is everything.”

Thomas shook his head—but she was pretty sure she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Almost a smile. Almost.

“Meeting in ten minutes. Conference room. Bring the tablet.”

He spun the chair and went back into the office.

Grace blinked. “Tablet? What tablet?”

Ten minutes later, Grace walked into the conference room holding a tablet she barely knew how to unlock. The room was huge. Glass table, leather chairs, and six executives already seated—all looking at her like she had walked into the wrong room, which technically she thought she had.

Thomas was already at the head of the table, typing something on his laptop. He looked up when Grace came in.

“Miss Harrison, please take a seat.”

She looked around. All the seats were taken except the one next to Thomas. Grace swallowed hard and walked over, trying not to trip over her own feet. She sat down, placed the tablet on the table, took a deep breath.

“Good morning, everyone.” She smiled at the executives. No one smiled back.

“Let’s begin,” Thomas said without looking at her. “Third-quarter sales report.”

A man in a gray suit began speaking about numbers, charts, and projections. Grace pretended to pay attention—but in reality, she was just trying to figure out how to turn on the tablet. She pressed the side button. Nothing. Pressed it again. The screen blinked.

“Come on, buddy. Work with me here,” she whispered.

The tablet slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Everyone stopped talking. All eyes turned to her.

Grace smiled—cheeks burning. “Sorry—he wanted to check out the carpet.”

Silence. She quickly bent down, picked up the tablet, and set it back on the table. “All good now. He’s alive—and so am I. Please carry on.”

The man in the gray suit cleared his throat and went back to the report.

Grace let out a breath of relief—until the door opened again. A woman walked in—tall, elegant, long straight blonde hair like a perfect curtain. A black dress that looked like it had been sewn onto her body. High heels that echoed through the silence like a hammer.

She walked to the table with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power she had.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Press meeting.”

Thomas nodded, pointing to an empty chair. “Evelyn. Thanks for joining us.”

Evelyn.

Grace felt the name echo in her head like an alarm bell.

The woman sat across the table, crossed her legs, and looked directly at Grace. Her smile was polite, but her eyes said something else.

“You must be the new assistant.” Evelyn tilted her head. “Grace, right?”

“Yes. Hi.” Grace waved awkwardly. “Grace Harrison.”

“How charming.” Evelyn smiled—but her tone was sharp. “Thomas—you didn’t tell me you were hiring someone so… different.”

“My mother hired her,” Thomas replied—eyes still on his screen.

“Ah—Rosalyn.” Evelyn chuckled softly. “Always full of surprises.”

Grace could feel the tension rise. She didn’t need a handbook to know Evelyn didn’t like her.

The meeting went on. Now they were talking about the launch of a new product—a modern, minimalist, expensive design. One of the executives brought in a model and placed it in the center of the table. It was a sleek black electronic device with clean lines and a silver logo on top.

“This is the final model,” the executive said proudly. “Elegant. Sophisticated. Exclusive.”

Grace looked at the device, tilted her head, frowned. “It looks like a millionaire penguin in a fancy suit.”

Dead silence. Grace blinked. Then she realized she had said it out loud.

Everyone stared at her, mouths open. The executive who had presented the design looked like he was about to pass out. Evelyn smiled, clearly pleased—as if Grace had just dug her own grave.

“Sorry,” Grace tried to recover. “I meant it’s beautiful. Very beautiful. Just… reminds me of a penguin—but a classy penguin. Like the kind that goes to the opera.”

The silence deepened—and then something unexpected happened. Thomas made a sound. Low, almost hidden. A laugh. Not loud. Not long. But real.

Grace looked at him, surprised. Thomas pressed his lips together, trying to hold back the smile—but his eyes were sparkling.

“A millionaire penguin,” he repeated—shaking his head. “Interesting take, Miss Harrison.”

The executive relaxed, laughing nervously. “Well—maybe we can review a few design elements.”

The meeting went on, but something had changed. Grace noticed that Thomas glanced at her now and then—not with annoyance—but with something closer to amusement. Evelyn—sitting across the table—noticed too. And she didn’t like it one bit.

When the meeting ended, Grace was the first to leave. She needed some air. Evelyn stayed behind, watching Thomas as he gathered the papers.

“She’s interesting,” Evelyn said casually.

“That’s one word.”

“Thomas, dear—you know you can count on me if you need someone more qualified.” Evelyn moved closer. “Someone who understands how things work around here.”

He finally looked at her. “Grace is doing well.”

“She compared your product to a penguin.”

“And she was right.”

Thomas turned his chair toward the door. “The design needs adjustments.”

Evelyn stood still, watching him leave. For the first time in years, she saw something in Thomas’s eyes she hadn’t seen since before the accident. Life. And that bothered her deeply.

Down the hallway, Grace leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. “Okay, Grace. You made it. Somehow—you made it.” And for the first time since arriving, she smiled—because for a brief moment, she had made Thomas Phillips smile, too. And that, in a strange way, felt like a victory.

The next morning, Grace woke up with a strange feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t just nerves—well, not only nerves. It was something like determination mixed with the fear of tumbling down a flight of stairs. Today was the meeting with the Japanese investors—the most important meeting of the quarter, according to the email she’d received at six in the morning. And somehow, Thomas had asked her to serve the coffee.

Grace looked at herself in the office bathroom mirror. “Right. You’ve done this a million times. Coffee is your thing. You were born for this.” She took a deep breath. “It’s not like you’re going to trip and spill everything in front of people who handle millions of dollars. That’s not going to happen.”

She walked out of the bathroom, repeating her mantra.

The conference room was spotless. Polished table. Chairs aligned. And a Persian rug that Grace was sure cost more than everything she had ever owned. The investors were already seated—three middle-aged men, dark suits, serious expressions. They spoke quietly in Japanese while reviewing documents. Thomas was at the head of the table—as organized as ever. He nodded to Grace.

“Miss Harrison—the coffee, please.”

Grace nodded, holding the silver tray with six porcelain cups. “Sure. Coffee. Simple. Easy,” she murmured—walking slowly.

Everything was going well. She placed the first cup, then the second, the third—and then her shoe caught on an invisible fold in the rug. Grace felt her balance slip. She tried to recover—but the tray was already tilting. The coffee flew—and fell right onto the expensive rug.

Silence fell instantly. Absolute silence—like someone had hit mute on the universe.

Grace stood there holding the empty tray—staring at the coffee stain spreading across the Persian rug like modern art.

The investors looked at her. Thomas looked at her. The whole world seemed to look at her.

Grace took a deep breath. And then she did the only thing she knew to do in moments of disaster. She spoke.

“Well—at least it landed on the expensive rug. It probably absorbs failure better.”

Silence. Then something impossible happened. Thomas laughed. It wasn’t a polite chuckle. It wasn’t a hidden smile. It was a laugh. A real, loud, contagious laugh.

Grace blinked, stunned.

The investors looked at each other—and slowly, they began to laugh, too. One of them waved at Grace, amused.

“Very honest. We like that.”

Another nodded, smiling. “Refreshing. We don’t see that often.”

Grace exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Thank you.”

She looked at Thomas—still trying to process that he was laughing. “Sorry about the rug.”

Thomas shook his head—trying to regain composure, though his eyes were still bright. “Don’t worry, Miss Harrison. We can replace the rug. But honesty is much harder to come by.”

Grace smiled, relieved. “I’ll get some towels and more coffee. Coffee that won’t spill. I promise.”

She left the room quickly—heart pounding. Outside, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

“Okay, you spilled coffee on a rug that probably costs more than a car. But he laughed. He actually laughed.”

When Grace returned with fresh coffee and towels, the meeting was already in motion. Thomas was presenting charts. The investors were asking questions—and to her surprise, they seemed more relaxed. One of them even commented as she served the coffee again, “Your assistant is very authentic, Mr. Phillips. That’s rare.”

