BreakingPoint
1094 Words
*Nyra*
The sound of pounding fists on my door drags me out of a shallow, broken sleep.
I jolt upright in my narrow bed, heart in my throat. For a second, I’m disoriented, my body sore from sleeping on the thin mattress, my head heavy with exhaustion.
Then I hear his voice.
“Nyra! You’ve got until tonight! If I don’t get my money, I’m throwing your things in the hall!”
My landlord.
My stomach twists as cold panic floods my chest.
I glance at my phone. 6:02 a.m.
I still have an hour before I need to leave for work, but dread has me already on my feet, stepping over the few boxes that hold my life.
“Please,” I call through the door, voice cracking. “I—I just need a little more time. I get paid for the internship in two weeks—”
“Two weeks?” He scoffs, voice dripping with disbelief. “You’ve been saying that for a month. Pay up or get out.”
I bite my lip until I taste blood.
My chest feels hollow, my hands shaky as I clutch my only decent blouse. It’s wrinkled, but I can’t risk him seeing me fall apart.
I wait until his footsteps retreat down the hall before I finally move, slowly getting dressed in the dim room. My reflection in the cracked mirror doesn’t look like a twenty-something with dreams anymore.
She looks like a girl balancing on the edge of disaster.
---
By the time I make it to the bus stop, my body is running on nothing but fumes and desperation. The city is already awake—cars honking, street vendors shouting, the smell of coffee and fried bread drifting into the morning air.
I can’t afford either.
I climb onto the crowded bus and grip the railing as the driver lurches forward. My stomach growls loud enough for the man beside me to glance over. I turn toward the window to hide my burning cheeks.
The city blurs past—glossy billboards advertising clothes I’ll never wear, restaurants I’ll never enter.
I close my eyes and whisper to myself: Just survive today.
---
The elevator ride up to the twenty-eighth floor feels like ascending into another world.
Polished marble. The faint scent of money and control.
I step out and immediately sense the shift—the floor is alive with energy. People rushing, voices clipped, phones ringing nonstop.
And there he is.
Cassian Rhys.
Even from across the floor, he’s magnetic. Immaculate navy suit, polished shoes, the faintest furrow between his brows that says the world bends for him but never enough.
I try to slip to my desk unnoticed.
“Miss Nyra.”
The voice freezes me in place.
I turn slowly, forcing a polite smile even though my throat is dry. “Yes, sir?”
“You’re late.” His eyes sweep over me, cold and assessing. “Again.”
“I—I’m sorry. The bus—”
“Excuses,” he cuts in smoothly, his voice low but lethal. “One more slip like this, and you’re done here.”
The words slam into me like a physical blow. I nod quickly, mumbling an apology before scurrying to my desk. My chest feels like it’s caving in.
---
*Cassian*
She’s unraveling.
The intern—Nyra—walked in looking like she hadn’t slept, her blouse wrinkled, eyes shadowed. I shouldn’t notice things like that. I never notice things like that.
But with her… I can’t seem to look away.
Something about her presence tugs at me, irritating and magnetic all at once.
She’s the kind of weakness I’ve spent my life avoiding.
And yet, when she stumbled over her apology just now, I felt that unfamiliar pull again—part curiosity, part… something I don’t want to name.
I return to my office, trying to focus on the call with the board. They’re pressuring me again:
“Cassian, we need stability in your public image. The press is circling after the Luna acquisition—no scandals, no distractions.”
If only they knew.
---
*Nyra*
By mid-morning, the office is a storm. Emails flying in, phones ringing nonstop, assistants rushing past. I keep my head down, trying to drown in my tasks.
And then it happens.
The Big Blow.
I upload the wrong version of a client report to the shared drive. A file I was too tired to double-check.
I realize my mistake seconds after hitting send.
And so does Cassian.
The glass door to his office swings open with a force that makes the nearest intern jump.
“Nyra. My office. Now.”
My stomach plummets.
---
His office is a world of glass and steel, overlooking the city like a throne room. I step in, hands clammy, knees weak.
He doesn’t invite me to sit.
He holds up his tablet, eyes cold and sharp. “Do you know what you just sent to one of our top clients?”
“I—I’m so sorry, sir, I—”
“Sorry doesn’t fix incompetence,” he snaps, voice cutting like ice.
Each word lands like a slap. My chest burns. My eyes sting, but I force myself to hold it in. Not here. Not in front of him.
He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If this happens again, you’re out. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Dismissed.”
I walk out, head down, vision blurring. My chest is a knot of shame and helplessness.
---
I barely make it to the bathroom before the sob bursts out.
I sink to the floor of the empty stall, hugging my knees, letting the tears fall hot and fast.
And then my phone buzzes.
Landlord: “Truck’s here. I’m putting your stuff on the street in 30 minutes if I don’t get my money.”
The world tilts.
I press a hand to my mouth to smother the sob, but it escapes anyway, echoing in the tile room.
I am falling apart.
Broke. Humiliated.
One mistake away from losing the only lifeline I have.
---
*Cassian*
I hear it before I see it.
The faint, muffled sound of someone crying when I pass the executive bathroom.
I should ignore it.
But something… something makes me stop.
I stand there, staring at the closed door, my chest tight.
I know that sound.
And I don’t know why it feels like it’s crawling under my skin.
- Writer
