I never planned to be “that person.”
I’m Jess, 32 now. This happened in 2023–2024 at Apex Media, a digital advertising agency in downtown Denver. I was 29 then, a mid-level account manager — ambitious, single after a long breakup, putting everything into my career.
That’s when I met David.
David was 38, our new Creative Director — transferred from the New York office. Tall, sharp dresser, quick wit, the kind of guy who commanded a room without trying. Married, wedding ring always visible, two kids under 10. He mentioned his wife, Sarah, often — “Sarah and the kids are loving Colorado,” photos on his desk.
At first, it was professional.
He led my biggest account — a national beverage brand. We worked late on pitches, grabbed coffee to brainstorm, celebrated wins with team drinks. He was a great mentor — pushed me to think bigger, gave me lead on presentations.
The flirting started small.
A lingering look during meetings. “You look nice today” comments that felt a beat too long. Inside jokes in Slack. Compliments on my ideas that turned personal — “You’re killing it, Jess. Smart and stunning.”
I told myself it was harmless. He was married; I wasn’t looking to wreck a home.
But I liked the attention.
After my breakup, work was my life. David made me feel seen.
By summer 2023, the lines blurred.
Late nights turned into drinks after everyone left. “Just one” became three. He’d complain about marriage — “Sarah doesn’t get the job stress,” “We’re more roommates than partners.”
I’d listen, share my dating horror stories.
One August night, after landing the beverage renewal, we stayed at the office celebrating.
Everyone gone. Just us, open bottle of champagne from the client.
He looked at me and said, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I should’ve left.
Instead, I kissed him.
We slept together that night — on the office couch.
The guilt hit immediately.
But so did the rush.
We swore it was a mistake. One-time thing.
It wasn’t.
For eight months, we carried on a full secret affair.
Stolen moments in the supply closet. Hotel rooms during “client visits.” Texts all day — flirty, then explicit. He’d leave his wife at home with the kids for “work dinners” that were with me.
I fell hard.
He said he was falling too. Talked about leaving Sarah “when the timing was right.” Said I made him feel alive again.
I knew it was wrong.
But I convinced myself we were soulmates — that his marriage was already dead.
Coworkers suspected.
Whispers: “Jess and David are too close.” Side-eyes when we arrived together.
We got careless — a hickey I covered with makeup, him calling me “babe” in a meeting.
In April 2024, it exploded.
An anonymous email to HR: screenshots of our Slack DMs (someone had access — turned out a jealous junior who’d been overlooked for promotion).
Explicit messages. Hotel receipts submitted as expenses by mistake.
HR called us in separately.
David denied an affair at first — “Just close colleagues.”
I admitted everything.
Policy was clear: no relationships between managers and subordinates. Especially married ones.
David was married — conflict of interest, abuse of power.
They gave him a choice: resign or be fired.
He resigned quietly — “family reasons.”
Took a job at a smaller agency across town.
I was demoted — moved to a different team, pay freeze, written warning.
The office turned toxic.
Former friends iced me out — “homewrecker” whispers in the kitchen.
Clients requested reassignment from me.
I lasted three more months.
Quit in July 2024.
Couldn’t face the stares.
David and I tried to make it real after he left Apex.
He told Sarah everything — moved out, filed for divorce.
We dated openly for six months.
But it was poisoned from the start.
His kids hated me — “You broke our family.”
Sarah sent angry emails.
His friends sided with her.
Guilt ate me alive.
Every fight we had circled back to how we started.
I’d cry: “Was it real, or just the thrill?”
He’d say: “It’s real now.”
But I couldn’t trust it.
We broke up in February 2025.
He’s back with Sarah — working on reconciliation.
I’m single. Therapy weekly.
New job at a different agency — entry-level pay, starting over.
Reputation in Denver’s small ad world? Damaged.
I see David sometimes — industry events.
We nod politely.
No eye contact.
The office romance didn’t just cross boundaries.
It erased them.
And left me on the other side — alone.
With the realization that some lines exist for a reason.
Because once you cross them, you can’t uncross.
Even if the person on the other side says they love you.
Especially then.
TL;DR: Fell into a secret eight-month affair with my married boss after late nights and flirting turned physical. Anonymous tip with evidence led to HR investigation — he resigned, I was demoted. We tried dating openly after his separation, but guilt, family fallout, and broken trust ended it. The romance cost me my career trajectory, reputation, and self-respect.
