Chapter 3 I quit, Mr. Ashcroft
1071 Words
ELARA
Camilla smiled.
"Five years," she said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward me. Her heels clicked against the tile. "You'd think you'd look better by now. But here you are—"
I turned back to the sink, gripping the cold porcelain edge hard enough to hurt.
"You look like hell, sis."
"Don't call me that."
She leaned against the counter, examining her manicured nails. "I had dinner with Kieran yesterday. He told me about you. Said you were convenient. A checkbox for his grandfather's absurd will."
My throat felt tight.
She leaned in. "He said you remind him of me. That's why he can't resist f*****g you, Elara. You're his substitute. "
"Move."I said.
Camilla laughed. "Look at yourself. You're still wearing your hair exactly like I did junior year. And now you work here, playing secretary, probably hoping he'll notice you during the day too. It's pathetic."
"I'm back now, by the way." She straightened, smoothing down her cream dress, the fabric whispering against her skin. "So you can stop this sad little performance. Kieran has the real thing again. Sorry to burst your bubble."
"Move," I said quietly.
"Excuse me?"
"I said move aside. I need to leave."
"Oh." Her eyes lit up with delight. "You're angry. That's new. You used to just take it, remember?"
"You should be thanking me, really," Camilla continued. "I trained you well. You're excellent at being someone's second choice now."
"Camilla, stop."
"Does he pay you extra for the nights you actually satisfy him? Or is room and board enough compensation?" She tilted her head, studying me.
My nails dug into my palms. "Shut up."
"You know what? Since you're so good at pretending to be me, maybe I should set you up with some of my other exes. There's a banker in London, a tech CEO in San Francisco. They'd probably love a discount version—"
"Stop talking."
"—of the real thing. You clearly don't mind sloppy seconds."
"I said shut up!" My voice bounced off the tile walls, echoing.
Camilla pulled back, eyebrows raised. "There she is. The trashy little—"
"Don't."
"The trashy little w***e, just like her mother."
My hand moved before my brain caught up.
The slap connected with her cheek with a sound.
Camilla stumbled backward, one hand flying to her face.
Then her face crumpled.
She screamed like I'd broken something. Dropped to the floor in a heap of expensive fabric and fake tears, curling into herself, sobbing loudly enough to be heard down the hallway.
The bathroom door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.
Kieran.
His eyes swept the scene and he was across the room in seconds. His shoes squeaked slightly on the tile as he dropped to his knees beside her.
"What happened?" His voice cut through Camilla's sobs. "Are you hurt?"
His hands hovered over her, checking her face, her arms.
"I just—" Camilla's voice was thick with tears, shaking. "I was trying to talk to her—"
He helped her up, his arm sliding around her waist to support her weight. She leaned into him like she was made to fit there, her face pressed against his chest, his hand cradling the back of her head.
They looked perfect together. Him in his charcoal suit, her in her cream dress. Like a magazine spread. Like they'd been designed as a matched set.
My nose stung. I told myself not to shake. Not to cry. Not to show her that she'd won.
"Kieran," I started, and my voice came out hoarse. "Let me explain—"
"Did you hit her?" He didn't look at me. His eyes stayed on Camilla, scanning her reddened cheek.
"She said—"
"Did you or didn't you?"
"You weren't here. You didn't hear what she—"
"Answer the question, Elara."
I swallowed hard. "Yes. But if you'd just listen—"
"There's surveillance," I said quickly, grasping at anything. "In the hallway. Audio, at least. Check the recordings. You'll see—"
Camilla's face shifted for just a fraction of a second. A flash of something sharp and satisfied. Then it vanished, replaced by wounded innocence and tears.
And I knew.
She'd planned this. And she'd made sure there'd be no evidence of what she'd said.
Kieran's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping near his ear. When he finally looked at me, his eyes were ice. "I'm taking her to the hospital. You need to leave. Now."
"Kieran, please—"
"You will accept whatever disciplinary action HR deems appropriate." He adjusted his grip on Camilla, holding her closer. "We'll discuss this later."
He spoke to me like I was nothing.
Maybe that's all I'd ever been.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. "No."
His eyes snapped to mine. "Excuse me?"
"I said no." My voice was steadier than I expected. "I won't be accepting any disciplinary action from HR, Mr. Ashcroft."
His eyes narrowed.
"There's no need to involve them at all, actually." I felt something c***k inside me, but my voice stayed calm. "Because I quit."
The words landed in the space between us. For a moment, nobody moved.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. I quit." Each word came easier than the last. "Have a good day, Mr. Ashcroft. Both of you."
I turned away from them, from his confused expression, from Camilla's barely concealed smirk.
I walked past Madison and the others who'd gathered in the hallway, their faces a blur of shock and avid curiosity. Someone was already texting.
The elevator took forever to arrive. I stood there, back straight, chin up, while I felt their eyes boring into me. When the doors finally opened, I stepped inside and pressed G for ground floor.
The last thing I saw before the doors closed was Kieran's face. Camilla was still tucked against his side.
The elevator descended. Forty-three floors of dropping, my stomach lurching with each floor passed.
Screw him.
I made it outside before the tears came.
The November air hit me like a slap, cold and sharp.
I stood on the corner of 52nd and Park as people rushed past me in both directions, as taxis honked and a delivery truck beeped in reverse, as the city moved around me like I was invisible.
And I cried.
- Writer
