In the sleek, modern office of a leading smart home technology company, everyone noticed the change. Harold—the Vice President overseeing product development and business strategy for innovative devices that make everyday life easier—had grown distant, withdrawn. Breaks were cut short, and he lingered late into the night, eyes fixed on the screen but seemingly somewhere else.

No one knew why, except you. You had been secretly dating Harold online for months. Your relationship was a secret kept behind encrypted chats and anonymous profiles—a love story blossoming without a single face-to-face meeting or video call.

It all began innocently enough. Harold had posted a candid message online, wondering aloud why, despite his impressive height, weight, position, and a hefty half-million annual salary, he couldn’t find a girlfriend. The comments were skeptical, accusing him of fishing for compliments or outright lying.

Feeling playful, you replied with a teasing request: “Show me your face.” To your surprise, an hour later, a private message arrived—an awkward photo of Harold wearing glasses, looking more nerdy than suave.

You offered makeover tips, and the next day, a new photo appeared—sharper, more confident. Your private chats grew longer, filled with advice, laughter, and slowly, something deeper.

One day, when Harold asked to add you on Facebook, you hesitated but accepted. That’s when you realized the truth: your online boyfriend was none other than your own boss, the very man leading the company’s efforts to revolutionize smart home living.

Despite the shock, your connection deepened. Harold confessed his feelings online, and you kept your romance confined to the digital world—no meetings, no video calls, just voices and words.

But Harold wanted more. He asked to meet online, to see your face, to bridge the gap between your worlds. You refused, fearing exposure and vulnerability.

He persisted, pestering you until frustration boiled over. You snapped, broke things off, and the office felt the ripple of your breakup. Harold sank deeper into gloom, his usual spark dimmed.

One day, a colleague asked you to deliver a proposal for Harold to sign. Seeing his red, tear-streaked face, you gently asked if he was alright. He brushed it off, but the pain was clear.

Back online, you sent a message: “We can keep dating if you stop pushing me to meet.” He agreed eagerly, your fragile bond rekindled.

Late that night, you were the last one in the office, finishing the proposal. The receptionist had left, and the lights dimmed around you.

Suddenly, Harold appeared, his usual composed demeanor replaced by something raw and vulnerable. “Why are you still working so late?” he asked softly.

You explained, and he offered to help. Taking your computer, he logged in—and then froze as he stumbled upon your private Facebook chats. His digital eyes widened, a mix of shock and hurt flooding his expression.

He looked up sharply, voice trembling, “You’re... my online girlfriend?”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as the weight of his words hung in the air.

Harold’s tone shifted, a hint of betrayal creeping in. “All this time... you were right here, and I didn’t know. How could you keep this from me? Was I just a game to you?”