Thomas looked at Grace—and for the first time, she saw something different in his eyes. It wasn’t coldness. It wasn’t suspicion. It was appreciation.

“Yes,” he answered softly. “She is.”

Grace felt her face grow warm. She finished serving the coffees and quietly stepped out.

The meeting lasted another hour. When the investors left, they were smiling. They shook Thomas’s hand, nodded at Grace, and made positive comments about the proposal.

As soon as the door closed, Thomas turned his chair toward Grace. She expected a scolding, a dismissal, something. But he simply said, “You saved the meeting.”

Grace blinked. “I spilled coffee on your million-dollar carpet.”

“And turned a disaster into something memorable.” Thomas tilted his head. “They liked you. And more importantly—they trusted us because of your honesty.”

Grace didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I know.” He smiled. Not much—but enough. “And that’s exactly why it worked.”

Grace felt something strange in her chest—something warm—like for the first time, she had actually done something right.

“Thank you, Mr. Phillips.”

“Thomas,” he corrected—surprising even himself. “You can call me Thomas.”

Grace smiled. “Thank you, Thomas.”

He nodded—turning back to his computer screen. But Grace noticed he was still smiling.

That evening, as she tidied the desk before heading out, Grace looked toward Thomas’s office. He was there—working late as usual. But something was different. He seemed lighter.

Grace grabbed her purse and walked toward the door. But before leaving, she turned back. “Thomas—”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“You should smile more,” she said sincerely. “It suits you.”

Thomas stayed silent for a moment. Then—surprisingly—he smiled again. “Maybe I should.”

Grace waved and left. And for the first time since the accident, Thomas Phillips felt something he hadn’t felt in years. Lightness.

As Grace waited for the elevator, she murmured to herself, “Okay, Grace. You spilled coffee, made the most serious man on earth laugh, and you’re still employed.” She stepped into the elevator, smiling. “Maybe you really can survive this week.”

The doors closed—and up on the thirty-fifth floor, Thomas looked at the stain on the carpet. He smiled. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t care about the imperfection.

The next morning, Grace arrived with two bags of fresh bread. It wasn’t part of her job—but she’d discovered that Thomas always skipped breakfast, and for some reason, that bothered her more than it should.

“Good morning.” She walked into his office, placing one of the bags on his desk. “I brought bagels. And before you say you don’t need them, I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear and leave them here anyway.”

Thomas looked at the bag, then at her. “Miss Harrison—”

“Grace,” she corrected, smiling. “You called me Grace yesterday. No backing out now.”

He hesitated—and then, surprisingly, picked up the bag. “Thank you.”

Grace felt a small—but meaningful—victory. “You’re welcome. So—what’s on the agenda today?”

Thomas pointed to a stack of documents. “These contracts need to go to the legal office. Tenth floor. In person. Hand-delivered.”

“Got it.” Grace grabbed the folder. “Back in ten minutes.”

She left the office and walked toward the elevator—quietly humming. The doors opened. She stepped in. And to her surprise—Thomas joined her.

“I forgot I have a meeting on the twelfth floor,” he explained, positioning his chair beside her.

Grace smiled. “Unexpected company. What an honor.”

Thomas didn’t reply—but she noticed the corner of his mouth move.

The doors closed. The elevator began to descend smoothly. Ten floors. Nine. Eight. Then—with a jolt—it stopped. The lights flickered.

Grace looked around, confused. “Is this normal?”

Thomas frowned, pressing a button on the panel. Nothing happened. “Looks like we’ve had a power outage.”

Grace blinked. “A power outage—in the elevator. With us inside.”

“Exactly.”

Thomas picked up the emergency phone. “Security. We have a problem in Elevator 6.”

The voice on the other end crackled. “We’re aware, Mr. Phillips. Electrical issue in the building. Should be resolved in about twenty minutes.”

Thomas hung up. “Twenty minutes.”

Grace looked at the cramped space, then at Thomas, then at the ceiling. “All right—twenty minutes in an elevator. That doesn’t move. With you.”

“Is that a problem?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No—” Grace answered a little too quickly. “I mean—of course not. It’s just—it’s small in here. And I have this little habit of talking to myself when I’m nervous.”

“I noticed.”

Grace laughed nervously. “Of course you did. You notice everything.”

Silence.

Grace sat down on the floor—leaning against the wall. Thomas watched her, curious. “What are you doing?”

“If I’m going to be stuck—I’d rather be comfortable.” She patted the floor beside her. “Come on, Thomas. Sit here. Or stay there. No judgment.”

He hesitated. Then—slowly—he locked the wheels and carefully moved himself to the floor—sitting next to her.

Grace smiled. “See? It didn’t bite.”

“Not yet,” he replied—and she was pretty sure he was joking.

A few quiet minutes passed. Grace tapped her fingers on her knee. Then she started murmuring to herself. “Okay, Grace—breathe. It’s just an elevator. Elevators don’t kill people. Well—technically they can—but this one seems strong. Solid. Reliable.”

Thomas let out a soft laugh. “You really do talk to yourself all the time.”

Grace blushed. “It’s a coping mechanism. When I’m nervous—I need to hear a friendly voice. And most of the time—mine’s the only one available.”

“What about now?” he asked—turning to look at her. “Does mine count as friendly?”

Grace blinked, surprised. “Count?”

Thomas shrugged. “We’re stuck together. No point being enemies.”

Grace smiled. “Fair enough.”

The silence returned—but this time it felt different. More comfortable.

Grace took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can try.”

“Why do you keep everyone at a distance?”

Thomas stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Grace turned to face him. “You’re the most successful CEO I’ve ever met—but it feels like you live in a bubble. Like you’re afraid to let anyone in.”

He looked away. “It’s not fear. It’s efficiency.”

“That’s not true,” Grace said gently. “It’s fear. And it’s okay to be afraid.”

Thomas stayed quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “After the accident—people changed. They looked at me with pity—like I was broken. Incomplete.”

Grace felt a tightness in her chest. “So—you decided it was better to be cold—than to seem weak.”

“Yes,” he admitted—staring at his hands. “If no one gets close—no one can see me as less.”

Grace shook her head. “Thomas—you’re not less. You’re human. And humans have flaws. They have fears. And that’s okay.”

He looked at her. “Why do you care?”

“Because you matter,” she replied sincerely. “And believe it or not—I actually like working for you—even when you’re impossible.”

Thomas almost smiled. “Only almost impossible.”

“Okay—totally impossible,” Grace laughed. “But I still like it.”

Suddenly, the elevator jolted. Grace screamed and grabbed Thomas’s arm. “What was that?”

“They’re probably resetting the system,” he explained calmly. But he noticed she was still holding on to him. “Grace—it’s okay.”

She looked at him—eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He gently placed his hand over hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Grace took a deep breath—trying to calm herself. “Sorry—I know it’s silly—but closed spaces make me anxious.”

“It’s not silly,” Thomas said—his voice surprisingly kind. “It’s human.”

She smiled—still holding his arm. “Thank you.”

The elevator jolted again. But this time—she didn’t scream.

Thomas looked at Grace—really looked. And he noticed something. “You know you’re different.”

“Different how?” she asked—curious.

“Different from anyone who’s ever worked with me.” He paused. “You’re not afraid to be yourself. Even when you mess up—even when the world expects perfection.”

Grace tilted her head. “That’s because I learned that perfection is boring. And impossible. And exhausting.”

Thomas smiled. A real smile. “I wish I had learned that sooner.”

“It’s never too late,” Grace said softly.

He fell silent. Then—with a sincerity that surprised even him—he confessed, “I feel different when I’m with you.”

Grace blinked. “Different how?”

