Keep The Assistant And My Car

One minute, Vicky was posting a glowing tribute to me on Instagram. The next, she was quietly driving my custom-ordered, limited-edition hypercar right off the dealership lot.

An hour later, her male assistant posted a photo from the drivers seat to his Story.

Caption: Blessed to have a female boss who takes such good care of her team. The wind just hits different today.

She knew I lived and breathed cars. It was an obsession. Yet she had the nerve to take mine behind my back and hand the keys to him.

That night, I had my team transport every single vintage and top-tier sports car from my private garage, lining them up perfectly in the driveway.

I told her she could pick whichever one she wanted to give away next.

And then, I made a call to my father in New York. I told him Id accept the arranged date with the heiress of the citys biggest real estate dynasty.

I had the looks, the money, and the pedigree. There was absolutely no reason to waste another second of my life on someone who no longer loved me.

Dusk was settling over Seattle as I stood on the balcony of our waterfront estate.

A deep, arrogant roar of an engine shattered the quiet of the neighborhood. A matte-black-and-gold hypercar pulled up to our driveway.

Spencer walked around the aerodynamic hood, his steps light, and opened the passenger door with exaggerated gentleness.

A silver stiletto stepped out onto the pavement.

Vicky emerged, looking immaculate in a tailored white power suit, her fingers gripping a white Birkin. But it wasnt her outfit that caught my attention. It was her eyes. They were locked onto Spencerthe man who had just opened her doorand there was a predatory, lingering warmth in her gaze that I hadnt seen directed at me in years.

They exchanged a few words, and a radiant, unguarded smile broke across her face.

My phone buzzed. A notification from Twitter. Spencer had just tweeted a photo.

It was a shot taken from the passenger seatthe "girlfriend POV." Long, artistic fingers resting casually on the steering wheel, his jawline angled perfectly, a smirk playing on his lips.

Driving the boss home in the car she gifted me. Life is sweet.

In that single, crystalline moment, the floor dropped out from under me.

When the dealership had texted me earlier that afternoon, I genuinely thought Vicky was trying to surprise me. I had spent three hours in my walk-in closet, meticulously picking out an outfit for our celebratory dinner. I had waited, starving and excited, until I opened my phone and saw Spencers posts.

At first, I tried to rationalize it. Maybe Spencer was just posing for clout. Maybe Vicky didn't know.

But seeing that tweet confirmed it.

She had actually taken the car I had been anticipating for over six months, bypassed me entirely, and gifted it to another man.

I walked down the stairs and stepped out the front door, stopping right in front of her.

Spencer immediately took two long strides forward, physically placing himself between Vicky and me.

"Good evening, Mr. Sterling," he said, his tone dripping with fake politeness. "Vicky and I just grabbed a bite to eat after closing a deal. Were a little late. Please dont be mad at her."

I looked at him, the coldness behind my eyes sharpening into something lethal. It was almost laughable. Who the hell did he think he was, telling me how to treat my own girlfriend?

"I havent said a word yet, but youre awfully quick to play the white knight," I said, my voice dangerously even.

Spencers eyes flickered, the color draining slightly from his perfectly manicured face.

I let a slow, mocking smile touch my lips. "Hows the handling on the car? Smooth?"

We were all adults here. We all knew how the game was played. A three-million-dollar hypercar wasn't something a marketing director with no trust fund like Vicky could just buy on a whim. If Spencer had the audacity to accept it, he absolutely knew who paid for it.

Spencer let out a stiff, barely audible, "Yeah."

Vicky stepped around him, putting herself in front of him, and lightly tugged at my sleeve.

"Come on, Clark," she murmured, her tone placating. "Spencer drives me to and from work every single day. I just remembered you had that car coming in, so I picked it up for him as a bonus. You have a whole fleet of sports cars. You cant possibly care about one little car, right?"

I slipped my hands into my pockets. The corners of my mouth curled up, but my eyes remained dead.

"No. I do care."

"I waited over half a year for that car. No one touches it. Not even you, Vicky."

She recoiled, clearly not expecting me to strip away the polite veneer so abruptly. Her face darkened.

The driveway went dead silent.

