“Enough!” My voice breaks as I step closer. “You don’t get to talk to me like that!”
Before he can respond, the doorman steps forward, his voice hesitant and tight.
“Ms. Fisher, please… You’re causing a disturbance.”
Then he turns to Philip, trying to sound authoritative. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re not a resident, and if you continue, I’ll call the police.”
Philip doesn’t even glance at him. He adjusts his cuff, straightens his jacket. Every movement controlled, elegant.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says coolly. “I’ve said what I needed to say.”
He takes one deliberate step closer, invading my space. His voice drops lower, which somehow makes it even more vicious.
“You’re nothing but a cautionary tale now, Maya. You never meant a thing to Colin. In a few years, he won’t even remember your name… just like I barely remembered you—or your mother.”
Then he turns, nods once at the doorman, and walks out. Calm. Untouched.
Like he didn’t just gut me right here and leave the mess on display.
The glass doors close behind him, and he doesn’t look back. Not even once
I stay where I am, frozen.
Everyone’s still watching. Pretending they weren’t just entertained by the show.
The doorman clears his throat, gentle but unsure.
“Ms. Fisher… do you need—”
I shake my head.
“Don’t.”
It’s barely a whisper. But it’s the only thing I can force out.
When I finally make my body move, my legs feel like they don’t belong to me. Every step toward the elevator takes everything I have left.
The second the doors seal me in, I crumble. The tears come fast, blinding me. A jagged, ugly sob scrapes up my throat, filling the tight space. I press my hand hard against my heart, as if I can physically hold the pieces together.
He took everything from me. And now, he’s taken my dignity too.
Mark
“Let us do our job,” Michael says, his tone firm.
It’s a polite warning, but the subtext is clear: stay out of the way.
I raise my hands. “I get it. I’m not here to interfere. Just… to watch.”
He gives me a curt nod before turning away, heading for the elevator on the left with his team. He’s doing me a favor by letting me be here. As long as I don’t interfere with his job.
I take the other elevator, stepping in just as their doors close, and press the button for the 18th floor. When the doors slide open, I step out just in time to see them reach the apartment and knock.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then, the door opens.
She stands there. Barefoot, hair a mess, looking completely dazed. There’s none of that proud posture or curated elegance she wore in every photo the PI took months ago.
She looks… small. Diminished.
