Angela leaned against the train's window, her breath slowing to match the gentle rhythm of the ride. She wasn't late—she'd checked the time twice before leaving—but this was still later than usual for her. And for once, she didn't care. There was something electric humming under her skin this morning, a rare energy that had jolted her awake before dawn.

Somewhere between brushing her teeth and flipping through her closet, she'd decided she wasn't ready to rush into the same routine. She needed to move, to do something, and that's how she'd ended up in Central Park in her worn-out sneakers, laces double-knotted like a rookie. The original plan had been ambitious: a brisk morning run, just like the fit people in movies always seemed to manage. Reality? Well, that turned into a walk faster than she cared to admit, complete with a side stitch and two near-collisions with squirrels. But the air had been crisp, the colors vibrant, and the leaves underfoot crunched in a way that made her grin like a kid. By the time she headed back to her apartment to change, she felt alive—like the city had lent her some of its unrelenting pulse.

Angela smiled to herself, the train car rocking gently as it approached her stop. She wasn't just ready to face the day; she was practically glowing with it.

The office was quieter than usual as Angela stepped inside, the slight chill of autumn still lingering on her skin. Bonnie's desk was empty—likely a coffee run, Angela mused—and the usual hum of early-morning activity hadn't quite picked up yet. She rounded the corner toward her office, her mind still replaying the morning's walk through the park, when she spotted Samantha.

Samantha stood frozen in front of Angela's door, one hand raised midair, poised to knock. Her brows furrowed slightly, a look of confusion crossing her face as she turned sharply on her heels at the sound of Angela's cheerful, "Good morning, Samantha."

For a beat, Samantha just stared, her hand slowly falling to her side. "Angela," she said, her voice measured but tinged with disbelief. She glanced down at her watch, as though questioning what time it actually was. "Good morning. Sorry, I, uh… I thought you'd already be inside."

Angela's smile widened as she stepped past her, unlocking the door. "Nope, just getting in," she said brightly, holding the door open and motioning for Samantha to follow. Samantha did, cautiously, watching as Angela breezed toward her desk like someone walking on air.

"What's up?" Angela asked, settling into her chair with effortless ease.

Samantha blinked, silently repeating the question in her mind, dissecting it. What's up? That chipper, sunny tone—it didn't fit. Angela wasn't unpleasant, of course, but this level of exuberance? It was disorienting.

"You seem… happy this morning," Samantha said carefully, her words as much a question as they were an observation.

Angela's laugh was soft and easy, her eyes bright as she looked at Samantha. "I am," she admitted. "I woke up with so much energy—felt like I'd slept for a week. Decided to go for a run in the park to burn some of it off."

Samantha raised an eyebrow, her shock evident. "You? A… run?"

Angela laughed again, the sound self-deprecating but light. "Well, you didn't let me finish. It started as a run. It turned into more of a brisk walk," she said, waving her hand dismissively and laughing at herself. "But it was wonderful. The weather, the trees—the park is beautiful this time of year. Just… felt good, you know?"

Samantha nodded, though she couldn't quite shake the surreal nature of the moment. "Right," she said, clearing her throat. "Uh, I just wanted to drop off the Henderson campaign for you to sign off on."

"Perfect, I'll take a look," Angela said warmly, the smile never leaving her face.

Samantha placed the folder on Angela's desk, lingering for just a second longer, trying to make sense of the shift she couldn't name. "Thank you, Samantha," Angela added as she glanced at the folder, effectively ending the conversation. Samantha nodded mutely and excused herself, closing the door behind her.

As Samantha walked back toward the main reception area, her thoughts spun in circles. First her dad, now Angela. Distracted, wistful, oddly upbeat. Something clicked in her brain like the final piece of a puzzle snapping into place. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening as the realization hit despite her disbelief.

"Oh my god," she murmured under her breath. She turned the corner and spotted Bonnie at her desk, holding a tray with their morning coffees. Without hesitation, Samantha stormed over, grabbing Bonnie's wrist and pulling her into her own office without so much as a word leaving her to pull a rather impressive balancing act to keep all of their coffees from splattering all over the short corridor.

Once inside, Samantha let go, closing the door firmly behind them.

Bonnie rushed to Sam's desk dropping the tray on it and rubbed her wrist, eyebrows raised. "You guys have got to stop doing that to me," she muttered, though there was a trace of humor in her tone.

Samantha didn't laugh. "Have you noticed anything… different about Angela lately?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

Bonnie hesitated, her smile faltering. "Different?" she asked, her voice rising an octave. "No, not really. She seems… the same to me."

Samantha's gaze sharpened. "Bonnie."

"What?" Bonnie said, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She's been normal—maybe a bit sunnier yesterday morning, but that's a good thing, right?"