“Lighter—like I can breathe again.” He looked at her. “Like I don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

Grace felt something shift between them. Something invisible—but undeniable. “Thomas—”

The lights came back on. The elevator started moving. They looked at each other—still close. Still connected.

The doors opened on the tenth floor. Grace slowly let go of his arm and stood up. “I need to deliver those documents.”

Thomas nodded, moving back into his chair. “Of course.”

She stepped out—but before the doors closed—she turned back. “Thomas?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

He smiled. “Thank you for reminding me I still can.”

The doors closed—and Grace stood there in the hallway, her heart beating faster than it should—because she had just realized something. Behind the stiffness, the coldness, the impossible perfection—there was a vulnerable man. A man she was starting to understand. And maybe—starting to admire.

That night, Grace realized she’d left the contract folder in the office. She checked the time. Eight-thirty in the evening. The building would be almost empty, but she needed those documents for the next morning’s meeting.

“Great. Grace—your memory’s like a sieve,” she muttered—grabbing her purse. “At least you’ll have the whole building to yourself. No witnesses to your incompetence.”

Twenty minutes later, she was back on the thirty-fifth floor. The hallway was silent. The automatic lights flicked on as she walked by. It was strange seeing that place, so full of life during the day, now empty and almost ghostly.

Grace walked to her desk, grabbed the folder, and was about to leave when she heard a sound. It came from the end of the hallway—from a room she’d never noticed before.

Curiosity—her greatest strength and her biggest flaw.

“Don’t go, Grace. It’s none of your business,” she whispered. But her feet were already moving. “Of course you’re going—because you never learn.”

The door was slightly open. Grace peeked through the crack—and then she saw it. Thomas was there—but not in the wheelchair. He was standing—or trying to. Supported by parallel bars, his face tightened in concentration and pain. He moved one leg—then the other. Every step looked like a battle.

Next to him, a man in a white lab coat—probably the physical therapist—was writing something on a clipboard. “Three more steps, Mr. Phillips. You can do it.”

Thomas took a deep breath—sweat rolling down his forehead. He took one more step—then another. Grace held her breath. She could see the determination on his face, the pain, the effort. And without realizing, she whispered, “Come on, Thomas. You’ve got this.”

The therapist looked toward the door. Thomas did, too.

Grace froze. “Oops.”

Thomas stared at her—surprised. And then—to her astonishment—he didn’t yell. He didn’t get mad. He just said, “Come in.”

Grace hesitated. “I’m sorry. I came to get a folder and heard a noise—and I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are,” Thomas replied—still holding the bars. “So—come in.”

Grace opened the door slowly and stepped inside. The room was equipped with physical therapy gear—bars, treadmills, mirrors.

The therapist greeted her with a polite nod. “I’m Dr. Alan Carter. And you must be the famous Grace.”

Grace blinked. “Famous?”

“Mr. Phillips mentioned you a few times,” Dr. Carter smiled. “He said you’re interesting.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I said ‘unpredictable.'”

“Same thing,” Dr. Carter chuckled.

Grace walked in slowly, watching Thomas. He was still on his feet, but she saw the tremble in his legs. “How long have you been doing this?” she asked gently.

“Six months. Three times a week,” Thomas replied—his voice tense. “I still can’t walk on my own, but I’m getting there.”

Grace felt something tighten in her chest. “Thomas—this is amazing.”

He shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. “It’s slow progress.”

“Progress is progress,” Grace said, crossing her arms. “The speed doesn’t matter.”

Dr. Carter nodded, pleased. “I like her. Can I hire her as your official motivator?”

Thomas almost smiled. “She already has a job.”

“Too bad.” Dr. Carter checked his watch. “Shall we try five more steps before we call it a night?”

Thomas nodded—took a deep breath—and started moving again. Grace watched, fascinated. Every movement was measured, intentional, painful. And then, without thinking, she started talking.

“Come on, Thomas. You can do it. One step at a time. Like that movie—you know—the one with the boxer running up the stairs and getting all emotional at the top.”

Thomas stopped, looked at her. “You’re comparing my physical therapy to Rocky.”

“Technically—yes,” Grace smiled. “We just need the inspiring music. Want me to sing it?”

Dr. Carter laughed.

Thomas shook his head—but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “Please don’t sing.”

“Perfect. I don’t know the lyrics anyway,” Grace said—moving closer. “But I can do the beat.” She started clapping in rhythm. “Da-da-da-da-da-da—”

Thomas tried to keep a straight face. He failed. A laugh slipped out—quiet. Genuine.

Dr. Carter stopped writing—surprised. “Did he just laugh?”

“Yes,” Grace replied—proud. “And it was beautiful.”

Thomas took another step—then another—and then three more. Five steps.

Grace cheered. “You’re a champion. A hero— Uh—okay. I’m overdoing it—but that was amazing.”

Thomas stopped, breathing heavily. Dr. Carter helped him back into the wheelchair. “Excellent progress today, Mr. Phillips. I think we found a new secret weapon,” he said—nodding toward Grace.

Thomas looked at her—and to her surprise, he said, “You can come back to the next sessions.”

Grace blinked. “Really?”

“If you’d like,” he adjusted in the chair. “Apparently—you make me laugh. And that helps.”

Grace felt her heart skip. “I’d love to.”

Dr. Carter began putting the equipment away. “Great. Next session is Thursday at eight in the evening. I expect to see you here, Grace—with or without the Rocky theme.”

Grace laughed. “I’ll bring the full version.”

When Dr. Carter left—Grace and Thomas were alone in the room. She sat on a nearby bench, looking at him.

“Why don’t you tell anyone about this?”

Thomas sighed. “Because if I tell people—and I don’t walk again—they’ll just look at me with pity. And I hate pity.”

Grace shook her head. “It’s not pity, Thomas. It’s admiration. What you’re doing is incredible—and brave.”

He looked at her. “Do you really believe that?”

“Absolutely,” Grace replied—sincerely. “You’re fighting every single day. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

Thomas stayed quiet for a long moment. Then—softly—he said, “Thank you.”

Grace smiled. “You’re welcome.”

They stayed there—in the comfortable silence of the room—until Thomas finally broke it.

“Did you forget the folder?”

Grace looked down at her empty hands. “Oh—shoot. I left it on my desk again.”

Thomas laughed—loud and echoing through the room. Grace felt her chest warm up.

“You should do that more often.”

“What?”

“Laugh.”

She stood up. “It suits you.”

Thomas didn’t answer—but the smile stayed on his face.

Grace walked to the door, grabbed the folder from her desk, and came back. “All set now. I’ll leave before I forget my own head.”

“Grace—”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“Thank you for not treating me like I’m broken.”

Grace turned around. “You’re not broken, Thomas. You’re human. And humans heal—always.”

She left before he could reply. And for the first time since the accident, Thomas Phillips felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope.

Grace walked down the hallway—her heart pounding. She had just seen something no one else seemed to see. The fight. The determination. The courage. And she realized something important. The cold man at the company—the impossible CEO—wasn’t just that. He was someone who still wanted a fresh start. Someone who, despite everything, still had hope. And she wanted to be there when he finally made it.

The next day, Grace was organizing papers when Rosalyn Phillips stormed into the office like an elegant hurricane.

“Grace, dear—I’m so glad I found you.”

Grace looked up, surprised. “Mrs. Phillips—hi. Do you need something?”

Rosalyn smiled with that sparkle in her eye that Grace was beginning to recognize as a sign of danger. “I need you to come to the company’s charity dinner tomorrow night.”

Grace blinked. “Me? At the charity dinner?”

“Yes. Thomas will be there—and I will too.” Rosalyn waved her hand like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be fun.”

“Mrs. Phillips—with all due respect—I don’t know if I’m the right person for that kind of event. I barely know how to use a dessert fork.”