Spencer pressed his lips together, saying nothing. As a man, he knew exactly why the air had turned toxic. There isn't a man alive who can stomach watching the woman he loves take his money to buy lavish gifts for another guy. Even if she justified it as an "investment in her assistant."

"Mr. Sterling, this is on me. I shouldn't have accepted the bonus from Vicky," Spencer said, playing the martyr flawlessly. "Ill go to the DMV tomorrow, cancel the registration, and return it to the dealership."

Listen to him. Crafting the narrative to make me look like a petty tyrant.

"Spencer, was it? Its just a car. I can afford to lose it," I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying the effortless weight of generational wealth. "Ive got a dozen supercars in the garage right now. Go ahead. Pick one. Consider it a gift from me."

He looked up, genuine shock breaking through his composed mask.

I stared him down, letting the silence crush him.

"Vicky and I have been together for nine years. Shes used to this kind of money, so she doesn't think handing over a hypercar is a big deal," I continued, my words slow and deliberate. "But as an assistant, you need to learn your place. You need to know what you are allowed to accept, and what you are not."

Spencer took a step back, totally outmaneuvered. He stammered out an apology.

"Youre right, Mr. Sterling. Its my fault. Please, dont blame Vic."

Vic?

Since when were they on a first-name nickname basis?

Vicky stepped into her stilettos, shielding Spencer entirely with her body, and wrapped her arms around my waist.

She dug into her Birkin and pulled out a bottle of cologne, flashing me a sickeningly sweet, coaxing smile.

"Okay, Your Highness," she teased. "I bought you that limited-edition cologne you used to look at. Don't be mad anymore, okay?"

I stared down at the glass bottle in her hands, and the weight of the last nine years pressed heavy on my chest.

Vicky and I had been together since our freshman year of college. Back then, she was the untouchable ice queen of the campus. Guys lined up to humiliate themselves for her attention, but she rejected them all, choosing to stand by my side.

I remember nights tangled in the sheets, her whispering fiercely against my collarbone that I was the only man she would ever love. That I was her lifeline.

But looking at her now, the fracture was undeniable.

In her eyes, I had just seen genuine admirationand a fierce, protective instinctdirected at another man. I had seen her laugh for him in a way she hadn't for me in months.

And the cologne in her hand? It was a brand I had stopped wearing four years ago.

Her voice, a mix of scolding and sweet-talking, pulled me out of my memories.

"I know youre only acting like this because you love me and youre jealous," she said smoothly. "But to anyone else, it just looks like youre bullying a junior employee."

Bullying. He wasn't even worth the effort of bullying.

I narrowed my eyes and turned toward the front door.

"The way Spencer looks at you isnt the way an employee looks at a boss," I said coldly, pausing on the steps. "Youre a marketing director. Your entire career is built on reading people. Youre telling me you don't see it?"

"You gifted a multi-million-dollar car to a man who is clearly obsessed with you. Vicky..."

She frowned, her tone taking on a defensive, dramatic edge.

"Oh, stop it! There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Spencer. Not now, not ever."

I studied her face. I let the silence stretch out before I nodded, accepting her hollow reassurance for the night.

I had loved this woman for nearly a decade. We had built a life together. Throwing a massive tantrum over a mildly attractive assistant felt beneath me. I had made my point, and I was getting my car back.

There was no point in burning the house down tonight.

Especially since I didnt have hard proof of their emotional affair. Yet.

Vicky grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs toward our master bathroom, her eyes slightly red, playing the part of the devoted, distressed girlfriend perfectly.

"The housekeeper is off today. Why dont you take a shower, and Ill go downstairs and sear you a steak?" she offered softly.

I nodded, watching her walk away. I turned to my dresser to grab some fresh clothes and pulled open my underwear drawer.

I froze.

"Oh, by the way!" Vicky called out from the hallway. "The housekeeper said your boxers were getting a little worn out, so she threw the old ones away. Just grab a fresh pair from the bottom row."

I bent down and slid the bottom drawer open.

I am incredibly particular about my things. My housekeeper knows I have a strict organizational system; everything must be perfectly aligned. She checks it meticulously every day.

But right in the middle of the drawer, a brand-new box of my imported silk boxers was missing.

A memory hit me like a physical blow.

