Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 142

Daphne’s POV

Something is wrong with my body.

The exhaustion has become a permanent resident, settling into my bones no matter how many hours I sleep.

Eight hours last night—a luxury I haven't had since before the twins were born—and I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.

The fatigue isn't normal tiredness. It's deeper than that, heavier. Like my cells themselves have forgotten how to produce energy.

My breasts ache with a tenderness that makes even soft fabric feel like sandpaper.

I've changed bras twice today, searching for something that doesn't hurt. Nothing helps. The underwire I usually forget I'm wearing now feels like a medieval torture device.

And the coffee.

This morning, I poured my usual cup—the ritual that's sustained me through five years of single motherhood, through dawn feedings and sleepless nights and the particular hell of toddler tantrums.

The smell hit me before the cup reached my lips. My stomach lurched. I barely made it to the sink before the nausea overwhelmed me.

"Everything okay?" Xander appeared in the doorway, concern creasing his forehead.

"Fine." I dumped the coffee down the drain, trying to breathe through my mouth. "Just... not in the mood for coffee today."

"You're always in the mood for coffee. You've told me repeatedly that coffee is the only thing standing between you and homicide."

"I'm evolving." The words came out sharper than I intended. "People are allowed to change their preferences."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Noted. No more coffee commentary. Can I make you tea instead?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

Even his cologne—the familiar scent I've always loved, the one that makes me bury my face in his neck and breathe deep—made me gag this morning. He leaned in to kiss my cheek, and I had to fight not to pull away.

Stress. It has to be stress.

The notes, the threats, the constant vigilance of living under siege, waiting for danger to materialize from shadows we can't quite see.

Of course my body is rebelling. I've been running on adrenaline and fear for weeks. This is just the bill coming due.

"You look tired," my mother says over breakfast, her eyes sharp with maternal concern. "More tired than usual. Are you sleeping enough?"

"I'm sleeping fine, Mom."

"Sleeping fine isn't the same as sleeping well." She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "Maybe you should see a doctor, get some bloodwork done. Stress can deplete your system in ways you don't realize."

"It's just been a difficult few weeks. Once things settle down…"

"Things never settle down completely, that's what I've learned. You have to take care of yourself in the chaos, not wait for the chaos to end."

I dismiss the symptoms and focus on the day. The twins need attention—Nina is lobbying hard for a second telescope so Lisa can have one too, and Lisa has developed a new counting obsession involving the tiles in every room.

Security briefings need attending. Robert has updates on his investigation into Gerald's former associates. Life doesn't pause for mysterious fatigue.

But I'm not the only one struggling.

I notice it during the afternoon scheduling review. Maya sits across from me at the kitchen table, her tablet open to the weekly calendar, but her eyes keep drifting to the window. To nothing. To somewhere far away that I can't follow.

"Maya?" I say her name twice before she responds. "Are you with me?"

She blinks, refocusing. "Sorry. Yes. What were you saying about Thursday?"

"I was asking about the pediatrician appointment. Whether we should reschedule given the security concerns."

"Right. Yes. I think..." She trails off, her gaze slipping away again. "I think that would be wise."

The composed, efficient assistant I hired has become something else entirely. Pale, like she hasn't been sleeping. Distracted, like her mind is wrestling with something she can't put down.

And beneath it all, something that looks almost like grief—a haunted quality in her eyes that I recognize from my own mirror in the months after I realized I'd be raising the twins alone.

She startles when Dad enters the room, his heavy footsteps announcing his presence.

She startles again when Nina runs through shrieking about a butterfly she's chasing. Her smiles, when they come, don't reach her eyes anymore.

"Maya." I keep my voice gentle. "Is everything alright? You seem... distant today."

"I'm fine." The response comes too quickly. "Just tired. It's been an intense few weeks."

"It has. For all of us." I reach across the table, let my hand rest near hers without quite touching. "You know you can talk to me, right? If something's bothering you. If you need anything."

Something flickers behind her expression—pain, maybe, or conflict. Something she's fighting to keep hidden.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "That means more than you know."

I assume it's the stress affecting everyone. This household has been a pressure cooker for weeks—constant threat assessments, varied routines, the weight of knowing someone is watching.

Even the strongest people crack under sustained fear. Maya has been here for it all, absorbing the tension, helping hold everything together. Of course she's fraying at the edges.

"Why don't you take tomorrow off?" I suggest. "A real day off. Sleep in, go somewhere relaxing, do whatever you need to recharge. We can manage the girls for one day."

"I couldn't…"

"You could, and you should. You've been invaluable, Maya. But you're not a machine. You deserve care too."

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment I see something I can't quite name. Gratitude, yes, but also something deeper. Something that looks almost like guilt.

"Thank you, Daphne." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "You're very kind."

"It's not kindness, it's common sense. Take the day. We'll survive without you for twenty-four hours."

I make a mental note to check in with her more regularly. The woman has been a godsend during the worst weeks of my life. She deserves better than burning out because I was too distracted to notice she was struggling.

That night, Xander holds me differently.

His arms wrap around me with extra tenderness, pulling me close against his chest.

His hand splays across my stomach—protective, possessive—his fingers spread wide like he's trying to cover as much of me as possible.

"What's this for?" I murmur, my voice already heavy with approaching sleep.

"Does it need to be for something?" He presses a kiss to my hair. "Maybe I just want to hold my wife."

"You're being extra cuddly tonight."

"I'm always cuddly."

"You're many things, Xander Hale. Cuddly is not usually at the top of the list."

He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest against my back. His lips find my temple, then the curve of my shoulder.

Soft murmurs of love against my skin—words I feel more than hear, vibrations of devotion pressed into my flesh.

"I love you," he says. "I don't say it enough, but I love you. More than I knew was possible."

"You say it plenty."

"Not enough. Never enough." His hand moves in slow circles on my stomach. "You're my whole world, Daphne. You and the girls."