“Nonsense.” Rosalyn patted her shoulder. “You’re exactly the right person. Thomas needs someone who keeps him grounded at these things. And you’re perfect at that.”

Before Grace could protest, Rosalyn was already heading out. “Seven o’clock. Formal dress. See you there.”

Grace stood frozen, processing it all. “Formal dress? Sure—because I have plenty of those in my closet.”

That evening, Grace looked at herself in the mirror and took a deep breath. The dress was simple—dark green. Bought last minute—on sale. But it was clean, well-fitted, and at least didn’t have any coffee stains.

“Okay, Grace. You can do this. It’s just a dinner with rich people, important people—people who probably know the difference between fifteen types of forks.” She sighed. “You’re in trouble.”

The hotel ballroom was stunning. Crystal chandeliers. Tables decorated with white flowers. People dressed like they just walked out of a fashion magazine.

Grace stepped in slowly, feeling completely out of place. And then she saw Thomas. He was near the entrance, talking to Rosalyn. Dark suit—perfectly tailored. Still elegant—even in his wheelchair. When he saw her, he stopped mid-sentence. Rosalyn followed her son’s gaze and smiled.

“Grace—you look lovely.”

Grace blushed. “Thank you. I tried not to look like I got dressed in the dark.”

Thomas moved closer—his eyes fixed on her. “You look great.”

Grace’s face turned even redder. “Thank you. You, too. I mean—you always do. Not that I notice all the time—but—well—”

Rosalyn laughed. “Let’s find our seats before you two freeze up standing there.”

Their table was near the stage. Grace sat beside Thomas—trying not to spill anything.

“Breathe, Grace,” Thomas murmured with amusement. “No one’s judging you.”

“Easy for you to say. You were born for this. I was born to spill coffee on expensive rugs.”

He smiled. “And it was unforgettable.”

Before Grace could reply, a familiar voice echoed.

“Thomas—what a surprise.”

Evelyn.

She arrived—as always—flawless. Confident. Dangerous. Tight red dress. Hair in a perfect updo. Sharp smile.

“Evelyn,” Thomas greeted her politely—but distant.

Evelyn looked at Grace—her eyes sweeping over the dress with thinly veiled disdain. “Grace—how delightful to see you here.”

“Thank you.” Grace smiled—trying to stay polite. “You look beautiful, too.”

“I know,” Evelyn said—without a hint of modesty. She turned to Thomas. “I hope your speech is ready. Everyone’s looking forward to hearing it.”

Thomas nodded. “It is.”

Evelyn smiled and walked away—but Grace caught the look she gave just before leaving. It was a warning.

Dinner continued. Grace tried not to use the wrong fork. Not to spill her wine. And not to talk to herself. She was doing well—until the moment of the speech.

Thomas was called to the stage. Grace watched as he made his way up the side ramp and stood behind the microphone.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began. “It’s an honor to be here tonight—”

Then the microphone screeched—and died.

Silence.

Thomas tried again. Nothing. Someone from the tech team ran up to the stage—but it was clear there was a problem.

Grace looked around. People were whispering. Some were quietly laughing. Evelyn—on the other side of the room—was smiling to herself.

Grace frowned—and then she understood. Sabotage.

Without thinking, she stood up. “Okay, folks,” Grace called out—walking to the stage. “Looks like we’ve got a little technical problem here—but don’t worry, I’ll translate.”

Thomas looked at her, surprised. “Grace—what are you doing?”

“Improvising,” she whispered. “Do you trust me?”

He hesitated—then nodded.

Grace turned to the crowd. “All right—Mr. Phillips was about to say something amazing about how this company cares about the community—and he’s right. But I’m going to add something: he’s not just saying it. He truly cares.”

People began paying attention.

“I know because I work for him—and yes, he’s demanding. And yes, he’s fired people for breathing wrong—”

Laughter echoed.

“But he’s also fair—and committed—and he cares more about people than any CEO I’ve ever met.”

Grace looked at Thomas. He was watching her with an expression she had never seen before.

“So on his behalf—because the microphone decided to take a vacation—I’ll say: thank you for supporting this cause. Thank you for believing in this company. And thank you for being here tonight. Now—go ahead and applaud—because I have no idea what else to say.”

Silence. Then—someone clapped. Then another. And another. Within seconds, the whole room was applauding. Some were laughing. Others were wiping away tears.

Grace stepped off the stage—flushed.

Thomas was waiting at the bottom. “That was awful,” Grace asked—nervous.

“Incredible,” he corrected—smiling. “You saved the speech. Again.”

Rosalyn appeared—beaming. “Grace, dear—you were wonderful.”

Across the room—Evelyn watched—furious. Her plan had failed. Worse—Grace had turned disaster into triumph. And Thomas was looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversations and laughter. But when Grace finally left the ballroom, she saw the flashes. Photographers. Journalists. Cameras.

Someone shouted, “Grace—are you the CEO’s new girlfriend?”

Grace froze. “What? No—I’m just the assistant.”

But the flashes didn’t stop. Thomas appeared beside her—stepping between Grace and the cameras.

“No comment,” he said firmly.

They got into the car quickly. Grace was trembling.

“I—I didn’t know the press would be there,” she said.

Thomas looked at her, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes—just… shaken.” She took a breath. “Is it always like this?”

“Always,” he said gently. “But you handled it well—better than most.”

Grace tried to smile—but for the first time, she felt the weight of appearances and the power the media had to turn everything into something bigger—something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

The next morning, Grace had barely slept. The flashes, the invasive questions, the curious looks, spun through her mind like an endless carousel. She arrived at the office earlier than usual, hoping the routine would calm her.

But Evelyn had other plans.

Grace was organizing documents when she heard a voice behind her. “Grace—can we talk?”

She turned. Evelyn was there—elegant as always—but her smile was different. Almost motherly.

“Sure,” Grace answered cautiously.

Evelyn pointed to an empty meeting room. “This will be quick. I just want to make sure you’re okay after last night.”

Grace followed—confused. Evelyn closed the door behind them.

“Sit down, dear.”

Grace sat.

Evelyn remained standing, arms crossed. “Grace—I need to be honest with you. As someone who’s been with this company for years, I feel it’s my duty to warn you about a few things.”

“Warn me about what?”

Evelyn sighed as if about to deliver difficult news. “Your behavior last night was… embarrassing.”

Grace felt her stomach drop. “Embar—what?”

“Going up on stage like that—improvising—making jokes—” Evelyn shook her head. “Grace—this company has an image to maintain. And you—as the CEO’s assistant—reflect directly on him.”

“But the audience liked it. They applauded.”

“They were polite,” Evelyn corrected—her voice soft but sharp. “But the comments afterward were cruel. People laughed at you. Not with you.”

Grace felt the words hit her like a punch. “I—I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t.” Evelyn placed a hand on Grace’s shoulder—pretending to show concern. “That’s why I’m telling you. If you want to be taken seriously here—you need to act more professionally. Less you.”

Grace looked down at her hands. “Less me.”

“Exactly.” Evelyn smiled. “I’m only trying to help—because believe me—people here don’t forgive slip-ups.”

She left the room—leaving Grace alone and crushed.

For the rest of the day, Grace was different. She didn’t talk to herself. Didn’t joke. Didn’t smile unless absolutely necessary. She sat at her desk—typed in silence—and answered emails with mechanical efficiency.

People began to notice. “Is Grace okay?” someone asked in the hallway.

“She barely said a word today,” another replied—concerned. “Maybe she’s sick.”

But Grace wasn’t sick. She was just trying to be professional.

Thomas noticed right away. That morning—he waited to hear a funny comment, some quirky narration, a laugh. Nothing.

