When internship season arrived, our academic advisor asked everyone to fill out a family background form. Under "Parents' Occupations," I stared at the blank line for a long time before writing three words: seafood market vendors. Vanessa Whitmore, a senior Evan Clarke knew, glanced at my form and burst out laughing right there in the classroom. "Seafood market vendors?" she said, turning toward Evan with a mocking smile. "Your girlfriend's family guts fish at the public market?" I let out a quiet breath. "What's wrong with selling seafood?" The classroom erupted the moment I said it. "Everyone in Fairbridge University's Department of Business and Economics is headed into finance. How did some fish-market girl even get in here?" "No wonder she always smells a little fishy." "I heard her parents wake up at three in the morning to buy stock. Their hands are always cracked and bleeding, and they still barely scrape together her tuition. Why is she even studying business? She might as well go home and sell fish. Maybe she can help them upgrade to a bigger stall." Even the academic advisor Mark Ellis chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said, waving a hand as if he were being generous. "Nora, if you really can't find an internship, I can introduce you to the grocery store near my place. They're looking for a cashier." That same night, Evan, my boyfriend of two years, broke up with me. I could not understand why. His voice was calm, so calm it sent a chill through me. "Nora, we're not right for each other," he said. "Dating is one thing, but the future is different. Vanessa is right. You and I don't belong in the same world." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Her father is a vice president at Rivergate Capital Group. He can get me an employee referral directly. What can you give me? Another fish on my family's dinner table?" I held the phone in my hand and said nothing. To be honest, I did not know exactly how much money my family had. But I did know one thing. Half of the seafood wholesale business in the entire Eastshore region was supplied by my family. Even the seafood served in the Fairbridge University dining hall came from our so-called market stall.

Stanley Lawson had been an architect for seven years. I was there for every step of it, from the days he was just a junior drafter to becoming the lead on major projects. He was born colorblind, red and green blending into one another. During his busiest year, I put my own oil painting career on hold and became his personal color consultant. One day, I casually asked, "When are you going to design a home for us?" Without looking up from his screen, he clicked away with his mouse. "I'm swamped. Knock it off." I nodded and never brought it up again. Until the night he came home drunk and passed out on the couch. While hanging up his jacket, I found a sketchbook tucked inside. Between the pages were more than a dozen design drafts. Every single one was for Faith Hall's future home. Each sketch was carefully labeled with its measurements and materials. In the corner of every page, the same words were written: For Faith. Then his phone lit up. A text from Faith. Faith: Stanley, I absolutely love your design! Once it's finished, you're the first person I'm inviting to stay over!" I quietly set the phone down and closed my eyes. Then poured the hangover soup I'd made for him straight into the sink. After that, I opened my laptop and submitted my resignation. Then I replied to the acceptance email from the Florence Academy of Fine Arts. After seven years, I finally decided to stop being his eyes. To stop trailing behind him, waiting for him to turn around. There wasn't a single color in his drawings that belonged to me. So I'd go find my own colors instead.

Everyone at the Shaw Group knew I was Sean Shaw's personal assistant. I handled his schedule, took his drinks at business dinners, followed him to business dinners, and made one hundred and fifty grand a year doing it. Then a new hire showed up. Her name was Lena Ross. One day in the break room, someone casually mentioned my salary. Lena nearly spit out her coffee. "Wait, seriously? She just manages a calendar and makes one-fifty a year? "Boss even gave her a Patek Philippe?" Lena raised an eyebrow. "So is this a job, or is she basically being kept?" The very next morning, she marched straight into Sean's father, Richard Shaw's office. "Mr. Richard Shaw, I'd like a shot at being Mr. Sean Shaw's personal assistant." Lena stood there with her back perfectly straight, looking confident as hell. "I only need forty thousand. I guarantee I'll do better than Louise Ford." Then she came looking for me. Arms crossed, head tilted slightly, eyes sizing me up from head to toe. "Mr. Richard Shaw has already approved it. He also thinks you're overpaid. If you're smart, you'll quit now before this gets embarrassing." Lena expected me to be furious. But all I could do was bite the inside of my cheek, so afraid that I'd laugh. 'Finally, I could break free!' Sean was the kind of man who could act like an angel one minute and the devil the next. When he was in a good mood, he'd casually toss me luxury items fresh from auction houses like they were candy. When he wasn't, even answering a call two rings too late could get me locked in a fire stairwell by his bodyguards for a whole night. Too many people wanted a piece of him. Working beside him wasn't just pouring drinks at business dinners. Sometimes it could be one bad night away from taking a gunshot for him too.

I'd just stopped short in the mall to glance at the wedding dress glowing in the store window. When I spun back around, my fiancé Daniel and my stepsister Lily were already so far ahead of me. I quickened my steps to catch up with them, but when I was just a few paces away, I noticed my stepsister Lily had somehow slipped her arm through Daniel's. And Daniel? He didn't pull away. They laughed and chatted easily, stepping in perfect sync, like a pair of dance partners who'd practiced their routine together a hundred times over. I glanced down at my own empty palm. These hands had drawn hundreds of design blueprints, yet somehow I'd never even learned how to hook my arm through a man's and hold on. The two of them never noticed I'd fallen behind the entire time. It was like I'd never even been there with them at all. I stepped off to the side beside a pillar, pulled the pair of matching couple's rings I'd handmade myself, meant to give him today, out of my pocket. I stared at them for two long seconds, then flicked them into the trash can right beside me with a soft clink. I don't need them anymore. I don't need anything anymore. I'm never going to be their invisible third wheel ever again.