Two Sides of My Love Life by Tessa Kelwyn
Two Sides of My Love Life
Description
Single mom Rory Kane has perfected the art of being invisible. At the office, she's background noise-the forgettable woman in her grandmother's sweaters. But alone in her bedroom, she becomes someone else entirely. Someone confident. Someone desired. Someone named Viola. Her secret social media life was never supposed to intersect with her real one. But when opportunity comes knocking, Rory discovers that the men who look right through her every day are suddenly desperate to win Viola's heart. They want the fantasy. They just don't know she's been there all along.
Chapter 1
Feb 27, 2026
[Rory’s POV]
The clock hits 5:58 PM, and I'm already mentally rehearsing my escape route.
Two minutes. Just two more minutes until I can sprint home before the nanny Mrs. Patterson adds another five dollars to the late fee she absolutely loves charging me.
My finger hovers over the shutdown button when a thick folder slaps onto my desk like a dead fish.
I look up to find Greg Mathews, middle manager extraordinaire and certified office troll, standing over me with his jacket already on and car keys jangling in his hand like a threat.
"Kane, I need these quarterly revisions finished by morning." He doesn't ask. He announces. "Got dinner reservations, so you'll have to handle it."
I glance at the folder. It's the size of a small novel. A boring, numbers-filled novel that nobody asked to read.
"I was actually planning to leave on time tonight…"
Greg's laugh cuts through the office like a chainsaw through butter. Loud, obnoxious, and totally unnecessary.
"Plans? You? Come on, Rory, what exciting thing could you possibly have lined up?" His eyes sweep over my oversized cardigan—my grandmother's, rest her soul—and my glasses that haven't been stylish since 1997. "A date? Yeah, right."
The snickers ripple around me like someone dropped a pebble in a pond of petty coworkers. My cheeks burn hot enough to fry an egg. Of course they're laughing.
Why wouldn't they? I'm Rory Kane.
Invisible. Forgettable. The human equivalent of beige wallpaper.
I haven't been on a date in years. The last time a man looked at me with anything resembling desire, I was twenty-seven and stupidly in love with someone who would later prove he had the emotional depth of a parking meter.
Now I'm thirty-two, wearing my dead grandmother's sweaters like armor, and apparently radiating such powerful spinster energy that even Greg Mathews feels comfortable mocking me publicly.
"I'll get it done," I mutter, because what else am I supposed to say? The retort dies in my throat like it always does, swallowed by years of practice at being small.
Greg doesn't even acknowledge my surrender. He's already walking toward the elevator, probably thinking about his steak dinner and how important he is.
By 9:15 PM, the building is a tomb.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead like angry bees, and I'm the only living creature on this floor. My eyes ache from staring at spreadsheets, and my stomach reminds me that the granola bar I called lunch was a pathetic excuse for nutrition.
"You're still here?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Julian Hale stands at the edge of my cubicle, his tailored navy suit somehow still crisp despite a full day of executive whatever-it-is-executives-do.
His hazel eyes scan my desk, then my face, with something that almost looks like genuine concern.
"Just finishing up some revisions," I manage, trying not to notice how his dark hair catches the overhead light. Or how his jaw looks like it was carved by someone who really understood geometry. "Greg needed them by morning."
Julian's expression flickers. Annoyance? At Greg? At me? "Greg left hours ago."
"I know. He had dinner reservations."
The words taste bitter, but I keep my voice neutral. Professional. Invisible.
Something passes across Julian's face that I can't quite read. He steps closer, and I catch the faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with coffee. "Go home, Rory. I'll handle whatever's left. You shouldn't be here this late."
My heart does an embarrassing little flip.
He remembers my name. He's talking to me like I'm a person and not furniture. He's offering to help.
"I couldn't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling you." His voice is firm but not unkind, and something warm blooms in my chest. "Go home. Whatever Greg dumped on you can wait or I'll deal with it myself. That's an order."
I gather my things in a daze, hyperaware of Julian's presence as he settles into the chair across from my desk and pulls the folder toward him.
He’s a good boss. He cares about his employees. He actually sees us.
Sees me.
The elevator ride down feels different. Lighter. Even exhausted, even humiliated by Greg's cruelty, I'm floating on the tiny high of being noticed by Julian Hale.
Maybe staying late wasn't a complete disaster after all.
Milo is still awake when I push through our apartment door, his tiny body launching itself at my legs like a heat-seeking missile. "Mommy! You're home!"
The guilt hits immediately.
Mrs. Patterson sits on our couch, her expression the perfect mixture of patience and judgment. I pay her extra—again—apologizing profusely while she gathers her things with the efficiency of someone who's been through this routine too many times.
"Sorry, baby," I whisper into Milo's hair after she leaves, squeezing him tight. "Mommy had to work late."
"It's okay." He pulls back, his big brown eyes—his father's eyes, unfortunately—already forgiving me. "I wasn't even tired."
He's absolutely exhausted. But I love him for lying.
I make grilled cheese because it's fast and it's his favorite, cutting the sandwiches into dinosaur shapes with the cookie cutter he picked out himself. We curl up on his bed afterward, his small body warm against mine as I read story after story until his breathing evens out and his grip on my arm goes slack.
Once his door clicks shut behind me, I lock my bedroom and the ritual begins.
Glasses off. Contacts in—the green ones that make my plain hazel eyes look exotic and mysterious. Foundation, concealer, the works.
I paint myself like a canvas, contouring cheekbones I forgot I had, smoking out my eyes until I look like someone who belongs in a magazine rather than a cubicle.
The platinum wig goes on last, sleek and perfect, transforming my mousy brown mess into something striking. I shimmy into the red dress that hugs curves I hide every day beneath shapeless cardigans, curves that actually exist despite what the office snickers suggest.
I stand before my bedroom mirror and Rory Kane disappears.
Viola looks back at me.
She's confident. Sexy. The kind of woman who doesn't get mocked by middle managers or overlooked by handsome bosses. The kind of woman men actually want.
I set up my camera, adjust the lighting, and pose.
Click. Click. Click.
Each shot captures someone who isn't invisible. Someone who commands attention. Someone who matters.
The photos upload to my secret account in minutes. @ViolaAfterDark. A life parallel to my real one. Where nobody knows I'm a single mom who can't afford late fees. Where I'm not ugly or boring or forgettable.
The notifications start flooding in immediately.
Hearts. Comments. DMs from strangers telling me I'm beautiful, asking if I'm single, wondering where I've been all their lives. Men who desire her. Desire me. Well, the me that isn't really me.
Desired. Seen. Alive.
I scroll through the messages with trembling fingers, each ping of validation filling a hole I try to pretend doesn't exist. These men don't know about my stained cardigans or my messy bun or the way I shrink into myself at work.
They only see Viola—confident, glamorous Viola—and they want her.
For the first time today, I feel something other than exhausted and humiliated.
For the first time today, I feel alive.
Two Sides of My Love Life
30 Chapters
30
Contents
Save
Passion Exclusive
My Passion
About Us
Profile
For Writers
Copyright © 2026 Passion
XOLY LIMITED, 400 S. 4th Street, Suite 500, Las Vegas, NV 89101