In the afternoon—he called her in to review a contract. Grace walked in—placed the papers on his desk—and said nothing.

“Is there a problem with the document?” Thomas asked.

“No, Mr. Phillips. Everything is in order.”

He frowned. “Mr. Phillips? You used to call me Thomas.”

“Sorry. This is more professional.”

Thomas studied her. She avoided his gaze. Kept her hands folded. Her posture was stiff.

“Grace—are you all right?”

“Perfectly,” she replied—without emotion. “May I go?”

He hesitated. “You may.”

Grace left quickly. Thomas stared at the closed door—sensing something was off.

That evening, he found out what it was. Evelyn walked into his office without knocking—as she always did.

“Thomas—we need to discuss next quarter’s budget.”

He ignored her—typing something on his computer.

“Evelyn—what did you say to Grace?”

She blinked—feigning surprise. “Grace? Nothing serious. Just a bit of professional advice.”

Thomas stopped typing—turned slowly to face her. “What kind of advice?”

Evelyn shrugged. “I just suggested she be more discreet. After all, her behavior at the dinner was a little… embarrassing.”

Thomas felt anger rise. “Embarrassing? She saved my speech. She saved the entire event.”

“Thomas—darling—you’re being biased.” Evelyn crossed her arms. “She’s clumsy. Impulsive. She doesn’t fit the image of this company.”

“Leave,” Thomas said—his voice low but firm.

“What?”

“Get out of my office—now.”

Evelyn froze. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.” Thomas rolled his chair closer. “You sabotaged my microphone last night, manipulated Grace today—and you still have the nerve to say you’re worried about the company’s image?”

Evelyn opened her mouth—closed it. “You’re firing me?”

“No—but I’m throwing you out of my office. And if you interfere in Grace’s life again—it’ll be much worse than getting fired.”

Evelyn left—slamming the door behind her.

Thomas took a deep breath—then picked up the phone. “Grace—could you come in, please?”

Five minutes later—Grace walked in. Still quiet. Still distant.

Thomas pointed to the chair in front of him. “Sit down.”

She sat—stiff and guarded.

“Grace—look at me.”

She slowly lifted her eyes.

“What did Evelyn say to you?”

Grace swallowed hard. “She told me I need to be more professional. That my behavior embarrasses the company.”

Thomas shook his head—frustrated. “She lied.”

“Thomas—”

“No.”

He leaned forward. “Listen. You don’t embarrass anyone. You save impossible situations. You make people laugh. You make me laugh. And that’s rare.”

Grace felt her eyes sting. “But maybe she’s right. Maybe I am too much. I talk too much. I laugh too loud. I’m—”

“You,” Thomas finished. “And that’s exactly who you need to be.”

Grace looked at him—surprised.

“Grace—since you got here, everything has changed,” he said softly. “I spent years on autopilot—controlling everything—feeling nothing. And then you showed up—talking to yourself—dropping things—making ridiculous jokes—and you know what happened?”

Grace shook her head.

“You reminded me what it means to live,” he said—eyes locked on hers. “Not just survive—really live.”

A tear rolled down Grace’s cheek.

“I don’t want you to change who you are,” Thomas continued. “Because who you are is amazing.”

Grace let out a teary laugh. “You’re making me cry at work. That’s extremely unprofessional.”

Thomas smiled. “Then we’re even.”

Grace wiped her eyes—laughing. “Okay—I’ll try to be myself again. But if I start talking to myself during an important meeting—it’s your fault.”

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

They sat there—looking at each other. The silence now felt warm.

Grace stood up. But before leaving—she turned around. “Thomas—”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for not wanting me to change.”

He smiled. “Thank you for making me want to.”

Grace walked out—feeling lighter than she had since the dinner. And Thomas stayed in the office—realizing something that scared and excited him at the same time. He didn’t just want Grace to stay at the company. He wanted her to stay close to him—always.

The next day, Grace arrived at the office—humming softly. She was back. The real Grace—the one who talked to herself, laughed out loud, and occasionally tripped over things. And she felt good about it.

But Evelyn wasn’t ready to give up so easily.

Grace was checking emails when the message popped up. “Urgent meeting. Room 302. Now. —Evelyn.”

Grace frowned. Room 302 was on the third floor—far from Thomas’s office. Strange. But she went.

The room was small. Windowless. With just a table and two chairs. Evelyn was already there—sitting with a folder in front of her.

“Grace—sit down.”

Grace sat—cautiously. “What’s going on?”

Evelyn slid the folder across the table. “This.”

Grace opened it. It was a resignation letter—already filled out. Just missing a signature.

Grace looked at Evelyn—shocked. “You can’t be serious.”

“Very serious.” Evelyn crossed her arms. “Let’s be honest—Grace. You don’t belong here. You never did. You were just one of Rosalyn’s failed experiments.”

“Thomas doesn’t think that.”

“Thomas is confused,” Evelyn replied—coldly. “He got caught up in your novelty. But it’ll wear off—and when it does—you’ll just be another assistant who got fired.”

Grace felt her anger rising. “I’m not signing this.”

“Then you’ll be officially fired—with a scandal. With embarrassment,” Evelyn leaned in. “Or—you can leave now—with dignity. And no one has to know you failed.”

Grace stood up—grabbed the letter—and tore it in half. “You know what I think, Evelyn? I think you’re scared.”

Evelyn blinked—surprised. “Scared of what?”

“Scared that I might earn something you never could.”

“And what’s that?”

“Thomas’s respect. Real respect.”

Evelyn turned pale.

Grace stormed out—slamming the door behind her. Her heart was racing. Her hands were shaking. But she felt powerful.

She stepped into the elevator—pressing the button for the thirty-fifth floor. And then she started talking to herself.

“Okay, Grace. You just tore up a resignation letter in the wicked witch’s face. What now?” She took a deep breath. “You’re going back up there. You’re going to tell Thomas—because she sabotaged the microphone—because she tried to push you out—because she’s manipulative—and—”

Grace froze. The elevator was full. Thirteen people were staring at her in total silence.

Grace blushed. “Oh—hi. I was just practicing a monologue—for community theater. It’s a play about office life. Very realistic.”

No one said a word. Grace laughed nervously. “Feel free to pretend I’m not here. That’s what I usually do.”

The elevator stopped at the tenth floor. The doors opened—and Evelyn stepped in.

Silence cracked open again. Evelyn looked at Grace—then at the thirteen people—then back at Grace. “What are you doing?”

Grace opened her mouth—closed it—opened it again.

A woman in a gray suit spoke up—breaking the silence. “She said you sabotaged the microphone at the charity dinner.”

“And tried to force her to resign,” said a man in a suit—crossing his arms.

Evelyn went pale. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Didn’t sound ridiculous,” said the woman. “Sounded pretty true.”

“She was talking to herself,” Evelyn protested. “She’s unstable.”

“Or honest,” the woman replied—giving Evelyn a disapproving look.

The elevator kept going up. No one spoke. Everyone stared at Evelyn—like she didn’t belong.

The doors opened on the thirty-fifth floor. And there was Thomas. He looked at Grace—then at Evelyn—then at the thirteen people stepping out of the elevator—all whispering to each other.

“What’s going on?”

The woman in the gray suit stood beside him. “Mr. Phillips—I think you should know something.” She looked at Evelyn. “Your PR director sabotaged the microphone at the charity dinner—and just tried to force your assistant to quit.”

Thomas went very still. Dangerously still. “Is this true—Grace?”

Grace nodded—still trembling. “Yes. She called me to a meeting—had a resignation letter ready—said I don’t belong here.”

Thomas turned to Evelyn. “My office. Now.”

Evelyn tried to keep her composure. “Thomas—let me explain—”

“No.” His voice was firm. “There’s no explanation. You crossed every line.”

