Page 6 of My Only (My First, My Last)

H assani

I inhaled deeply as I pushed open my glass office door, my steps heavy, the tension in my back even heavier.

Calling this morning difficult would be an understatement.

I grunted as I set my laptop bag on the desk.

Spread across it were scale models of Greene Gardens, blueprints covered in red-marked adjustments. Sketches I had barely touched.

This project was supposed to be the crown jewel of my career—the kind of work that solidified legacies.

But right now… it felt like a weight I couldn’t carry.

I dropped into my office chair, rolling my eyes closed at the mess in front of me. A second later, I pinched the inner corners of my eyes.

The buzz of work surrounded me, conversations overlapping, the clatter of keyboard strokes, the click of heels and hard-bottom shoes as people moved through the office.

Though I had a private office near Park Avenue, I worked out of Bryant Greene’s 16-story high-rise—the headquarters for the Greene Gardens Project.

I could have easily stayed at my own office, only coming here for meetings.

But I had thought it would be easier to work alongside the teams I managed.

At least, I thought that.

But after last night?

After the conversation with Ayla?

I wasn’t sure what the fuck was right anymore.

I leaned my forehead into my palm, my fingers scratching my fresh lineup. I was feeling a headache coming on.

It was too damn early for this.

Then again, last night had bled into this morning, and last night was the worst night of my life.

Through the glass walls of my office, I could see everything—architects hunched over sketches, project managers on their office phones, people moving in and out of meetings.

The Greene Gardens Project was the largest project of my career.

Since graduating college, every job I took on had felt big, until a bigger one came along.

The project before this one had been the biggest yet—a renovation of a restaurant in a Black-owned luxury hotel in Tribeca: The St. James.

It was that work—the one that challenged me the most—that got me the recommendation I needed to land Greene Gardens.

I thought this project was the best thing to ever happen to me.

The best thing to ever happen for me and my wife.

But lately?

Shit... I didn’t know anymore.

My eyes burned, and I was sure they were red—not just from lack of sleep, but from the weight of last night.

From the weight of her words.

Ayla told me she wanted a divorce.

I grunted, pressing my head against the back of my chair.

Every time I replayed her words, my chest tightened, my heart twisting in a vice-like grip.

She didn’t say it just because she was angry about me coming home late.

She meant that shit.

Every single word.

And that nasty fucking word…

Divorce .

The headache that had been threatening me all morning finally settled in, an uninvited guest sitting with me in my office, in my chair.

I rubbed my temples, trying to force myself into work mode.

Then, I heard the sound of my door pushing open.

“Good morning.”

My body went rigid as soon as I heard her voice.

My eyes dropped first to her hips as they swayed in perfect rhythm, her navy-blue pencil skirt hugging her curves as she strode toward me.

The higher my gaze traveled, the more my teeth clenched.

By the time I reached the plunging neckline of her blouse, I had to force my jaw to unclench.

Then, finally, our eyes met.

Her red-painted lips curved into a soft frown.

“Oh.” She tilted her head, her wavy brown hair slipping off her shoulder. “You look tired.”

A slow pause.

“Late night?”

Yup.

Because of her .

Harper Royce.

The first time I met her, I had known she was attracted to me.

She never made it a secret.

And at first, I hadn’t thought it was a big deal.

She was harmless.

I wasn’t blind.

She was a beautiful woman. Five-foot-nine. Flawless, warm brown skin. A body built for lingerie catalogs.

Every man in this office could see that.

And she never shied away from showing it.

With her tailored skirts, her blouses that hugged just enough, her heels that elongated her long legs.

Harper Royce was a woman who understood her feminine charm. And that charm was starting to get my ass in trouble.

“Yeah,” I replied, clearing my throat when my voice came out rougher than expected. “Definitely a late night.”

“ Aww , so sad.” She pouted as she sank into the chair across from me. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Her eyes bored into me, like always.

Sharp. Calculating.

Almond-shaped, dark brown, forever enhanced with subtle makeup and quiet seduction.

Harper was charming and very smart.

And not just book smart.

She had a calculated intelligence, the kind that could be dangerous.

I was learning that the hard way.

She was the interior designer for the Greene Gardens Project, specializing in modern, sustainable luxury interiors.

At thirty-four, Harper was a force to be reckoned with.

Highly educated. Graduated from Parsons School of Design. Well-traveled. Studied abroad in Milan.

She was good on the eyes and on paper.

But she was no Ayla.

Not by a mile.

No one was, in my eyes.

I still loved my wife. Still couldn’t keep my eyes—or hands—off her after all these years.

Before I took on this project, everything between us had been great.

Now though? Everything was not.

Harper smirked. “I would’ve thought that after you ditched me last night…” She dragged out the last few words like an invitation. “You would have gone home to get some rest.”

I scoffed a quiet laugh.

“I was a little bummed about that, Hassani,” she added, voice soft, sweet.

I forced a polite smile.

That dinner—if you could even call it that—was nothing like what I imagined. But looking back, joining Harper was probably not my brightest idea.

Just us two.

And at that hour.

Especially when I knew that by the time I got home, long after leaving dinner, I would be returning to an angry wife.

A part of me had hoped Ayla would be asleep when I got in.

She often was.

Usually, I’d find her in bed, waiting for me—our bodies molding together in the dark, my hands tracing familiar paths, my lips waking her before the sun did.

But last night… she was awake.

Waiting.

And what she said?

That shit hit different.

But what hurt even more?

Waking up alone.

