Give me ten.
Launching myself off the couch, I immediately slam my knee into the coffee table. Pain flashes white-hot. I hiss through clenched teeth.
New couch. New coffee table. Noted.
In the bedroom, I tear through my closet, hunting until my fingers land on a charcoal gray suit. Strategic.
I strip off yesterday’s t-shirt, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair looks is a war crime. My eyes are bloodshot, and dark-ringed. Basically, I look like hell. Feel like it too.
The quickest shower in human history comes next. No steam. Barely warm. Just movement.
Suit on. Tie adjusted. Jacket smoothed.
In the mirror, I look like I’ve got it together. Inside? I’m a Molotov cocktail with a ticking fuse.
Today, I have to pretend I didn’t walk in and find Jackson with my girlfriend. And act like my life didn’t splinter into a million shards less than twenty-four hours ago.
I’ll play the part.
For my job.
And because there was a shift last night.
One misdial.
One wrong number.
I ended up in a conversation that felt… real.
Texting her—whoever she is—was like finally cracking a window open I didn’t realize was painted shut.
She didn’t try to fix me. Didn’t pity me. She matched my mess with her own. And it felt honest.
A stranger saw more of the real me in one crazy thread than a year of showcased affection ever managed.
I fasten my watch. Grab my cracked phone and swipe it open. My thumb hovers over the thread. Her words still echo, but I pocket it, and head out.
Five minutes later than what I texted Alan, I walk out into the churn of the city.
Alan nods. “Morning, Mr. Rhodes.”
“Morning.” I slide into the backseat, buttery leather hugging my frame.
The ride is quiet. The city outside blurs—honking cabs, street vendors, sidewalk scuffles. All of it kept at bay by glass and privilege. Everyone and everything is moving. But my mind is stuck on pause, on one image.
Chloe and Jackson fucking.
Her hands. His smirk. The smug ease of betrayal.
No text. No call. No half-assed apology from her. Just absence.
Fucking bitch.
The car stops. Big Stream rises above, steel bones wrapped in corporate ambition.
I step out onto the sidewalk, the city humming at my back.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