They walked into the office. Grace stayed outside—with the other employees, who were now gathering—curious.

Through the glass—everyone could see. Thomas spoke. Evelyn waved her hands—trying to defend herself. And then—Thomas pointed to the door. Evelyn walked out—her face red—her eyes filled with tears of rage. She walked past Grace without looking—and disappeared into the elevator.

Thomas stepped out of his office—catching everyone’s attention. “Evelyn Ward has been officially removed from her position. Any questions should be directed to HR.”

There were murmurs—but everyone returned to work. Thomas looked at Grace. “You. My office.”

Grace swallowed hard—and followed him in.

Thomas closed the door behind them. “Are you all right?”

“I—yes,” Grace replied—still trying to process everything. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I was just… talking to myself. As usual.”

Thomas shook his head—smiling. “Grace—you just exposed sabotage—without even realizing it. That’s not a scandal. That’s courage.”

“It was an accident.”

“It was perfect,” he corrected. “And for that—I’m promoting you.”

Grace blinked. “Sorry—what?”

“You’re no longer an executive assistant,” Thomas said—formally. “You are now the Internal Relations Coordinator—with a raise—and your own office.”

Grace’s mouth dropped open. “Thomas—I barely know what I’m doing as an assistant. How am I supposed to coordinate anything?”

“The same way you’ve done everything so far,” he replied—smiling. “By being you.”

Grace felt her eyes sting. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you accept.”

She laughed—wiping away a tear. “I accept. Of course I do.”

Thomas extended his hand. “Welcome to the team, Coordinator Harrison.”

Grace shook his hand—feeling the strength and sincerity in his grip. “Thank you, Thomas. For believing in me.”

“Thank you for giving me reasons to believe.”

Grace left the office—still in a daze. Coordinator. She was a coordinator.

She sat at her desk—her old desk, for now—and murmured, “Okay, Grace. You just got promoted. After accidentally exposing a corporate villain—in the elevator—in front of thirteen witnesses.”

She laughed to herself. “Your life is a crazy romantic comedy—and you love it.”

On the other side of the glass—Thomas was watching her and smiling—because Grace wasn’t just brave. She was genuine. And that—he was starting to realize—was the rarest and most valuable thing he’d ever found.

The next morning, the entire office buzzed with nervous energy. It was the day of the annual conference—the biggest one of the year. Investors. Media. International partners. Everyone would be there. And Thomas would be at the center of it all.

Grace arrived early—carrying coffee and a folder with his speech documents. Thomas was already in his office—going over the notes for the tenth time.

“Good morning,” Grace said—placing the coffee on his desk. “I brought reinforcements. You’re going to need them.”

He looked at her—tense. “Thank you. I’m nervous.”

Grace blinked. “You? Nervous? The man who fires people for breathing wrong—is nervous?”

Thomas almost smiled. “It’s different. There will be hundreds of people. Live cameras. And I have to talk about vulnerability.”

Grace sat down in the chair across from him. “Thomas—you’re the strongest person I know. And not because you hide your weaknesses—because you face them. Everyone will see that.”

He looked at her—and something in his expression changed. “You always know what to say.”

“It’s a gift,” Grace smiled. “And a curse—but today it’s a gift.”

Two hours later—the auditorium was full. Grace sat in the front row next to Rosalyn—who wore an elegant suit and smiled proudly.

“He’s going to do wonderfully,” Rosalyn whispered.

“I know,” Grace replied—though her stomach was full of nerves.

Thomas took the stage—from the side ramp. Perfect posture. Controlled expression. But Grace could see the nerves underneath. He stood behind the microphone.

“Good afternoon, everyone. It’s an honor—”

The microphone squealed—then went dead.

Grace’s heart sank. “Not again.”

Thomas tried another mic. Nothing. The tech team rushed to the stage—but it was clear this was a bigger issue. Murmurs filled the audience. Some people laughed. Others reached for their phones.

Grace looked around—and saw—at the back of the auditorium—a familiar figure. Evelyn. She was quietly slipping out the side door—a smug smile on her face.

Grace felt her anger boil. “That witch sabotaged it again,” she muttered.

Rosalyn looked at her—concerned. “What are you going to do?”

Grace stood up. “Improvise.”

She walked up to the stage—under the curious eyes of hundreds of people. Thomas saw her—and frowned.

“Grace—what are you doing?”

“Saving the day—again,” she replied—turning to the audience. “Hello, everyone. Looks like we’re having a bit of a technical issue—but don’t worry—I’ll be translating Mr. Phillips’s speech in real time. With feeling. And probably a few mistakes—but let’s pretend those are on purpose.”

Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd.

Thomas looked at her—surprised.

“Grace—do you trust me?” she whispered.

He hesitated—then nodded.

Grace took a deep breath—and began. “Mr. Phillips was going to start by saying—’It’s an honor to be here.’ But I’ll add something: it’s an honor for us to have him here.” She pointed at Thomas. “Because this man is not just a CEO. He’s an example.”

The audience fell silent—listening closely.

“Years ago—he had an accident that could have ended his career—his life. But he didn’t let it.” Grace said—turning to Thomas. “He fought—every day—every night. And he’s still fighting.”

Thomas was watching her—eyes shining.

“And do you know what he wants to tell you today?” Grace continued—her voice steady. “That being vulnerable isn’t weakness. That asking for help isn’t giving up. That admitting you can’t do it all alone is actually the bravest thing you can do.”

The room stayed completely still.

“This company isn’t just about profits. It’s about people. Real people—with fears, with dreams, with flaws.” Grace smiled. “And if Mr. Phillips can get up every day and face the world—even when it’s hard—then so can we.”

She looked at Thomas. “Right, boss?”

Thomas smiled. A real, emotional smile. “Right.”

The crowd broke into applause. People stood up. Some were wiping away tears.

Grace stepped off the stage—shaking. Rosalyn hugged her. “You were perfect.”

But Grace could barely breathe. She was just now realizing what she had done. Hundreds of people. Cameras. The press. And everyone was looking at her.

After the press conference, Grace tried to slip away quietly—but reporters surrounded her.

“Grace Harrison—are you the new company spokesperson?”

“Are you in a relationship with the CEO?”

“What’s it like working for Thomas Phillips?”

Grace froze. “I—I don’t— No comment.”

Thomas appeared—stepping in between her and the reporters. “No questions. Thank you.”

He guided her out of the auditorium.

Once they were finally outside, he looked at her. “Are you okay?”

Grace was breathing fast. “I need air. A lot of air.”

Thomas pointed ahead. “There’s a park nearby. Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later—they were in a small park near the building. Grace sat on a bench. Thomas pulled his chair up beside her. The sun was setting—painting the sky with orange and pink.

Grace took a deep breath. “I did it again. I got up there—talked too much—became the headline.”

“And you were amazing,” Thomas said softly.

She looked at him. “Thomas— that was intense. I didn’t think. I just did it.”

“And that’s why it worked.” He turned his chair to face her. “You don’t fake it. You don’t overthink. You just… are.”

Grace laughed nervously. “Being myself is becoming dangerous.”

“Or freeing.”

Thomas moved closer. “Grace—you taught me something important.”

“What?”

“That it’s okay not to be perfect. That it’s okay to need help. That it’s okay to feel.”

Grace felt her heart race. “Thomas—”

“I spent years protecting myself,” he continued. “Building walls. Keeping everyone out. Then you showed up—spilling coffee—talking to yourself—making ridiculous jokes. And do you know what happened?”

She shook her head.

“The walls came down,” he said—eyes locked on hers. “And for the first time in years—I felt alive.”

Grace couldn’t breathe.

“You make me want to be better,” Thomas moved even closer. “Not perfect—just better.”

