Page 40 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
The soft chime.
The whisper of doors sliding open.
Inside, the enclosed space carried a different echo.
I stepped in, turning slightly.
The ascent was smooth, almost too quiet.
My reflection—if I could see it—would have shown nothing of the storm inside me.
The doors opened again with a soft, controlled glide.
Executive floor.
The air itself felt different here—heavier, laced with the faint scent of expensive polish and cologne.
Twelve steps.
That was all it took to reach his office.
I walked them slowly, each one echoing louder in my ears than the last.
By the time I reached the heavy oak door, my pulse had become uneven.
This felt nothing like the previous times I had come asking whether he was in the office.
Those visits had been inconvenient at most.
This felt dangerous.
I had prepared for this moment so many times. Practiced what I would say. How I would remain composed, professional, unaffected.
But standing here, with my hand hovering inches from the wood...
Everything felt different.
I lifted my hand and knocked.
The sound echoed dully through the thick wood.
“Come in.”
His voice slid through the door—deep, smooth as aged whiskey... but edged with something that made my spine straighten instinctively.
Authority.
I inhaled slowly, steadying myself, though it did little to quiet the violent rhythm of my heart.
It pounded so loudly I was certain he would hear it the moment I stepped inside.
He said we have things in common.
The thought unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Two steps.