Two days ago, Spencer had posted one of those curated, "aesthetic lifestyle" photo dumps on Instagram. In the third slide, sitting casually on his coffee table next to an espresso, was a brand-new box of that exact, hyper-specific brand of luxury underwear.

A suffocating, white-hot rage hijacked my nervous system.

Vicky took my underwear from our home and gave it to her assistant?

I didn't want to admit it, but in that moment, I was consumed by a visceral, humiliating jealousy. In nine years, I had never felt this kind of blinding fury over another man.

I wanted to storm down the stairs, corner her in the kitchen, and scream at her. Did she have any idea what it meant for a woman to buy a man underwear?

I gripped the edge of the marble counter, fighting to regulate my breathing. Just as I managed to unclench my jaw, the bathroom door swung open. Vicky walked in, her heels clicking against the tile.

"Clark, Spencer just brought the car back to the dealership. But the title transfer requires me to be there in person," she said briskly, already checking her reflection in the mirror. "Youll have to figure out dinner yourself."

The embers of my anger instantly flared back into a roaring fire.

"It cant wait until tomorrow?" I demanded. "You have to leave the house now, in the middle of the night?"

Vicky paused, her brow furrowing as if I were the one being unreasonable.

"Youre the one who loves this car so much. Im rushing to get the paperwork done for you."

The heat in my chest instantly vanished, replaced by an expansive, hollow ice.

"You took my car without my permission," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I merely reclaimed what was already mine."

"Its late. Its dark. You can go tomorrow."

She let out a long, heavy sigh, looking at me with undisguised disappointment.

"You publicly humiliated Spencer by forcing him to return my gift. Now youve got him waiting around at the dealership wasting his night."

"Clark, you cant just think about yourself all the time."

"When you act like this, its like I dont even know you."

I stared at her. The absurdity of her words echoed in the tiled room.

Im thinking about myself?

Im the stranger?

"Do you hear yourself right now, Vicky?" I asked quietly.

A flash of impatience crossed her face, but she forced her tone into a patronizing patience.

"Maybe I phrased that harshly. But you need to understandSpencer is the only man at the company right now who can actually carry the weight of this workload with me. You stripped him of his dignity tonight. I cant just abandon him there."

When I didn't respond, she sighed again, a deeply tired sound.

"Clark, you come from old money. Your family has everything. You don't get what its like for normal people like me."

"If I want a future with you, I have to be ruthless. I have to build an empire. Sure, you can throw a childish tantrum tonight and demand I stay home. But if I alienate the one partner who is in the trenches fighting beside me... thats a cost Im not willing to pay."

A ringing sound filled my ears.

The one partner in the trenches with her.

So that was it. Deep down, Vicky had always felt our backgrounds made us incompatible. And now, she saw Spencer as her true equal. Her comrade in arms.

I see.

The last thread holding my heart together snapped.

"Go," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion.

Without a single second of hesitation, she turned on her heel and walked out.

The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving nothing behind but the fading scent of her gardenia perfume.

There was a time when I admired Vickys cold, calculating rationality above all else. And she used to say she loved my innate pride, the unyielding backbone I was born with.

But everything had rotted.

I looked up at the ceiling and let out a long, shuddering breath. When a womans heart leaves the room, there is no point in blocking the door.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a New York area code.

"Dad," I said when the line clicked. "Tell the heiress Ill take the meeting."

Five years ago, after graduation, my father demanded I return to Manhattan to take over the familys investment firm. I refused to leave Vicky behind, so I stayed in Seattle.

For five years, I stripped away the "trust fund kid" label and built something from the ground up. Whatever Vicky wanted to do, I backed her financially and emotionally. We stumbled, we bled, and eventually, we built the largest apparel conglomerate in the Pacific Northwest.

We were pulling in over a billion dollars in annual revenue. And my reward was her telling me we weren't "in the trenches" together.

Leaving all this behind to go back to New York... it stung. But I was done.

My screen lit up. A text from Vicky.

The title is transferred. Car is at the dealership. Spencer and I are heading back to the office to pull an all-nighter. Wont be home.

I lay down on our king-sized bed in the dark, my eyes wide open until the sun came up.

The next morning, I walked into the executive suite with a hollow stomach.