“Thomas— I—”

He didn’t let her finish. He leaned in and kissed her. It was gentle—hesitant—as if he was asking for permission. Grace kissed him back—closing her eyes—letting the world around them fade away.

When they pulled apart, she was trembling.

“That was a mistake?” Thomas asked—concerned.

“No,” Grace answered quickly. “It was perfect. And scary. And confusing. But perfect.”

Thomas smiled. “Confusing is a good word for it.”

They sat there in silence as the sun finished setting. But Grace felt something rising inside her. Fear.

The next morning, Grace woke up to her phone buzzing non-stop. She opened the internet—and froze. Headlines. Photos. Speculation.

“CEO’s Assistant Steals the Spotlight at Historic Press Conference.”

“Grace Harrison—The Woman Behind Thomas Phillips’s Success.”

“Office Romance? CEO and Assistant Spotted Together in Park.”

There were photos of them in the park. Close. Intimate.

Grace felt panic rise. She called the office—and asked to speak to Thomas.

“Miss Harrison is out sick today,” she lied to the receptionist. Then she hung up—packed a suitcase—and left. She didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she had to get away. Away from the cameras. The pressure. Everything.

That afternoon, Thomas tried calling Grace. No answer. He called again. Still nothing. Worried—he called Rosalyn. “Mom—Grace isn’t answering.”

“Maybe she’s just busy.”

“Or she ran,” Thomas said—his voice tight.

Meanwhile—somewhere in the city—Evelyn smiled as she read the news. She knew Grace had run. No one knew where she was. “Perfect,” Evelyn whispered. The microphone stunt didn’t work. But now—she won his heart and disappeared. Better than I could have planned.

And Thomas—alone in the office—stared at Grace’s empty chair. Feeling the emptiness she’d left behind. And realizing—too late—that maybe it had all happened too fast. Too intense. And now she was gone. And he had no idea how to bring her back.

Two months had passed. Two months since Grace had vanished without a trace. Thomas had tried calling. Sent emails. Even asked Rosalyn to investigate, discreetly. Nothing. It was as if Grace had disappeared into thin air.

The office felt empty without her. The hallways too quiet. And for the first time in years, Thomas felt something he had sworn never to feel again. Despair.

He was in the office late at night when Rosalyn walked in. “Thomas—you need to go home.”

“I can’t,” he said—staring at the computer screen without really seeing anything. “Not without knowing if she’s okay.”

Rosalyn sighed and sat in the chair across from him. “Sweetheart—I know where she is.”

Thomas looked up—surprised. “What?”

“I hired an investigator—not to invade her privacy—just to make sure she was safe.” Rosalyn handed him a piece of paper. “She’s in Riverside. A small town in the countryside. It’s where she grew up.”

Thomas looked at the address—then at his mother. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because she needed time. And so did you.” Rosalyn touched her son’s hand. “But now—I think it’s time you went to get her.”

Thomas didn’t need to hear it twice.

The next morning—he was in a car—being driven toward Riverside. The trip took four hours. Every minute felt like forever. When they finally arrived—Thomas looked out the window. The town was small and charming—wooden houses and trees everywhere. Completely different from the big city he lived in.

The car stopped in front of a modest white house with a simple garden out front. Thomas took a deep breath. “Okay—you can do this,” he murmured to himself. “You faced rooms full of executives. You can handle one conversation with Grace.”

He got out of the car—positioned himself in the chair—and rolled up the small ramp leading to the porch.

He was just about to knock when the door opened—and a man walked out. Tall. Brown hair. Leather jacket. Carrying two suitcases.

Thomas felt his stomach drop.

The man looked at him—surprised. “Hi—can I help you?”

Thomas opened his mouth—closed it—tried again. “I’m looking for Grace Harrison.”

The man frowned. “And you are?”

“Thomas Phillips. I work with her. Or used to.” He stopped—realizing how pathetic that sounded.

The man studied Thomas for a moment—then turned toward the house and shouted, “Grace—someone’s here for you.”

Thomas waited—heart pounding. And then she appeared.

“Grace.”

Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Oversized sweatshirt. Pajama pants. No makeup. And still—the most beautiful thing Thomas had ever seen.

She froze when she saw him. “Thomas.”

“Hi,” he said—trying to sound calm. Failing miserably.

The man looked between the two of them—amused. “All right—I’ll let you two talk. Grace—I’ll call you when I get home.”

He kissed her forehead—and left—carrying the bags.

Thomas watched the man walk away—feeling something strange in his chest. Jealousy. That was jealousy.

Grace was still standing at the door—as if she couldn’t believe he was really there. “What are you doing here?”

Thomas took a breath. “I came to get you. Or see you. Or—” he paused. “Honestly—I’m not sure. I just knew I had to see you.”

Grace crossed her arms—confused. “Thomas—I ran away. I literally disappeared without telling anyone. Why would you—”

“Because I love you.”

The words came out before he could think.

Silence.

Grace blinked. “You… what?”

“I love you,” Thomas repeated—his voice steadier now. “I tried not to. I tried to keep my distance. But you’re impossible to forget, Grace. You’re loud. Clumsy. You talk to yourself and drop things—and I love you for all of it.”

Grace felt her eyes sting.

“Thomas—I…”

“I know you ran. I know the media scared you. And I get it.” He moved closer. “But I need you to know—I don’t care what they say. I only care about you.”

Grace wiped away a tear. “And the man who just left—with the bags—”

Thomas hesitated. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Grace blinked—then burst out laughing. “What? No. That’s Ethan. My brother.”

Thomas felt a wave of relief rush through him. “Your brother?”

“Yes, you goof.” Grace shook her head—still laughing. “He was visiting me. Went back to his city today.”

Thomas closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yes,” Grace agreed—smiling. “But a brave idiot. You drove four hours to get here.”

“Technically—my driver drove. But—yes.”

Grace stepped down from the porch and knelt in front of him—so they were at eye level. “Thomas—I ran because I was scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of myself,” she corrected. “Of not being good enough. Of embarrassing you. Of not being able to handle the pressure of being by your side.”

Thomas held her face gently in his hands. “Grace—you don’t have to be perfect. You’re already everything I need.”

“Even when I spill coffee on expensive carpets?”

“Especially when you do that,” he smiled.

Grace laughed—tears now streaming down her face. “I missed you,” she admitted. “Every single day. But I didn’t know if you still wanted me after I ran away.”

“Always,” Thomas said firmly. “I’ll always want you. With all your flaws. With all your chaos.”

Grace hugged him—burying her face into his neck. “I love you, too—even when you fire people for breathing the wrong way.”

Thomas laughed—pulling her close. “I promise I’ll work on that.”

They stayed there—wrapped in each other’s arms—as the sun shone over the little town. When they finally pulled apart, Grace wiped her face and smiled.

“So—what happens now?”

“Now you come back with me,” Thomas said. “If you want to.”

Grace pretended to think. “Hmm—back to the big city. The cameras. The media. The job.”

“And to me,” he added.

Grace smiled. “Sold.”

Thomas took her hand. “I promise, Grace—I won’t ever let you go again. Even if you try to run.”

“I won’t run,” she promised. “At least not without warning you first.”

He chuckled. “That’s the best I’ll get, huh?”

“Probably.”

Grace went inside to grab her things. When she returned—carrying a small suitcase and a backpack—Thomas was waiting in the car. She got in and sat beside him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Grace replied—taking his hand. And as the car started moving—taking them back to the city—Grace looked out the window and whispered, “Okay, Grace—you ran. He found you. Declared his love. And now you’re going back. Your life really is a romantic comedy.”

Thomas heard—and smiled. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Grace turned to him. “Neither would I.”

And for the first time in two months—Thomas felt something he hadn’t felt since Grace had disappeared. Wholeness. Because the love that had started in chaos—through mistakes and imperfections—was now real. And nothing—not the media, not the pressure, not even fear—could change that. They were together. And that’s exactly where they were meant to be.

