CHAPTER 1
“All I’m asking for is two thousand dollars. Two thousand. I know you have it—we both know you can spare it.” Andressa glared at the man slouched on her cream linen couch, the one she’d paid for, the one he’d never once offered to replace when he spilled red wine on it last Christmas. Davis’s cologne—cheap, cloying, the same bottle she’d bought him six months ago—hung in the air like a bad decision.
“Davis, listen closely.” Her voice was low, edged with the kind of calm that comes before a storm breaks. “Not one dime. Not one penny. You still owe me for the last three ‘loans’ you swore were emergencies.” She couldn’t even look at his face now; the sight of his pleading eyes made her stomach curdle. How many times have I fallen for that hangdog expression?
“You know what? Strip.” She pointed at the shirt clinging to his shoulders—silk, Italian, her credit card. “The watch. The chain. Even the damn boxers. Everything I paid for comes off, and then you get out of my house. We’re done.”
“But babe, just—”
“I’m not your babe, and I’m not listening.” She shoved him toward the door, the heat of his arm under her palm making her skin crawl. The door slammed behind him with a satisfying thud that rattled the framed art on the wall.
“Good riddance,” she whispered, the words tasting like relief and regret in equal measure. The apartment smelled faintly of his cologne still, but the air felt lighter already. It was past time. Even if some small, stupid part of me hoped he’d change.
---
Earlier that day
“Yes, I saw the edits. They’re sloppy.” Andressa pinched the bridge of her nose, the phone hot against her ear. “Revert to version two, align with the brand guide, and for the love of God, tell Margaret to proofread before it lands in my inbox again. Clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And the spring campaign vendor? My inbox is a desert.”
“We’re finalizing, ma’am. Details by three p.m.”
“Better.” She ended the call and exhaled through her teeth.Incompetence should be a punishable offense.
A knock—three sharp taps. “Come in.”
Her assistant slipped inside, clutching a tablet like a shield. “Miss Andressa, design project feedback just came in. Complaints about ad placement.”
Andressa skimmed the email, the screen’s blue light harsh against her tired eyes. “Well, damn.” She leaned back, the leather chair creaking. “Swap the lead image—something with context but still on-brand. Simplify the tagline. Push placement to fashion sites. They want chic, we’ll give them chic.”
“Got it.”
“No mistakes, Sarah. Go.”
The door clicked shut. Andressa rolled her shoulders, the knots in her neck protesting. *One breath. Just one.*
Her cell buzzed. Mum. She closed her eyes. Not now.
“Hey, Mum. Is everything okay?”
“Hey, baby. Just checking—flight booked for the wedding?”
“Friday evening. I’ll be there before Saturday.”
“I was hoping you’d come earlier. Spend a few days. I miss you.”
Guilt twisted in her chest like a dull knife. “I miss you too. Work’s… a lot. I’ll do better, promise.”
“As long as I see you. Call when you board, okay? Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.”
She stared at the phone a moment, the screen dimming to black. I should’ve gone home last Christmas. Should’ve made time.
Another knock—this one heavier. The door swung open before she could answer. Mrs. Alice Warren strode in, perfume sharp as citrus and authority.
“Andressa. Luxury rebranding. Where are we?”
“Revised drafts with the team. Creatives ready by Friday.”
“They were due yesterday. You’re slacking.” Alice’s eyes narrowed, lips thin.
Andressa stood, spine straight. “With respect, ma’am, Mark handed this off yesterday morning. I’ve had twenty-four hours.”
“Excuses.” Alice’s voice cracked like a whip. “Clients want revisions by close of business today.”
Andressa’s pulse thudded in her ears. “That’s impossible. One hundred forty pages, every slide redlined. I’m on slide forty.”
Alice’s laugh was brittle. “When I was in your chair, I built a hundred slides in three hours. Three. Get it done. I gave my word.”
The door shut with a soft, final click. Andressa sank into her chair, the weight of the day pressing on her chest like a physical thing. Why me? The coffee on her desk had gone cold hours ago, bitter on her tongue when she sipped it anyway. Back to work, missy. No surrender.
By lunch, her eyes burned from the screen’s glare. The office smelled of stale coffee and printer ink. Her stomach growled, but the sandwich Sarah had left sat untouched, crusts curling.
Knock.
“Come in.” She didn’t look up until Sarah’s shadow fell across the desk, a gift bag dangling from her fingers.
“This just arrived, miss.”
Andressa took the bag, tissue paper rustling. Inside: a velvet box. Inside that: a silver bracelet, delicate links catching the light like liquid mercury. Davis. Her laugh was sharp, humorless. “Where the hell did he get money for this?”
Her phone rang—private number. She answered with a sigh. “Hello, sir.”
A low chuckle. “Sir? I deserve that. Been a while, darling.”
Larry. Her skin prickled. “Two years, Larry. I’m taken. I’m blocking this number. Goodbye.”
“We’re over when I say—”
She hung up, fingers trembling as she blocked him. Not today.
Sarah burst back in, words tumbling. “Miss, I just needed to confirm—”
Andressa slid the jewelry box across the desk. “Take it. You deserve it.”
Sarah’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“All yours.” Andressa managed a tired smile at the girl’s squeal.
Sarah practically danced out. Andressa called after her—“Sarah, the confirmation?”—but the door was already closing.
Her phone pinged.
Davis: Hope you liked the gift. Can we talk tonight? At your place. Love you xoxo.
She stared at the screen, unease curling in her gut. Please don’t let this be another crisis. The bracelet glinted in the box, beautiful and suspicious. She shoved it into a drawer and turned back to the laptop, the cursor blinking like an accusation.
Just a few more hours.
