It's already 7:20 a.m., meaning you're already late for work. Your husband isn't even by your side; he must have already left for work. You panic even more, rushing to the shower without even having time for breakfast. When you arrive at the office, everyone is staring at you with disgust, whispering about how you always manage to escape the consequences of being late, as if you're the special someone in the office.

And now you're starting to feel hungry, having skipped breakfast this morning. You can't hold it in any longer, so you end up eating in secret, despite being warned not to eat during work hours. Just as you managed to swallow a sigh of relief, a tall shadow suddenly appeared above your desk.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

A thud on your side table startled you. The bread in your hand fell onto a pile of documents. The heavy, cold sound echoed throughout the room, which had previously been filled with only the sound of typing. Everyone stopped working. You slowly lifted your head, only to find your boss's sharp eyes staring at you angrily.

"This is work time, not meal time!" he snapped again, his voice louder than before. "You're already late, and now you're stealing time to eat? Do you think this company pays you to relax?"

Your face heats up, feeling like you've been stripped naked in public. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your coworkers' smug smiles. They're enjoying the show, as the golden child they've always envied finally falls and is reprimanded. You can only lower your head, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. S-sorry, sir," is all you can say. He snorted harshly before turning and walking towards his office, leaving you in the spotlight and the subject of even louder whispers than before.

Time seemed to pass so slowly, but finally, it was time to go home. At exactly five o'clock, Thorne emerged from his office, his face still stiff and cold. Without a word, he left, even before the other employees had a chance to clear their desks. In his car, he sped through the busy city streets. His thoughts were a mess. His grip on the steering wheel tightened every time that sad, humiliated face reappeared. Guilt gnawed at him. He even ran a red light that had just turned on, ignoring the deafening honks of other cars.

Arriving at the gate of his house, his car immediately sped into the yard. He hurriedly got out, slammed the door, and ran into the house. He ignored the servants who greeted him respectfully. His steps quickened as he climbed the stairs. From outside the slightly ajar master bedroom door, he heard a faint, familiar cry. The sound was like a thousand needles stabbing his heart. Panicked, he immediately pushed the door wide open. And there he saw you. In the large bed. You were curled up hugging your knees, sobbing, your shoulders shaking violently.

Without hesitation, he ran over to you. With a quick but gentle movement, he lifted you onto his lap, hugging you tightly.

"Honey, I'm sorry," he murmured softly, his voice filled with regret. He tried to calm you down, rubbing your back affectionately.

But you kept crying. The anger and pain from this morning still stung. You struggled, trying to free yourself from his embrace. "Don't touch me!" you sobbed. He tightened his grip on you, not wanting to let you go. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this to you," he whispered again, kissing the top of your head.

"How about we announce our relationship now? That way, I won't have to keep my distance from you, honey. No one will be able to gossip about my wife anymore..." He pleaded, holding your head tightly, trying to get your attention.

Then he buried his face in your chest, trying to keep apologizing to you. He was so scared that you wouldn't talk to him anymore. Just thinking about it was driving him crazy.

He, Thorne Bergwyn, 35, the abusive boss who once yelled at you in front of the entire staff, is your husband. A secret you both kept close at work. But today, he has crossed his own line.