Six months later—Phillips International was unrecognizable. Not physically. The building was still the same. The glass walls. The gleaming hallways. Unchanged. But the atmosphere was different. People smiled more. Talked in the hallways. And to everyone’s surprise, the CEO hadn’t fired anyone in months.

Grace was in her new office—now Director of Internal Relations—reviewing proposals when Rosalyn walked in.

“Grace, dear—you need to be in the auditorium in an hour.”

Grace looked up. “The annual event. I know. I’ve already prepared the documents.”

Rosalyn gave her a mysterious smile. “That’s not all. Thomas has a surprise.”

“Surprise?” Grace frowned. “He hates surprises.”

“He likes this one.” Rosalyn winked—and walked out.

Grace stared at the closed door—confused. “Okay—that was strange. Even for her.”

An hour later—the auditorium was packed. Employees. Investors. Business partners. All waited—eagerly. Grace sat in the front row next to Rosalyn, who still wore that cryptic smile.

“What’s going on?” Grace whispered.

“You’ll see.”

The lights dimmed—the stage lit up—and then something unbelievable happened. Thomas walked onto the stage—using two canes—moving slowly but with determination. The entire auditorium burst into applause.

Grace stood up—hands over her mouth—eyes full of tears. “He did it,” she whispered. “He really did it.”

Thomas reached the center of the stage and smiled at the audience. “Good afternoon, everyone. As you can see, I’ve made a bit of progress since we last met.”

Laughter—and more applause.

“But I’m not here to talk about myself. I’m here to share something much more important.”

Thomas gestured toward a screen behind him. “Today—I’m proud to announce the Harrison Project.”

Grace felt her heart stop. “What?” she murmured.

The screen displayed the logo. THE HARRISON PROJECT. Inclusion. Humanity. Opportunity.

“This project was inspired by someone who taught me that vulnerability isn’t weakness—that asking for help isn’t giving up—that being real is more valuable than being perfect.”

Thomas looked directly at Grace. “And that person is Grace Harrison.”

The whole auditorium turned to look at her. Grace turned bright red—trying to hide behind Rosalyn.

“The Harrison Project is a corporate inclusion initiative,” Thomas continued. “We will launch mentoring programs, psychological support, and opportunities for people who, like me, face physical challenges—but also for those facing emotional, social, or simply non-traditional obstacles in the workplace.”

The audience applauded.

“And to lead this project, I’d like to invite to the stage our new Vice President of Inclusion and Human Development—” Thomas extended his hand— “Grace Harrison.”

Grace froze. Rosalyn gave her a gentle push. “Go on, dear. This is your moment.”

Grace walked onto the stage—trembling. Thomas was waiting—smiling. As she got closer, he whispered, “You’ve got this.”

Grace looked out at the audience—hundreds of people staring at her. “I—” she began—nervous. “I don’t really know what to say except that this project is incredible. And I’m terrible with prepared speeches—so I’ll just say—thank you for believing that imperfect, awkward people who talk to themselves can still make a difference.”

Laughter echoed. Applause.

Grace was about to step down when Thomas held her hand.

“Wait—Grace.”

She turned—confused.

Thomas let go of one of his canes, leaning on the other. And with his free hand, pulled a small box from his pocket.

Grace felt the world stop. “No—no way. He’s not—”

Thomas knelt down—slowly—but with determination. The entire room went silent.

“Grace Harrison,” he said firmly. “You came into my life like a hurricane. You spilled my coffee, compared my product to a penguin, and somehow—you made me realize I was only surviving—not really living.”

Grace was crying now.

“You taught me how to laugh—to be vulnerable—to accept help.” He opened the box—revealing a simple, elegant ring. “And I want to spend the rest of my life hearing you talk to yourself—knocking things over—and turning disasters into miracles. Grace—will you marry me?”

Silence.

Grace looked at him. At the ring. At the audience holding its breath. And then she did what she always did. She said what she was thinking.

“You’re proposing to me on stage—in front of hundreds of people—still recovering.” She shook her head—laughing through tears. “You’re completely crazy.”

Thomas smiled. “Is that a yes?”

“Obviously—it’s a yes—you silly man.”

Grace knelt in front of him—laughing and crying at once. “Yes. A thousand times—yes.”

The room erupted. Applause. Cheers. Some people were crying. Thomas slipped the ring on her finger—and pulled her into a kiss. The applause grew even louder.

When they pulled apart, Grace whispered, “You know we’re going to make headlines again, right?”

“Let them talk,” Thomas replied—smiling. “As long as it’s with you.”

Six months later—the wedding took place. It wasn’t in a fancy venue. It was in a simple garden—strung with lights in the trees and white flowers everywhere. Grace wore an ivory dress—simple—nothing flashy. Her hair was down—with flowers tucked in. She walked down the aisle—holding Ethan’s arm.

He whispered, “You look beautiful—and for once—you didn’t trip.”

“The day is not over yet,” Grace whispered back.

Thomas stood at the altar—leaning on a cane. He only needed one now—wearing a light gray suit. When Grace reached him, he took her hand.

“Hi,” he said simply.

“Hi,” she replied—smiling.

The officiant began the ceremony. Then—came the vows.

Grace took a deep breath. “Okay—I wrote this down—but I’ll probably forget half of it.”

She looked at Thomas. “Thomas—when I met you, I thought you were the most impossible man in the world. Cold. A perfectionist. Fired people over tiny mistakes.”

Laughter echoed.

“But then I found out that behind all that armor was a brave man—vulnerable—real.” She squeezed his hand. “You taught me it’s okay to be scared—that it’s okay to ask for help—and that sometimes—chaos is exactly what we need to remember we’re alive. I promise to always talk to myself—always knock things over—and always make you laugh—because that’s what I do best.”

Thomas smiled—eyes shining. Now it was his turn.

“Grace,” he began. “I spent years building walls. Protecting myself. Controlling everything. And then you came along—and knocked it all down. Literally—including the coffee.”

More laughter.

“You reminded me what it means to truly live. And I promise—I’ll always listen to you—especially when you’re talking to yourself. I promise to stand by you—through every disaster. And I promise to love you—every day—with all your perfect imperfections.”

Grace was crying and laughing at the same time.

The officiant smiled. “By the power vested in me—I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Thomas pulled Grace in for a kiss—as the guests applauded. And Grace whispered against his lips, “I love you, Thomas Phillips.”

“I love you, Grace Phillips,” he replied.

The celebration was simple. Music. Dancing. Laughter. At one point, Grace sat next to Rosalyn—watching Thomas chat with guests.

“You did a good job with him,” Rosalyn said—smiling.

“He did a good job with me, too,” Grace replied.

Rosalyn gently touched her hand. “You know what I saw when I first met you at that café?”

“A walking disaster.”

“A real person,” Rosalyn corrected. “In a world full of masks—you were genuine. And I knew—that’s exactly what my son needed.”

Grace felt her eyes welling up again. “Thank you—for believing in me.”

“Thank you—for helping my son find meaning in life again,” Rosalyn replied.

Later—when the party was winding down—Thomas and Grace were alone in the garden.

“So—Mrs. Phillips,” Thomas said—pulling her close. “How do you feel?”

“Like a clumsy barista who somehow became a vice president—and married the CEO,” Grace laughed.

“Completely surreal.”

“And perfect,” Thomas added.

Grace looked at him. “You know—our life is always going to be a mess—right?”

“I’m counting on it.” He kissed her forehead. “Because sometimes—chaos is just a miracle in disguise.”

Grace smiled—and she realized that everything—every mistake, every stumble, every awkward moment—had led to this exact place. To love. To authenticity. To real life. And there was no place in the world she’d rather be.

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