To my surprise, there was a takeout bag from a luxury bakery sitting on my desk.

Spencer and I are meeting a few distributors. Well grab lunch out. V

The handwriting on the sticky note was Vickys.

But inside the bag was a trendy matcha chia pudding. The one thing in the world I absolutely despised eating.

It was painfully obvious she hadn't bought this for me.

I handed the bag to my assistant and asked him to run down and get me a black coffee and a plain bagel.

A rotting relationship is exactly like food you hate. Theres no point in forcing yourself to swallow it.

By 1:00 PM, I had cleared my inbox. There was no sign of Vicky.

My assistant knocked and walked in, casually mentioning, "Hey boss, looks like Vic and her assistant are out at that new oyster bar on the pier. What do you want me to order you for lunch?"

I paused, my pen hovering over a document. I frowned.

"Where did you see that?"

He waved his phone at me, looking slightly awkward. "Instagram. Spencer posted a story thanking Vic for treating him to a seafood feast."

I leaned back, pulled a cigarette from my desk drawer, lit it, and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

Any lingering guilt I felt about drunkenly agreeing to the arranged date last night evaporated completely.

At 3:00 PM, Vicky pushed open my office door, her heels sinking into the plush carpet.

Spencer trailed right behind her like a shadow.

"Clark, Im so sorry. The meetings ran long so we couldn't make it back. We just grabbed a quick bite. Did you eat?" she asked, dropping a stack of files on my desk.

I barely glanced at her, offering a monotone, "Yeah."

She pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, rubbing her temples.

"Clark, I don't know how the rumor about the sports car leaked, but the whole office is gossiping about Spencer. Considering we just locked in three massive contracts today, do you think you could step up and make an executive statement to clear his name?"

My hand, which was about to sign a ledger, froze. I slowly raised my eyes.

"You gave him a car. He accepted it. And you want methe bystander whose car was stolento clean up the mess?"

Vickys beautiful, icy features twisted into a scowl.

"Clark, youre the CEO. It would literally take you one sentence to shut this down."

I leaned back in my leather chair and let out a dark, abrasive laugh.

"You want me to abuse my corporate authority to forcibly silence the staff?"

"A boss buys her assistant a hypercar. You think people aren't going to talk? If he has the audacity to take it, and the ego to brag about it on social media, he should have the spine to handle the fallout."

Look at her. Going to war to protect him.

And demanding that I swallow my pride to protect him with her.

Nine years, Vicky. Do you even have a soul left?

Spencer stepped forward, interrupting my thoughts.

"Its okay, Vic. A few rumors won't break me," he said softly, playing the wounded soldier. "Mr. Sterling is incredibly busy. We shouldn't bother him with trivial matters."

Vicky shot out of her chair, her brow furrowed in fierce defense. "How is this trivial? You travel with me constantly. You work yourself to the bone. I will not let these people drag your name through the mud!"

I slammed the leather portfolio onto the desk. The sharp crack made them both jump.

"First of all," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal quiet. "If theres nothing going on, theres nothing to hide. If you were strictly professional, Vicky, and you wanted to reward him for generating unprecedented revenue, a car is fine."

"But the reality is, the margins on those contracts don't come close to justifying a three-million-dollar bonus."

"I don't care if you genuinely miscalculated his value to the firm, or if your heart just bleeds for him because he drives you around. This company pays him a highly competitive salary. If he wants a raise, he can formally request one. What you don't do is steal my property to compensate him under the table."

"This is a mess of your own making. Do not expect me to use my title to shield either of you."

The room fell dead silent.

Spencer recovered faster than Vicky. He bowed his head, his voice trembling with perfectly calibrated remorse.

"I am so sorry, Clark. I was careless. Ill handle the rumors myself. Please, don't be angry with Vic."

Vic.

Overnight, he had dropped the professional title entirely.

The boundaries were already gone.

Vicky slammed her hand onto my desk, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Fine. Well handle it ourselves. We don't need you."

She grabbed Spencer by the wrist, yanked my office door open, and stormed out without looking back.

Right before 5:00 PM, an automated notification popped up on my screen. A joint business trip approval request for Vicky and Spencer.

I clicked Approve.

That night, I met up with Cole, my business partner and oldest friend, at a dimly lit speakeasy downtown.