Samantha folded her arms, her tone skeptical. "I just talked to her. She's glowing. Like, over-the-top, walking-on-sunshine glowing. And it hit me—first my dad, now Angela. They're both acting weird. And I think…" She paused, studying Bonnie's face with the precision of a detective. "I think they might be seeing each other."

The silence that followed was deafening. Bonnie froze, her lips parting slightly as her eyes widened in what could only be described as a deer-caught-in-headlights look. Her expression betrayed a dozen emotions at once—shock, guilt, maybe even a little relief. It was like watching a game of emotional roulette play out in fast motion, and Samantha saw it immediately.

"Oh my god," Samantha breathed, her voice rising. "Bonnie. Oh my god. It's true, isn't it?"

"Shh!" Bonnie hissed, raising her hands in a frantic motion to quiet her. "Keep your voice down!"

"Keep my voice down?" Samantha repeated, her tone incredulous, teetering on anger. "Everyone's been keeping this from me? You, my dad, Angela? Everyone?!" Her voice cracked slightly, her frustration spilling over.

Bonnie winced, her hands still raised defensively. "Sam, it's not what you think—"

"Not what I think?" Samantha interrupted, her arms flailing as she paced the small office. "You knew. You knew, and you didn't tell me?"

Bonnie sighed, shoulders slumping, knowing there was no easy way to contain the storm brewing in front of her. "Okay, yes," she admitted quietly. "But in my defense, it wasn't my secret to share."

Samantha stopped pacing, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. "I can't believe this," she muttered, her hands on her hips. "I'm the last person to find out, aren't I?"

Bonnie leaned back against the edge of Samantha's desk, her hands resting lightly on the surface as she studied Samantha's face. She was pacing, her movements sharp and restless, her frustration radiating off her in waves. Samantha's arms crossed tightly over her chest as she turned back toward Bonnie, her voice tight.

"I don't understand how he could lie to me about something like this," Samantha said, her tone wavering between hurt and anger. "And Angela—too. They both did. All this time, and not one of them said a word?"

Bonnie sighed softly, watching the way Samantha's shoulders tensed. "Sam," she started gently, her voice steady but calm, "I get why you're upset. You have every right to feel blindsided. But I don't think this was about lying to you. I think it's about timing. Your dad wanted to tell you—that's the reason he was here for lunch yesterday—we think anyway—because he wanted to talk to you then."

"What?" Samantha stopped mid-step, her arms loosening slightly as she stared at Bonnie. "We think? Who's we? You and Angela? You and Angela have discussed this behind my back?" she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with disbelief.

Bonnie nodded slowly, keeping her voice even. "Well he didn't say it outright, obviously, but I could tell. He was nervous, Sam. He was trying to find the right moment to bring it up. But then the conversation shifted to lunch with Angela—and you know how protective he is of you. I think he was scared of how you'd react so he didn't want to just tell you."

Samantha's frown deepened, the knot in her chest tightening as she turned away. "So he chickened out?" she asked, her tone heavy with disappointment. "That doesn't make it any better. He still lied by omission."

Bonnie took a step closer, her voice softening further. "I don't think it was about keeping secrets. I think it was about him trying to figure out if there was anything to tell and then how to tell you without hurting you—or making you feel like he had been hiding something. You mean the world to him, Sam. You know that."

Samantha's throat tightened, her anger giving way to a quieter, deeper ache. She sank into the chair by her desk, her head falling into her hands. "I just… I don't understand why he couldn't trust me with this. It's not like I'd have stopped him, Bonnie. I want him to be happy. I want him to find someone who's good for him. But this… this feels like betrayal."

Bonnie crouched slightly, leaning in just enough to catch Samantha's eye. "Sam, listen to me. Your dad trusts you—that's why this matters so much to him. He's not trying to shut you out. He's trying to find the right way to include you, without overwhelming you. And believe me," Bonnie added, her lips curving into a wry smile, "he's overwhelmed, too. You should have seen him when he saw Angela in the room—I was facing him when he came in, it was like he forgot how to breathe."

Samantha's lips twitched faintly, but the smile didn't quite take hold. "That's supposed to make me feel better?" she muttered, her voice laced with skepticism.

Bonnie straightened, settling into the chair across from her. "I'm not saying it's perfect," she admitted, her tone honest but kind. "But there's more to this than you know."

"There's a lot more to it than I know because I didn't know anything."

"You need to talk to him, Sam. You need to hear it from him—why he kept it quiet, why this means so much to him. I promise you, it's not what you think. They were actually just trying not to take away from your night at the gala."

Samantha exhaled slowly, the weight in her chest shifting slightly as Bonnie's words sank in. She glanced up, her eyes narrowing. "You knew about all of this and didn't tell me," she said, her tone sharper again. "You let me sit there at lunch, clueless, while they—what? Played house?"