I rolled onto my back, eyes still closed, body moving on autopilot, the way it always did in the morning.

Reaching over, I lifted my arm, expecting warmth. Expecting her.

Instead, I felt cold sheets.

The second my fingers met empty space, it all came back to me in a rush.

I didn’t have to open my eyes to remember. To know that Ayla hadn’t come back to bed, choosing to spend the night in the guest bedroom.

Still, I opened them anyway.

Looked, just to be sure.

And when I saw it—when I saw that she hadn’t returned to our bed after I came home, something inside me twisted.

I got up.

Didn’t hesitate.

Padded across the room.

Took the stairs down to the ground floor where the guest bedroom was.

I turned the knob, pushed the door open and stopped cold.

The bed was neatly made. The room empty.

I jerked my head back.

Glanced over my shoulder, scanning the lower level of the house.

The house I designed as a teenager and redesigned with her in mind.

The sunlight poured in through one of the many skylights she loved.

And yet, she was nowhere.

What the fuck?

I moved through the house.

Kitchen? Empty.

Backyard? Nothing.

Laundry room? Vacant.

“Where the hell is she?”

Had this been any other morning, I would’ve known.

She’d be in Manhattan, setting up her classroom for her preschoolers.

But school was out.

Summer recess had started last week.

And this wasn’t even a day she left the house.

She had always used today as a rest day after a long school year.

So where the fuck was my wife?

I reached for my phone.

Then stopped.

No.

The first time we talked couldn’t be over the phone.

Not after how things were left last night.

“You look so tense.”

Harper’s voice snapped me back to the now.

I exhaled sharply, blinking.

She scooted to the edge of her seat, smoothing her hands down the barely-there wrinkles in her pencil skirt.

Then, before I could register her next move, she stood. Rounded my desk. Approaching me.

My lips parted to say something, but then she touched me.

Hands on my shoulders.

I stiffened, instantly. Because on impact, it wasn’t just a touch. Not the casual, neutral lay of hands on a co-worker’s shoulder.

It was a caress.

Soft. Slow. Intimate.

I barely registered her fingers trailing along my shoulder blades, because my eyes shot past her to my team.

The people moving through the office.

Too caught up in their work, their conversations to notice.

Harper’s touch lingered.

Heat radiated where her fingertips brushed against me.

And it was impossible to ignore how inappropriate this was.

How invasive.

How fucking bold.

Too bold.

I grabbed her wrists, stopping her.

“I’m good.”

My voice came out clipped.

Firm.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at her over my shoulder.

“Thanks, Harper.”

Just then, my glass office door swung open, drawing my attention that way.

Our landscape architect, Levi Weston, stood at the threshold.

His eyes bounced between me and Harper.

Between her standing over me. Between my hands still holding hers.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, he cleared his throat.

I instantly released Harper’s hands.

“I apologize if I’m interrupting anything .”

“Don’t apologize,” I said quickly, sitting up straight. “You’re not interrupting anything at all . What’s up?”

Levi’s gaze shifted to Harper again before forcing a tight smile her way.

Then, he refocused on me.

“Here’s the final site plan for the community park layout,” he said, stepping forward and placing a folder on my desk. “I wanted you to review it before we finalize it with Bryant.”

“Cool.” I nodded stiffly, reaching for the folder and lifting my attention to him. “I got you. I’ll have this back to you within the hour.”

This looked so bad.

I knew it looked bad.

Even if I couldn’t quite tell how Levi had interpreted what he had just walked in on.

“Cool,” Levi said, giving me a casual salute before shooting a glance behind me. “Harper.”

“Levi,” she replied, sharp and short.

Levi exhaled a scoffing laugh before exiting my office.

Behind me, Harper finally stepped away from my chair.

“Definitely get some rest when you make it home, tonight.” She smirked, gesturing toward the door. “I should get back to work. The designs aren’t going to design themselves, right?”

My tongue felt heavy in my mouth as I watched her move toward my office door.

Then she paused, turned, and smiled.

“Plus,” she added, her voice light, almost playful, “I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. You know how our people like to talk.”

She said it so sweetly, so innocently, that someone unaware wouldn’t have picked up on the subtext.

Wouldn’t have picked up on the subtle amusement in her tone. Like she was playing some kind of game.

Before stepping out, she added, “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I tracked her with my eyes through the glass walls of my office as she exited, heading toward her own.

My heart was hammering at that point.

My pulse sped up as unease settled over me.

I’d dealt with women throwing themselves at me before.

Had many conversations with my father about being careful, because not all attention was good attention.

Over the years, those talks had evolved. Became more direct.

Especially before I exchanged vows with Ayla in Jamaica six years ago.

His words echoed in the corners of my mind in that moment, numbing me.

Making it impossible to focus on anything else.

“Any woman who would want to ruin your marriage is a woman who wants to ruin your peace.”

Harper had always been flirtatious.

I used to brush it off.

Office banter.

Nothing serious.

But lately?

I was starting to wonder if I had been willfully blind.

I had assumed Harper’s flirting was innocent, like every other woman in my past. But now, I wasn’t so sure.

This felt deliberate.

And with Levi walking in, seeing what happened… I hoped it wouldn’t become office gossip.

Levi wasn’t the type to stir shit up, but still, I was concerned.

I shook my head, inhaling a deep breath, then forcing the thoughts away on my exhale.

Then, I flipped open the folder Levi had brought me and forced myself into work.

But deep down, I knew.

This?

What just happened?

It couldn’t happen again.

Not after last night.

Not if I wanted to fix what was already breaking.