Over bourbon, he told me I should have cut her loose months ago.

"You poured nine years of your life into her, man. You gave her the world, and she treats it like a burden," Cole said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Deep down, she resents you. She knows no matter how hard she grinds, shell never touch a fraction of your familys wealth. And her pride won't let her just enjoy it. Its a classic complex."

I downed my drink, letting the burn slide down my throat. I didn't say anything.

Cole was wrong. When two people truly belong to each other, love isn't a burden. Its only when the love dies that people start calculating the math.

Whatever. She wasn't mine anymore.

"So, when is this dinner with the New York heiress?" Cole asked, leaning forward. "Youre seriously leaving Seattle?"

"Next week," I said quietly. "Ill transfer my voting rights to you, and then Im gone."

Vicky and I had built this apparel empire together. We split the equity fifty-fifty.

If I was cutting the cord, I needed everything legally severed.

I spent the entire next week locked in meetings with corporate lawyers, finalizing the transfer.

Since our fight in my office, Vicky had blocked my number and my socials.

But Spencers Instagram was public.

Every single day, he posted a breadcrumb trail of their life together.

A photo of the two of them watching the sunset on a beach after a client dinner.

A shot of room service breakfast for two.

A 3:00 AM photo of two iced Americanos on a desk, captioned about the grind.

At first, a dull ache throbbed in my chest. But as the days passed, it hardened into total numbness.

Until Thursday, when my assistant walked into my office, looking like he was about to be sick. He slid an iPad across my desk.

"Boss... the algorithm pushed this to my feed. I think you need to see it."

I stared at the screen for a long time.

It was Spencers latest post. A dimly lit photo of Vicky, fast asleep, her head resting intimately on a mans chest. His chest.

I scrolled to the comments.

[Omg! From unrequited love to official boyfriend! Congrats!]

[Ive been following your sad boy aesthetic for four years, Im so glad you guys finally made it official!]

[Proof that if you wait long enough, you get the girl!]

I felt absolutely nothing. No anger, no grief. Just the hollow click of a lock snapping shut.

I handed the iPad back, a faint, indifferent smile on my face.

"Send out a company-wide memo. Mandatory all-hands meeting at 3:00 PM."

This pathetic, suffocating love triangle was over.

At exactly 3:00 PM, Cole and I walked into the main glass-walled conference room.

"Effective immediately, I am stepping down as CEO," I announced to the packed room. "Full operational control of the company will be transferred to Cole and Vicky."

The room erupted into gasps and chaotic murmurs.

I didn't offer an explanation. I stepped off the podium and walked out.

The next morning, a luxury real estate broker came by to photograph the house.

I sat in the back of my town car, watching the Seattle skyline blur as we headed to Sea-Tac airport.

The terminal was a sea of people. I was dragging my carry-on toward the TSA PreCheck line when I heard the frantic clicking of heels.

Vicky and Spencer had rushed straight from their flight.

Across the sea of travelers, our eyes met.

I had already asked my lawyer to text her a formal breakup message yesterday.

I didn't break my stride. I didn't even look at them as I went to walk past.

But Vicky lunged forward, grabbing my forearm in a vice grip. "Clark, what the hell kind of tantrum is this?" she demanded, her voice tight.

I looked down at her hand, my brow furrowing in disgust.

"Let go. Youre dirty."

She didn't let go. Instead, her grip tightened, and her voice took on a pleading, desperate edge. "I know youre mad. Ill apologize, okay? Im sorry. But Spencer and I haven't done anything wrong! Youre selling your shares, youre breaking up with me over a text..."

The intercom chimed, announcing the final boarding call for my flight to JFK.

I had zero interest in dragging this out. I pulled out my phone, opened Instagram, and shoved Spencers account directly in her face.

"The evidence is right here. Did you really need me to drag all your filthy secrets into the light before youd let me leave in peace?"

She stared at the screen. Her lips parted, all the color draining from her face. Absolute, unadulterated shock.

I didn't care if it was real or an act. I shoved my phone in my pocket and pushed past her.

Behind me, the illusion shattered. Vicky spun around, her voice echoing violently across the terminal.

"What the fuck is this?! When was I ever in bed with you?!"