Bonnie winced, her hands raising defensively. "First of all, no one was playing house," she said quickly. "And second, I wasn't the one who told you because it wasn't my place. This is your dad's story to share, Sam. And Angela's. They wanted to wait for the right moment, and I had to respect that."

Samantha shook her head, her frustration bubbling to the surface again. "You're all in on this together—him, Angela, now you. And I'm just supposed to sit here and be okay with being the last to know?"

Bonnie leaned forward, her tone steady but firm. "No one's trying to keep you out of this, Sam. They care about you. They're just navigating something new—something complicated. And whether you believe me or not, they both want you to be part of it. But they need you to meet them halfway."

Samantha's gaze softened slightly, though the hurt in her eyes remained. "I don't know if I can," she admitted quietly.

Bonnie reached across the desk, her voice filled with quiet reassurance. "You can, Sam. Talk to your dad. Hear him out. You care about him more than anything, and he cares about you just as much. You'll figure this out—trust me there is so much more to this than even your overactive imagination would conjure up."

Samantha nodded slowly, her chest rising and falling with a deep breath. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but Bonnie's words had chipped away at the edges, leaving space for something softer to creep in.

The hours ticked by slower than Samantha thought humanly possible. Her eyes flicked to the clock every few minutes, but no matter how hard she focused—or tried to focus—on her work, her thoughts looped back to dinner. Questions swirled endlessly in her head: What's he going to say? How long has this been going on? Why didn't they just tell me? Her stomach twisted every time she thought about seeing him face-to-face, but there was something else gnawing at her now too—Angela.

The knock at her office door jolted her from her restless spiral. Samantha's heart skipped, her fingers stilling on her keyboard. She barely managed a "Come in" before Angela stepped into view, a folder in hand. Samantha straightened in her chair, her expression freezing in place as if that might mask the storm brewing beneath the surface.

"Hey," Angela greeted warmly, her tone breezy as she stepped inside. "Got a minute to go over the Henderson edits?"

Samantha nodded quickly, her voice catching before she managed a curt, "Sure."

Angela crossed the room, setting the folder lightly on Samantha's desk as she perched casually on the edge. She opened the file, pulling out a few pages and sliding them across. "I just wanted to make sure you were good with the revisions. Thought we'd get ahead of it before the team's meeting tomorrow."

Samantha forced herself to look at the pages, though the words blurred the moment she tried to focus. "Looks fine," she said shortly, her tone clipped as she nodded stiffly.

Angela tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "You sure? You don't even need to take a second look?"

"Nope. Looks good," Samantha replied quickly, tapping the edge of the folder as if to signal the conversation was done.

For a moment, Angela didn't move, her gaze lingering on Samantha with a subtle air of curiosity—like she was trying to read a room Samantha wasn't entirely sure she'd locked properly. Samantha swallowed hard under the weight of it, her fingers fidgeting with a pen on her desk.

Finally, Angela broke the silence, her tone softening. "Okay. Well, while I'm here—any thoughts on lunch? I know we don't have plans, but we could grab something if you're free."

Samantha froze. Her pulse quickened, her mind scrambling for an excuse that wouldn't betray her nerves. "Oh," she said, glancing at her screen as if she had something vitally important there. "Uh, I'll probably just… grab something and eat back here. I've got some work to catch up on. Things I put aside for the gala."

Angela blinked, her brows lifting slightly at the abruptness of the response. "Alright," she said lightly, though there was an unmistakable note of hesitation in her voice. She watched Samantha for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before smoothing over with a polite smile. "No problem. Just thought I'd ask."

The silence stretched awkwardly as Angela shifted her weight, moving to collect the folder. Samantha could feel her face heating, the tension in the room pressing down like static. She opened her mouth, wanting to bridge the gap—to say something, anything—but her mind was a blank slate.

Angela blinked, her expression shifting just slightly—enough for Samantha to notice, though not enough to call her out on it. "Okay," Angela replied, her voice measured but carrying a hint of hesitation. She didn't press immediately, but Samantha could feel her watching, studying her in a way that made her skin crawl with guilt.

The silence stretched longer than it should have. Angela finally leaned forward, her voice dropping slightly, the air between them charged with something Samantha couldn't quite pin down. "Samantha," Angela said softly, her words deliberate. "Is everything okay?"

Samantha stiffened, the weight in her chest growing heavier. "What?" she said quickly, her voice faltering. "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Angela didn't answer right away. She watched Samantha carefully, as though piecing together a puzzle with missing corners. Samantha shifted in her seat, her fingers gripping her pen tightly. She knew Angela wasn't convinced, and worse—she knew Angela was trying to unravel her without outright saying it.

