Dirty Little Secret

5. Tessa

tessa

. . .

A Day Later

As I turn the corner onto 96th, the leaves crunch under my boots, a crisp symphony accompanying my jumbled thoughts. The conversation with Kelly at the coffee shop keeps replaying in my head—her eyes sparkling as she showed off the diamond that now comfortably sits on her left hand.

And then there was Magnus’s reaction when I told him the news: a simple nod and a half smile, nothing more. Does he ever think about us, about a future filled with love, milestones, and babies to bundle on cold winter nights? Or are we just treading water, comfortable in our companionship but never diving deeper?

I reach our apartment and pause at the door, taking a deep breath before turning the key. The smell of Magnus's cologne greets me—that familiar, comforting blend of cedarwood and spice. As I step inside, I see him in the kitchen, his back turned to me, humming softly as he stirs something on the stove.

"Magnus," I say softly, not wanting to startle him.

Magnus turns around, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey, you're back. How was shopping?" He wipes his hands on a dish towel and walks over to give me a quick peck on the lips.

"It was fine," I reply as I drop my bags by the door. “I wanted to buy something special for Kelly and Jon.”

Magnus nods, his expression unreadable for a moment before returning to the stove. "That's great news for her," he says, stirring whatever’s in the pot more vigorously now.

"Yeah," I agree absentmindedly, setting my purse on the breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen.

Does Magnus ever think about marriage? About us in the long term? We've skirted around deep conversations, basking in the comfort of what is easy and light. But Kelly’s sparkling diamond feels like a beacon illuminating all that remains unspoken between us.

It may be time Magnus and I had a real conversation. About expectations. Hopes. Perhaps fears, too. But am I ready for his answers? What if it’s not what I want to hear?

“Sweetheart, I’m going to run the store and grab some fresh linguine. Can you mind the stove? I want everything to be perfect for dinner.” Magnus checks the pan once more before covering it with a lid.

“I’ll go. It’ll be quicker if you stay here and finish up.” I dart out of the kitchen and head toward the door, eager to remove myself from the situation before I say something I’ll regret. As much as I want to move forward, it needs to come from him, or I’ll always believe I bullied him into it. I need to think clearly and stop allowing Kelly’s engagement to affect me.

We’ve been together less than a year and there’s no reason I should expect marriage so soon—especially since we’ve never truly defined what we are or hope to be.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing at the curb, clutching my bag, when a sleek black limo glides to a halt beside me. The deep-tinted windows create a mirror of my startled reflection, lips parted, and brows furrowed in confusion. A well-dressed chauffeur steps out, his movements swift and practiced as he rounds the vehicle to open the passenger door. My heart skips a beat, half-expecting it might be Magnus inside. How did he get down here so fast?

"You are Miss Tessa Mills?" the chauffeur asks, his voice polite but firm.

"Yes," I reply hesitantly, wrapping my cardigan tighter around me.

"The gentleman inside would like to have a word with you," he says, motioning toward the open door.

Curiosity prickles at my skin as I step closer, peering into the dimly lit interior. Instead of Magnus’s familiar and comforting eyes, I meet the stern gaze of a strange man, perhaps in his late thirties, with impeccably groomed black hair and an expression that does not invite a smile.

"Tessa Mills," the man begins as he steps out of the car, his voice smooth like aged whiskey, “I’m Richard Collins. I believe you know my brother, Magnus."

A hundred questions whirl through my mind. Why would Magnus's brother want to talk to me? He’s never even mentioned a brother to me.

I nod slowly, confusion knitting my brows together. “Yes… Can I help you? Have we met?”

The man nods slightly, as if ticking off a checkbox in his mind before continuing. "My brother speaks very highly of you and your talents."

“Talents?” My abject horror makes it difficult to read between the lines. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t be so shy. My brother has told me all about the things you do for him. I’ll admit some of the stories he’s recounted have made me incredibly jealous. If you ever find yourself in Chicago, I can offer you as much money as Magnus.”

Heat flushes my cheeks as Richard's crude words slice through the evening air. I step back, putting space between his leering gaze and my rapidly beating heart.

Richard laughs, a sound that grates against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh, come now, Tessa. We both know Magnus isn't serious about you. Why not have some fun while you can?"

Anger flares up inside me, bright and hot against the chill of his insinuations. Yet beneath that anger, fear begins to coil tightly—fear of what Magnus might have said about me, and of Richard’s intentions.

"I'm not interested," I spit out and try to walk around him.

Richard steps closer, his presence looming like a storm cloud ready to burst. "You might not be interested now, but give it time. Magnus is careless with his toys. I’m not."

I feel nauseated by his analogy but manage to hide any sign of weakness behind a veil of indignation. "I am no one's toy," I assert firmly.

"Of course, you aren’t," he concedes with a tilt of his head, his tone dripping sarcasm as he steps back and gives me room to breathe. "Just think about what I said, Tessa. A smart girl like you should explore all her… options."

With that last insult, Richard turns and returns to the limo, leaving me alone in the chilling silence with the echo of his words hanging in the air. My heart thunders as I watch his car disappear into the night.

Shaken, I hurry home, my mind racing. The warmth of the apartment does little to soothe my rattled nerves as I lock the door behind me and lean against it for support.

Magnus is nothing like his brother. He can’t be.

"Tessa, what happened?" Magnus asks, his expression shifting rapidly from surprise to concern upon seeing my distraught state.

It takes everything I have not to fall apart on the threshold. But I need answers more than comfort right now.

"We need to talk,” I say, firmly. “Magnus Larsen, tell me the truth. Am I just your whore?”