Art of Misalignment

Chapter 29 Unreachable SOS

Chloe’s theater model—weeks of balsa wood and late nights—lay crushed under her heels. Blueprints were reduced to jagged scraps littering the carpet.

"Chloe, please. Just sit down." Maria hovered by the door, reaching for a stack of data sheets.

Chloe didn't look up. She shoved her laptop into her bag, the zipper snagging on a stray thread. She yanked it hard, the metal teeth grinding. "Don't touch the prints, Maria."

"You’re shaking. Let me call you a car—"

"I said leave it!" Chloe snapped. The shout echoed off the glass walls. She swung the bag over her shoulder, the strap digging into her suit. "The project is Sarah’s now. Let her clean up the mess. I’m done being the janitor for everyone else’s mistakes."

She pushed past Maria. The elevator ride down was silent, the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring.

Chloe didn't go home.

The Blue Note smelled of stale beer and lemon peel. She took the corner booth.

The bartender said, eyeing Chloe’s disheveled hair. "You look like you just walked out of a wreck."

"Something like that," Chloe muttered. She reached for the glass, her pulse thrumming in her fingertips. The gin didn't even have a taste; it was just a burn that temporarily filled the hollow space in her chest.

She pulled out her phone. Her thumb hovered over Liam’s name. Best friend. The words felt bitter now. She hit call.

One ring. Two.

"Hey, it's Liam. Probably out chasing the light or stuck in a darkroom. Leave a message."

The beep was flat. Chloe held the phone to her ear until the plastic grew warm against her skin. She wanted to tell him about Sarah. About the board.

But the words wouldn't come. She stayed silent, listening to the static until the line cut. She set the phone face down.

A movement by the back lounge caught her eye. The staff door creaked open.

Liam stepped out first, his shirt untucked and hair a mess. Lina followed, smoothing her apron, her lips flushed and swollen. Liam murmured something over his shoulder, making Lina hide a grin.

Chloe’s breath hitched. She watched as Liam’s thumb grazed Lina’s jaw for a split second before he turned toward the bar.

Chloe’s chair screeched against the floor. She grabbed her bag and turned toward the wall, letting her hair shield her face. She couldn't let him see her. Not like this. Not while he was wearing someone else’s scent.

"Hey, Nancy, you seen—" Liam started, breaking into a laugh at something Lina whispered.

Chloe bolted. She didn't wait for change. She didn't look back.

The door slammed against the outside wall. The New York wind ripped at her, but she barely felt it. She walked fast, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the pavement.

The first sob broke out before she could swallow it—an ugly, ragged sound. She didn't stop. She pushed through the crowds of tourists and suits who didn't care that her world had just folded.

She was ten years late to her own ending. And the guy who was supposed to be in her corner was busy in the back of a dive bar.

Chloe leaned against a cold lamppost, hand over her mouth, watching the neon signs smear into a blur.

The conference room felt dead. Dave sat at the head of the table, his skin gray and tired. He looked at Maria, Stanley, and Heidi—what was left of the team that used to run this place. Chloe’s resignation letter sat between them.

“She’s gone,” Dave said, his voice rough. “I couldn’t stop her. Honestly, I didn’t have the right to try.”

Heidi reached for her phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

“Don’t,” Dave muttered, raising a shaky hand. “She won’t answer. She’s cutting ties with this city.”

He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. “I called Pierre in Paris. He’s the real deal. I told him she’s the only architect I’ve ever met who actually understands how a building breathes.”

Dave stared at Chloe’s empty chair. “It’s the only move I have left.”

Maria’s voice cut through the silence. “Is it a move, Dave?”

Dave didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

One floor down, Sarah Milton stood in Charlie’s office.

“Chloe is officially out,” she said lightly. “The theater project is under competent leadership now.”

Charlie leaned back and studied her. He knew exactly what she’d traded to make this happen.

“Two weeks, Sarah,” he said. “Don’t make me look like a fool for backing the winning horse.”

Sarah walked over, turned, and sat on Charlie’s lap. “How could I make you regret it?” she asked, voice low. “Let me show you right now it’s worth it.”

Charlie’s hand slid up her thigh. Sarah giggled. “Hehe, that tickles…”

Charlie leaned in fast and kissed her neck, hungry.

Back in the architecture wing, the glass doors flew open. Liam walked in, camera bag swinging, face tight with worry. He’d been trying to reach Chloe all morning with no answer, so he finally came looking for her.

“Where is she?” Liam asked, voice strained. “Maria, where is she?”

Maria stood up, her grief hardening into something colder. “She quit, Liam.”

Liam blinked, confused. “What do you mean, quit? She has the theater project—”

“Sarah has it now,” Maria snapped. “Everything is Sarah’s. She’s heading to JFK. You’ve got forty minutes before she’s gone for good.”

Maria grabbed her coat. “I’m coming with you.”

Liam didn’t wait for the elevator. He ran for the stairwell, boots pounding concrete. Maria followed right behind him.

They jumped into Liam’s car. He started the engine and tore through Manhattan.