“Oh, there’s no problem!” she says brightly. “I just wanted to rescue you from that conversation. We all know how demanding Mr. Walker can be.” She rolls her eyes dramatically as she steers me toward a group of coworkers lounging on some couches.
“Look who I saved!” she announces.
“Lauren!” a few of them shout, louder than necessary. I smile, a bit overwhelmed but polite as ever.
“Hi, everyone!” I say, still processing how I went from intense business talks with Silas to casual small talk in the blink of an eye.
The group shifts to make space for me on the crowded couch, but I almost have to squeeze myself into the middle. I smile, trying to blendin, mirroring their casual ease.Copy and paste,I think to myself, willing my discomfort to fade.
“Lauren, that dress …” says a woman I don’t recognize, her eyes running over the black fabric hugging me a little tighter than I’d like. “Which designer is it?”
I glance down at the dress, feeling the texture of the fabric under my fingers.
“Goodwill,” I whisper, and suddenly, everyone bursts into laughter, the sound bouncing around the room.
I blink, unsure why they’re laughing so hard. I force a smile, but I’m already scanning the crowd, looking for Silas. I half-expect him to stride over with that familiar stern look, maybe even rescue me with some excuse about needing hisassistantfor something. But he doesn’t. Instead, I see waiters weaving through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne in preparation for the midnight toast. I check my watch—fifteen minutes to go.
“You really are funny,” Daniel says, leaning in with a smirk. “Stella, that witch, never shared a moment with us.”
“Yeah, she thought that because she was sleeping with the boss she was above us,” Dulce adds with a bitter slur.
Sleeping?No, I must have misheard. My mind races, trying to catch up with the conversation.
“Well, it worked out pretty well for her! She got herself pregnant and now she’s on permanent PTO!” Dulce’s words come out jagged, half swallowed by drunken laughter as the group erupts into more amusement.
What?I freeze, my stomach twisting violently.
“But Stella …” I whisper, choking on my own words as the image of her—so confident, always complaining about her partner—collides with this version of the story.
“She never told you?” the same woman from earlier chimes in, her voice thick with the kind of satisfaction that comes from spilling something venomous. “Mr. Walker got her pregnant. He insisted she get an abortion, but she refused.”
No.That can’t be true. My chest tightens as the room begins to spin.
“Yeah,” Daniel adds, oblivious to my growing horror. “But it looks like they worked out some kind of arrangement. They hired you, and now she’s living it up, posting poolside pics every day.”
“Did you see that post?” Dulce says, her voice dripping with malice. “I bet he sent her away just so he wouldn’t have to watch her belly grow every day.”
More laughter. Cruel, sharp, unrelenting.
Are they talking aboutSilas? My Silas? The man who held me just hours ago, made me feel like the center of his universe? My body jolts upright, but it feels like the ground is crumbling beneath me. The panic inside me starts bubbling, threatening to spill over. I need to leave.Now.My heart pounds in my chest, and the blood roars in my ears, drowning out the noise around me. My legs tremble as I force myself up, pushing past the waves of nausea that grip my stomach. I have to disappear before this panic consumes me whole.
“Hey, Lauren!” Daniel’s voice follows me, but it sounds so far away. “Come grab your champagne! It’s almost midnight!”
I don’t stop. My feet move faster, weaving through the crowd as if they were a sea of bodies I needed to escape from. Every laugh, every whisper feels like a knife. I push past them all, stumbling toward the women’s restroom and slamming the door behind me, locking myself inside. The air is gone.
There’s no more oxygen in this place.
Two women, reapplying their makeup, glance at me through the mirror with concern. I ignore their stares as I move to the sink, splashing cold water onto my face, trying to hide the tears, trying to breathe.
“Ten!” the countdown begins outside. The new year is seconds away.
The girls rush out, giggling, eager to celebrate. That was me half an hour ago—excited, oblivious.
“Nine!”
I pace back and forth, my dress suffocating me, clinging to my skinlike a punishment. I want to rip it off, tear it apart, but I force myself to stay calm.
“Eight!”
