HHWM | Chapter 14: Playing the Villain

When Greg stepped into the office the following morning, the wreckage of the previous night had been meticulously erased.

The atmosphere was sterile, almost hauntingly serene. Every corner was polished to a high sheen; the sofa was perfectly aligned, showing no sign of the heat it had witnessed. The air carried the faint, clinical scent of citrus and wood wax—a professional mask over their shared transgression.

But it was Saya’s composure that truly unsettled him.

She stood by his desk in a crisp beige corporate dress, her hair swept into a severe, elegant low bun. Her face was an unreadable mask of efficiency, punctuated by a polite, distant smile. The cheerful secretary who used to greet him with a genuine spark was gone, replaced by a ghost of professional perfection.

“Good morning, Sir. Here is your schedule. The board meeting is at 10:00 AM, followed by a lunch with Mr. Santillan. I’ve finalized the arrangements,” she said, her voice steady, as if he hadn’t spent the night memorizing the map of her skin.

Greg could only nod. He found himself incapable of speech, paralyzed by the memory of how he had claimed every inch of her only hours before.

At the end of the day, Greg was in the parking lot, preparing to flee to the safety of his home, when a soft rap on his window stopped him. He rolled it down.

“Sir,” Saya said, her voice clear despite the low volume. “Do you have dinner plans?”

They locked eyes for a long moment. “None,” he replied. It was a redundant question—she was his secretary; she knew his life was a series of empty slots she filled herself.

“Then, have dinner with me.” It wasn’t a request. It was a summons.

They sat in a private booth of an upscale Japanese restaurant, the silence punctuated only by the mournful notes of a wooden flute.

“I want to make things clear,” Saya began, setting her glass down.

Greg stopped mid-sip, his body tensing.

“I know what we did,” she continued, “and I won’t pretend it was nothing. But I want to set the terms.”

“Terms?” Greg asked, realizing he had no leverage left to negotiate.

“I’m not here to ruin your marriage. I’m not here to complicate your life,” Saya said, her gaze pinning him to his seat. “Our professional relationship stays the same. I will do my job, and I will respect your space. I won’t demand anything permanent.”

Greg’s fist clenched beneath the table.

“Every Thursday night,” she added. “That’s all I want. One dinner. One night where you are mine. No phone calls, no distractions. I want you fully present—just once a week.”

The weight of the demand hung in the air.

“Why, Saya?” Greg asked, his voice thick with confusion. Not long ago, he had been the shoulder she cried on regarding her ex-boyfriend. He had been her mentor, her protector. “Why this?”

“Because I’ve wanted you for years,” she replied, her voice devoid of shame. “And now that I’ve had a taste of you, I’d rather have pieces of you than none at all.”

He knew he should stand up and walk away. Every moral instinct he possessed screamed for him to reject the bargain.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Greg returned home, but the joy that usually greeted him felt like ash. He endured Gio’s hug and Mayette’s tender smile, unable to look either of them in the eye. That night, as he held Mayette in bed, he clung to her with a desperate, frantic strength.

“Hon…” he whispered into the dark. “What if we moved abroad? New Zealand?”

Mayette pulled back, startled. “Greg? Where is this coming from?”

“The offer is still there,” he lied, searching for an escape from the walls closing in on him. “I’ve turned it down because of your career, and Gio… but maybe it’s a better future for him.”

Mayette was silent for a moment, her gaze searching his face. “Is this about Selene?”

The question was a bucket of ice. Greg froze.

“Selene became successful because her parents took her away,” Mayette said softly, tucking her head back against his chest. “But Gio doesn’t need that. Do you remember the boy I fell for? The rebel who started a frat and took me on midnight runs?”

Greg forced a smile. “I don’t want him to be like me, Mayette.”

“But look at who you are now,” she replied. “A senior executive. A loving husband. A father who always comes home. Gio doesn’t need luxury, Greg. He needs your time. Our time.”

Greg swallowed hard, the bitterness of his secret burning his throat. “If… if I ever made a mistake, would you forgive me? Like before? Would you hate me?”

Mayette went still. Then she smiled, a look of profound, terrifying trust. “What are you saying, Greg? I’m not giving up on you now. Whatever happens, we face it together. I’m not going anywhere.”

The pait—the sharp ache of guilt—deepened in his chest. He wasn’t afraid of the world’s judgment; he was terrified of the moment that trust would shatter. He saw the pain in her future eyes, the confusion in his son’s.

In the silence of the night, while his family slept, Greg stared at the ceiling and accepted his fate. He would take Saya’s deal. He would use one betrayal to mask another.

If playing the villain was the only way to preserve the illusion of their perfect world, he would do it. He would allow his soul to crumble piece by piece, as long as the ruins stayed hidden from the people he loved.

Greg has officially entered a double life. Will the “Thursday Night” deal be enough to keep Saya satisfied, or will her proximity to Mayette lead to a collision Greg can’t prevent?