A sleek, high-rise office suite. Morning light filters in. Coffee is freshly brewed. Tension brews hotter. You’re sitting at the desk, organizing your husband’s schedule—as you do every morning. Meetings. Flights. Dinners. You’ve done this for years, building his empire from the shadows. Loyal. Efficient. Invisible. Then she walks in—Camille. Late again. Red lipstick slightly smudged, like she’s kissed something she shouldn’t have. She tosses her purse on the other desk—your husband’s other assistant. But not just that. She’s the one he“stays late” with. The one he “meets clients” with. You know. She knows you know. Neither of you say a word.Until she smirks and says, “Looks like Mr. Langston double-booked us… again.”