I checkyes.
By the time I reach the last question 'what are you looking for in a partner', my chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
I save the file without answering the last question. Without sending it yet.
***
Night settles in while I'm still sitting there, laptop open, survey nearly done.
The city lights outside my window feel too bright. Too exposing.
I get up and double-check the locks.
Then check them again.
My phone buzzes with another message I don't open.
Instead, I sit back down at my laptop and reread what I've written.
The answers feel raw. Honest in a way I haven't been with anyone—including myself—in a long time.
I think about Arthur.
About the way he looked at me when I handed him my resignation. Like he wanted to say something but couldn't figure out how to phrase it.
I shake my head, forcing the thought away.
Arthur Dupree doesn't need a lottery-winning ex-assistant complicating his life. He needs someone polished and effortless, someone who already knows how to navigate his world without tripping over the rules. Someone who adds value without needing reassurance in return.
Someone who isn't me.
Still.
The questions sit there on the screen, unanswered but insistent.
What are you looking for in a partner?
I close my eyes.
Someone steady. Someone who doesn't panic under pressure. Someone who sees me as an equal, not a project.
Someone I already know I can trust.
I type it before I can stop myself, then stare at the words like they belong to someone else.
A handsome, rich boyfriend wouldn't fix this.
I know that.
Money already proved it can't buy peace. Can't stop the notifications or the strangers with business cards or the creeping feeling that my apartment isn't safe anymore.
But.
My apartmentdoesfeel smaller than it did yesterday.
Less like shelter.
More like a place someone could find me.
