Chapter 5
803 Words
Leila’s POV
For a week, I thought maybe I could handle this new life.
Wake at dawn, make him breakfast, get to work, bring lunch at noon, dinner at eight. Repeat.
It wasn’t happy, but it was a rhythm. And as long as I didn’t look too closely at the contract on my nightstand, I could almost pretend it was normal.
Then Monday came, and everything fell apart.
I got to the gallery early, hoping for a quiet start. Mari was already there, her hair tied back, her eyes wide.
“Leila, have you seen across the street?” she blurted.
“No?” I said, trying to pull off my coat.
“They opened a new gallery. Big one. Modern art, huge windows, all shiny.”
I frowned. “Okay…”
“And they’ve been poaching clients. Including yours.”
My chest tightened. “Mine?”
“Yes. They sent an invite to your lunchtime client. He’s supposed to see them today.”
My hands went cold. That client wasn’t just mine — he was important to our gallery. If he walked across the street, we might lose him.
“I have a meeting with him at lunch,” I said. “I’ll convince him to stay.”
Mari nodded, biting her lip. “Just don’t be late, okay? He’s already half-interested in their pitch.”
All morning, my head buzzed with worry.
When the clock neared noon, I packed my notes, wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt, and headed for Adrian’s office to deliver his lunch — just like every day.
But when I got there, his assistant gave me an apologetic smile. “He’s in a meeting.”
I swallowed. “Will it be long?”
She shrugged, helpless. “Hard to say.”
I sat. And waited.
Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
My phone buzzed. Mari: Your client just arrived. He’s early.
I typed back with shaking fingers. Stall him. Please.
Thirty minutes became forty. The knot in my stomach twisted tighter with every minute.
An hour passed. My heart beat so fast it made me feel sick.
I can’t miss this meeting.
After an hour and a half, I couldn’t sit anymore. I left his office.
Then, as if on cue, my phone lit up. Adrian.
I answered quickly, voice shaking. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” His voice was calm, low, but somehow sharper than yelling.
“I’m… I have to get to work,” I rushed out. “Please, just for today—”
“Come back.”
My breath caught. “I can’t. Please, just pardon me this once. I’m already late.”
Then he cut the call.
My chest felt like it had been punched. But there was no time to stop.
I ran out of the building, almost tripping over the curb. The city felt hotter and louder, car horns blaring, people bumping past.
Halfway to the meeting, my foot slipped on the wet pavement and I fell, scraping my palm and banging my knee.
For a moment, pain blurred everything. But I forced myself up, dusted off my clothes, and kept going.
When I got to the gallery, I was almost two hours late for the meeting. My boss’s face was like stone.
“You kept a client waiting?” he snapped.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“Do you even want to work here?”
“I do,” I said quickly. But my words sounded small, even to me.
The meeting ended badly. The client seemed annoyed, distracted, half looking at the new exhibit across the street.
Afterward, I ducked into the clinic in our building to clean the cut on my hand and get ice for my knee.
Sitting there, staring at the white wall, I felt so tired. Like all the air had been pressed out of me.
How did it get like this?
When I finally left work, the sky had gone gray, heavy with rain.
The first drops felt cold on my skin, then it poured in sheets, soaking my hair, plastering my blouse to my back, hair sticking to my face.
By the time I reached the penthouse, I was dripping, shoes squeaking on the marble.
I tried the door, but it was locked.
I didn’t have a key. Of course I didn’t.
I pulled out my phone, thumb shaking. When will you be home?
His reply came back quickly. I won’t be.
I looked up at the gray sky, rain dripping down my face. My hair clung to my cheeks.
Can this day get any worse?
I stood there, cold and wet, the city around me moving like nothing had happened, and for a moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
- Writer