And then Angela breathed out slowly, her chest tightening as she dared to meet Samantha's eyes. The realization hit harder than she'd expected—she knows. But the way Samantha was treating her now, curt and distant, carried a weight Angela hadn't anticipated. It wasn't just the knowing—it was something deeper, something upsetting, and Angela couldn't piece together what part of it had struck the nerve.

Her lips parted slightly, hesitation slipping into the corners of her expression before she managed to speak. "You know," she said quietly, the words catching in her throat, more fragile than she'd intended. Her voice carried an edge of disbelief, mingled with an unsteady vulnerability she couldn't quite mask. It wasn't an accusation, wasn't even a question—it was an acknowledgment, heavy and aching, as though speaking it aloud might bring clarity to the silence between them.

Samantha froze, her heart hammering in her chest. Angela didn't elaborate, didn't press, but she didn't need to. The way her words hung in the air—the knowing look in her eyes—it was enough.

Angela straightened, smoothing her skirt with deliberate care. Her movements seemed slower now, less breezy than when she'd walked in. "Alright," she said finally, her tone lighter but tinged with something softer. "I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you change your mind about lunch."

She turned, heading toward the door with steady steps, but paused for a brief second before stepping out. Samantha watched her go, her chest tight, her thoughts spinning wildly as the door clicked shut behind her.

She sank back into her chair, her fingers pressing against her temples. She couldn't face Angela—not now, not yet—not when everything felt so raw. And Angela? She knew. There was no denying it anymore.

Dinner with her dad couldn't come soon enough. Samantha needed answers—not just about him, but about everything. What the hell happened that night?

The weight of the morning's interaction lingered over Angela as she stared at her calendar. Her finger hovered above the keyboard, hesitating for a moment before she typed out the email to Samantha. The subject line read: Afternoon Check-In Cancellation. The message was polite, succinct—a simple explanation about needing to shift focus to other priorities. Angela didn't mention the obvious: that she was giving Samantha space. She figured Samantha deserved time to process whatever was going on in her head, without Angela inserting herself further into her day.

Samantha's day crawled by as her thoughts churned, refusing to let her settle into anything productive. She was relieved not to have to see Angela again—she barely glanced at the cancellation email before deleting it. But relief was fleeting, overshadowed by the countdown to dinner with her dad. She couldn't focus, couldn't think straight. Every spreadsheet, every email, every task blurred into one incomprehensible mess.

When the workday finally ended, Samantha practically sprinted toward her escape, gathering her things and slipping out of her office as quickly as possible. But as she turned the corner toward Bonnie's desk, her heart sank.

Angela stood there, her bag slung over her shoulder as she adjusted her coat. Samantha's steps faltered, her chest tightening as Angela looked up, their eyes meeting.

"Heading out for the night?" Angela asked, her tone soft but cautious.

Samantha nodded shortly, gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she slowed her pace. "Yeah. You too?"

Angela's smile was faint, almost apologetic. "I am," she said, adjusting her scarf. "Was going to say goodbye to Bonnie before heading out."

The air between them felt thick, charged with the tension of unspoken truths. Samantha glanced briefly at Bonnie's desk, but her friend was nowhere to be seen. She shifted on her feet, her jaw tightening as the silence stretched.

Angela stepped toward her, her movements careful, deliberate. "Listen, Samantha," she began, her voice low, her words tinged with hesitance. "About earlier—"

Samantha cut her off, her tone sharper than intended. "You don't need to explain."

Angela paused, watching her closely, trying to gauge the emotions buried just beneath the surface. "I think I do," she said gently, her eyes searching Samantha's for some flicker of understanding. "I can see that you're upset. And I just—"

"You're right," Samantha interrupted again, her voice even now, but still laced with tension. "I am upset. I don't know how long this has been going on, or how far it's gotten, but… what you're doing—with my dad—it's inappropriate and completely unprofessional Angela."

The words landed between them like a hammer. Angela's breath caught slightly, her expression faltering as the weight of Samantha's accusation settled over her. She didn't argue, didn't deny it. Instead, she nodded slowly, her voice steady but tinged with regret.

"You're right," Angela said quietly, her tone softer than Samantha had expected. "And I'm sorry. Truly. I can only hope that when you know all the details, you'll forgive me. But," she added, meeting Samantha's eyes with a sincerity that made her chest tighten further, "it's not my story to tell."

Samantha stiffened, her pulse quickening as she mentally replayed Bonnie's earlier words. The frustration bubbled to the surface again, and she made a mental note right then and there: If anyone else tells me today that it's not their story to tell, I'm going to scream.

Angela didn't linger. She adjusted her bag and took a careful step back, her expression guarded but unmistakably pained. "Goodnight, Samantha," she said, her voice carrying an undercurrent of finality.