Art of Misalignment

Chapter 6 The Backroom Breakdown

The back room felt smaller than it was, air thick and hot between them. Liam wasn’t making love; he was f*****g to forget. Every thrust was aimed at burying Chloe’s voice—the quiet hurt in her eyes when she looked at him like he’d finally broken something she couldn’t fix. His breathing came in rough, uneven bursts.

“You’re… going too hard, Liam,” Nancy gasped, voice tight, trying to match his rhythm but clearly struggling.

He didn’t answer. Talking was the last thing he wanted. He just wanted to disappear inside the motion. He lifted her off the floor in one rough pull, set her on the scarred worktable where the grinders usually sat. Her legs hooked over his shoulders; he pinned her there and drove in again. The table rocked under them, wood creaking against the metal wall in steady, loud complaints.

“Slow down… please,” Nancy whispered, more out of breath than protest.

The heavy door banged open. A s***h of bright light from the shop floor cut across the dim space. Lina stood there, burlap sack of beans in her arms, eyes going wide for half a second before the exhaustion hit. “Nancy? Again?” Her voice was tired, almost bored—like she’d walked in on this movie before. She didn’t scream, didn’t gasp. Just slammed the door shut.

In any other moment that would’ve ended it. But the interruption hit Liam like a shot of something dark. His pulse kicked harder. He didn’t soften; he gripped her hips tighter, moved faster, feeding off the reckless edge of almost getting caught.

“What now?” he grunted, fingers digging in. “Your friend saw.”

“It’s fine,” Nancy panted, eyes fluttering half-shut. “I’ll handle her later. Just… keep going.”

He didn’t want to leave anything behind, didn’t want to mark her or make this mean more than it was. At the last second he pulled out, came on her stomach in hot, quick spurts, then dropped his forehead against the table edge, chest heaving. The room went quiet again, the only sound his ragged breathing and the faint hum of the coffee machines on the other side of the door.

The office was dead quiet, but the air felt tight. Sarah Milton stood by the big windows in the lounge, eyes fixed on Chloe through the glass walls. To most people in the firm, Chloe still looked like the same sharp, no-bullshit architect who could rip apart a bad design in ten seconds flat. But Sarah saw the difference: Chloe’s hand frozen over the mouse, the faint shadows under her eyes, the untouched coffee gone cold on her desk for over an hour.

“She’s cracking, Dave,” Sarah said, leaning in the doorway of the partner’s office, voice thick with fake worry. “Chloe’s been off for days. Handing her lead on the new landmark job? That’s asking for trouble.”

Dave Hart didn’t lift his head from the stack of files. He’d always had a soft spot for Chloe, treated her like family. “She’s tired, Sarah. We all get off weeks. Let her breathe.”

“Breathing room? Or just enough rope?” Sarah muttered under her breath as she turned away.

She wasn’t about to sit back and watch Chloe crash on her own. She needed proof—something solid to sink the office’s resident overachiever once and for all.

The neon lights bled long streaks across the wet pavement.

Dylan felt Ada’s hand start to shake in his. Before he could say anything, three dark shapes stepped out from the corner, blocking the way.

The guy in front—Josh’s right-hand man—worked his gum slowly, that scarred eyebrow twitching under the faint light. He didn’t bother with small talk. He just planted himself in their path and raked his eyes over Dylan.

“Last warning, kid,” he said flatly. “Friday. No money, no legs.”

Ada made a small, choked sound and grabbed Dylan’s arm hard.

Dylan swallowed. “Just… give us a little more time. Please.” His voice cracked. He eased half a step in front of her. “I already called my sister. Seriously. She’s gonna help—I’ll have it soon. Really soon.”

The thug barked a short, dry laugh. He leaned in until his breath hit Dylan’s ear. “Josh’s patience runs out Friday. No cash? I’ll break those long legs myself. Three clean pieces.”

He slammed a heavy palm into Dylan’s shoulder—once, deliberate—then the three of them melted back into the shadows at the far end of the alley.

For a second everything was quiet again except Ada’s fast, uneven breathing. She tilted her head up at him, eyes red and glassy.

“Dylan… what if she doesn’t come through?” Her voice trembled. “It’s a lot of money. You know it is. And Josh—he’s not bluffing. He’ll do it. He’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt both of us.”

Dylan’s hands were freezing. He wrapped them around her back anyway, rubbing slow circles, trying to calm her shaking. He pulled in a deep breath of the damp air and forced the corners of his mouth up into something that almost looked like a smile.

“It’s gonna be okay, Ada. I promise. My sister… she’s always had my back. She’s not gonna let anything happen to me. She won’t leave me hanging like that.”

He said it steadily, like he was reassuring her.

But deep in his chest the words felt thin and borrowed, like he was mostly trying to talk himself into believing them.

The grand hall buzzed with investors and champagne glasses clinking. Chloe stood under the lights in the middle of it all, black blazer buttoned tight.

“Another killer one, Thomson,” Dave Hart said, walking up with a big, proud grin. “Board’s thrilled. You killed it.”

“Thanks, Dave. Just did the job,” Chloe said, face calm and blank.

“Job? You look like you haven’t slept in days and you still ran that room like clockwork.” His voice dropped, real worry creeping in. “Go home. Take the win for once.”

“I’m good. I’d rather work than party anyway.”

She turned away, eyes scanning the crowd without meaning to. They landed on one empty seat in the third row—the chair Liam had sworn he’d take weeks ago, back when they still talked like best friends. No camera flash, no half-smile from the back row telling her she’d done good. Nothing.

“Looking for a ghost, Chloe?” Ethan’s voice came low from right behind her, smooth and edged.

“I’m looking for the exit, Ethan.”

“He’s not showing.” Ethan stepped closer, voice dropping. “But you? You’re good at this. Acting like the quiet doesn’t cut.”

“The quiet’s the only thing that doesn’t lie,” Chloe said. She turned away from the empty chair, from Ethan, from the whole room, and started walking toward the doors.