Thursday morning, Astoria stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and assessed it. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, visible even through expensive concealer expertlyapplied. Her cheekbones were sharper than they’d been a week ago from dropping weight because she was forgetting to eat. Her skin had a grayish cast under the bright vanity lights, the look of someone who was running on empty.
She looked like hell, like someone who was falling apart.
Good thing appearances are a performance,she thought grimly.And I’ve always been an excellent performer.
She finished applying her makeup, dressed in a blazer and slacks that fit slightly looser than it had last Monday, and drove to the office in silence.
The day passed in a blur of meetings: finance review at nine, conference call with the Portland property managers at ten-thirty, and an afternoon consumed by contract negotiations that required every ounce of focus she could muster.
Between meetings, alone in her office, the mask slipped.
She caught herself staring at nothing, her fingers frozen over her keyboard. Another time, she reached for her phone to text,“Saw the most ridiculous headline today. Made me think of—”Her thumbs stilled when she realized there was no one to text.
Astoria deleted the letters one by one, watching them vanish from the screen, then she set her phone face-down on her desk and pulled up another spreadsheet.
At six o’clock, Gloria appeared in her doorway. “Nancy Ballard called. She wants to see you tomorrow. She said she’ll be in the building for another meeting and asked if you had thirty minutes.”
Nancy Ballard: board member for sixteen years, self-made tech fortune, one of the few people in Astoria’s professional life who’d earned something akin to respect. They weren’t friends—Astoria didn’t have friends—but Nancy had always been direct with her in a way that felt almost like honesty.
“Fine,” Astoria said. “Put her on my calendar.”
Gloria lingered a few beats after the implied dismissal. “You should go home and get some rest.”
“I have work to do.”
“Astoria.” Gloria’s voice softened in a way that made something twist in Astoria’s chest. “Whatever happened, you can’t keep this up. You’re going to burn out.”
For a moment, Astoria almost told her. She almost let the words spill out—I met someone, I let someone in, she left, everyone leaves, Valerie was right about me—but the impulse died as quickly as it rose. What good would it do? Gloria couldn’t fix this; nobody could.
“I’m fine,” Astoria said. She looked up to find Gloria still watching her. “I’ll leave by eight. Promise.”
She left at ten-thirty, driving home through empty streets to a dark house that still smelled faintly of the lilies she’d thrown out three days ago because they reminded her of Miller’s perfume.
She didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried since Friday night, standing in her living room after Miller’s taillights had disappeared down the driveway. The tears had come then—hot and furious, the kind of crying that left her throat raw and her eyes swollen—and then they’d stopped and nothing she did could make them start again.
The numbness was almost worse. At least tears meant feeling something.
Astoria poured herself a glass of wine, drank half of it standing at the kitchen counter, and went to bed without dinner.
Tomorrow, Nancy Ballard would look at her and see exactly what Gloria saw, what Gerald saw, what everyone who looked closely enough could see: that Astoria Shepry was crumbling apart.
She’d have to perform harder, build the walls higher, and become so perfectly controlled that no one could find the cracks.
It was the only way she would survive this.
The next afternoon, Astoria was summoned to the small conference room on the twenty-fourth floor. Nancy Ballard was already waiting when Astoria arrived, standing at the window with her arms crossed and her sleek black hair pulled back in her usual, no-nonsense twist. She turned when Astoria entered, and her eyes did a quick sweep before her expression settled into something guarded.
“Close the door,” Nancy said.
Astoria did, then gestured toward the table. “Gloria said you wanted thirty minutes. I have a call at three, so?—”
“Sit down, Astoria.”
It wasn’t a request. Nancy had built a tech empire from nothing, sold it for nine figures, and spent the last decade serving on boards and funding startups run by women. She didn't tolerate nonsense, and she didn't waste time on pleasantries when something needed to be said.
Astoria complied.
Nancy took the chair across from her, close enough that Astoria couldn’t avoid her gaze. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Astoria pretended to be interested in the dust motes floating in a sunbeam slanting in through the window.
