The day had started like any other.
Naya walked into her office looking sharp in a cream blazer, black heels clicking confidently against polished floors. Her curls were pinned in a soft bun, makeup flawless, and her phone buzzed with a packed schedule. She'd just wrapped her morning presentation—a new investor pitch for her firm—and was heading toward the coffee station when the air changed.
It wasn't loud. Not yet.
But every woman knows when she's being watched with intent. The kind of intent that doesn't come from curiosity, but contempt.
Naya turned—and saw Clarissa.
Hair sleek, sunglasses still on despite the indoor lighting, and holding a designer bag like it was a weapon, Clarissa looked as elegant as ever. Except her face was tight with fury, and her eyes were sharp enough to cut glass.
"Well, well," Clarissa said, her voice loud enough to draw stares. "If it isn't the slut who stole my family."
Naya's spine straightened. Around her, colleagues froze mid-step. One of her assistants nearly dropped a folder.
Clarissa took a step closer, heels like gunshots against the tile.
"You look good for someone who built her life on fucking someone else's husband."
"Clarissa," Naya said calmly, hands clenched at her sides, "This is my workplace."
"And this was my family!" Clarissa snapped. She held out her hand, revealing a coffee cup—and then, without warning, tossed it.
The lukewarm contents splashed across Naya's blazer and blouse.
Gasps erupted. Someone dropped their phone.
Naya stood frozen, coffee dripping down her front.
Clarissa leaned in close, voice low and venomous now. "You think you've won him? You think a few cozy nights and a kid drawing you into their broken fairy tale makes you something permanent?"
She sneered. "You're a gold-digging, attention-starved, no-class leech. You saw an opportunity—money, status, a stable man—and you latched on. Don't think I don't see what you are."
Security arrived, unsure whether to intervene.
"Kain is mine," Clarissa continued. "He's just confused. A little disagreement, that's all. He'll come to his senses. He'll come home. And when he does, you'll go back to whatever slum you crawled out of."
Naya, still soaked, eyes burning, said nothing.
"You better stay out of my way," Clarissa hissed. "This isn't over."
She turned and strode out of the building like she owned it, leaving a trail of stunned silence behind.
Naya stood there, the coffee soaking into her silk, the sting of humiliation burning hotter than the liquid ever could.
Her boss appeared, rushing to her side. "Naya, I'm so sorry. Do you want to—should we call someone?"
She shook her head. "No. I'll handle it."
Because she would. She always did.
But inside, she was shaken.
Clarissa hadn't just attacked her. She'd dragged up every quiet insecurity Naya thought she'd buried—where she came from, what people assumed about her, the fact that some would always see her as second place.
Back in the restroom, she stared at her reflection. Mascara smudged. Lipstick faded. Jaw clenched.
She wasn't a victim. Not anymore.
She changed quickly, took a breath, and walked back into the office like nothing had happened.
But her mind was already somewhere else.
With Kain.
She needed to tell him.
She needed to know what he would do now that the past had shown up on her doorstep.
By noon, whispers had made their way around the office like wildfire. Clarissa's dramatic outburst earlier that morning had sparked a frenzy of gossip. Naya could feel it—side glances, subtle smirks, and muffled laughter that ceased whenever she walked past. Her blouse still faintly smelled of coffee, despite her attempt to clean it up in the bathroom. Her skin prickled with humiliation, the warmth of it lodged deep in her bones.
Clarissa's words echoed in her mind like a cruel chant: "Homewrecker. Gold digger. Slut." Naya had faced her fair share of judgment in life, but this time, the blow had sunk deeper. Because deep down, she wasn't sure Clarissa was entirely wrong.
Was she a second choice? Was she just the balm for Kain's wounded pride? A convenient presence to fill in the space Clarissa had left? Naya had never asked for his wealth, but that didn't stop people from assuming her love was for sale. Even if Kain loved her now, could love truly last in a situation built on broken vows?
Her mind went to Tami.
The little girl had longed for a mother's love. Was Naya just a placeholder? What if Clarissa did return, remorseful and ready? Would Kain be tempted to rebuild his broken marriage, for the sake of his child, for the illusion of a perfect family? And if that happened, would Naya be discarded like a tool no longer needed—a stepping stone used to reach healing?
She didn't fight Clarissa back because she couldn't. Not physically, not emotionally. Clarissa had money, class, and history. Naya had love—but was that enough?
By 2PM, she couldn't take it anymore. She filed an excuse and left the office early. Her heart was heavy, and her chest ached with doubt. But she didn't go home. Home meant questions, meant Kain's deep eyes and knowing concern, meant Tami's innocence and affection she suddenly felt unworthy of.
She thought of her best friend, Zara. Sweet, hot-tempered Zara who had always had her back since university. But Zara didn't know anything about her marriage. No one in her family did. She had kept it all secret, planning a quiet divorce after one year, never expecting to stay.
Zara would overreact. She would curse Kain, hunt down Clarissa, maybe post a TikTok rant. Naya wasn't ready for that. She wasn't ready for anyone else to know how deeply she'd fallen for someone who wasn't supposed to matter.
So, she wandered.
She walked. No direction, just movement. Her heels clicked against the pavement, rhythmic and empty. And then the sky broke.
It started with a soft drizzle, a whisper of rain kissing her skin. She didn't mind. She didn't run. The cold drops soaked into her blouse, tracing over her collarbone, clinging to her hair. Her mascara blurred, not from tears but from the sky. Still, she walked.
Each step brought a new wave of memories. The way Kain looked at her in the mornings. The way he played with Tami, like the little girl had wrapped herself around his soul. The way he made love to her like she was air he couldn't breathe without.
The rain grew heavier, each droplet a tiny slap against her skin, like the world reminding her she was still here, still real. Still confused.