Art of Misalignment

Chapter 13 Displaced Muse

Liam’s question landed like a small, sharp prick, cutting through the fragile bubble Maya had built. She stayed pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow, her body tensing at the words “not the same.”

“People change, Liam,” she said quietly, eyes still closed.

Liam didn’t push. He rubbed her back gently, slow circles with his palm. But his mind had already drifted to another apartment, another woman.

Over the next few days he kept up the split routine. Mornings at Maya’s place—he’d make simple breakfast, watch her lift the cello and start practicing for her audition. The notes were still beautiful, but slower now, heavier, like the music itself was carrying extra weight.

Afternoons he’d make an excuse and drive to Chloe’s. Her leave was almost over. She’d locked herself in the study, working nonstop to prepare for going back.

When Liam walked in with takeout, Chloe looked up from her desk. Her eyes softened, surprised. “You’re back already? I thought you’d be at the studio all day.”

“I passed that Thai spot and remembered you haven’t been eating right.” He set the bags down, stepped behind her chair, and put his hands on her shoulders. “Dave’s letting you return. That means he still trusts you. Don’t kill yourself over it.”

Chloe felt the warmth of his fingers sink in. The walls she’d rebuilt started cracking again. She turned in the chair and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding tight, soaking up the quiet.

Jumping between the two women gave Liam a twisted sense of power—affection from both sides, control over both lives. He told himself he wasn’t just some artist anymore. He was the one pulling strings.

The day Chloe walked back into the firm. She wore a charcoal suit, hair pulled back tight. But when she reached her desk and saw Sarah standing in front of Dave with the landmark project on the big screen—her project—her stomach dropped.

“Dave, this is the final version after my adjustments,” Sarah said, voice smooth but smug. “Chloe’s original was bold, but after looking at costs and risks, I optimized a few things.”

Chloe stepped closer. One look at the screen and her head started pounding.

The flowing curves she’d spent months on were gone. In their place were stacked blocks—safe, cheap, boring. The light-filtering features she’d designed were replaced by plain glass walls. It wasn’t a landmark anymore. It was just another expensive box.

“You call that optimization?” Chloe’s voice cut through the room, cold and sharp. “Sarah, you strangled it. Any average firm could turn out something this dull.”

The office went dead quiet. Sarah’s face flushed. “Chloe, be real. Your ‘inspired’ design almost crashed the whole model. Dave, look at the numbers. I did this for the firm.”

Dave rubbed his forehead. He looked at the safe but lifeless version on screen and sighed. “Sarah, it does lack… impact. But the deadline’s tight. We submit this for now.”

Sarah’s mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile. Then Dave kept talking.

“Chloe,” he said, pulling a thick folder from his drawer and sliding it across the table. “I’ve got something else for you. The Downtown Old Theater renovation. It’s our biggest job this year. The mayor’s watching it personally. I want you leading it. No room for errors.”

Sarah’s smile froze. Her nails dug into her palms. The theater project was the one she’d been gunning for—big commission, big visibility, a real shot at the top.

“Dave, Chloe just got back,” Sarah started. “She might not—”

“I’ve decided,” Dave cut in. He waved them both off.

Back at her desk, Sarah stared at the back of Chloe’s head. Her chest burned. She pulled out her phone, angled it away from view, and typed a quick message to one of the executive directors: “8 PM tonight, usual spot. Got something about Chloe I need to run by you…”

She knew she couldn’t beat Chloe straight-up on work. But in this game, there were always other moves.

In the members-only private club downtown. Sarah had switched into a tight burgundy velvet slip dress with a high slit that showed a lot of leg when she moved.

Jeffrey, the firm’s Executive Director, was already in the booth. He looked decent for a guy in his fifties, but those eyes gave him away—sharp, always calculating.

“Sarah, coming to find me this late… this about the Old Theater project?” He lifted his glass, not even pretending not to stare at her shoulders.

“You always get me, Jeffrey.” She slid in right next to him, pressing her side against his, voice dropping low. “Dave handing a project this big to someone who just got suspended for ‘data errors’—you really think that’s smart? One slip-up in front of the Mayor and the whole firm looks bad.”

“That was Dave’s decision. He’s always had a soft spot for Chloe’s… talent.” His hand was already on her thigh, sliding up slow.

“Talent?” Sarah kept her face soft, even though her stomach turned. She started tracing small circles on his chest with one finger. “If this blows up, you’re the one who’ll have to explain it to the shareholders. But if the lead switched to me… I’d make sure everything runs clean. And I’d make sure you’re properly thanked for helping.”

Jeffrey’s breathing got rough. He tugged her closer, mouth close to her ear. “Then show me how properly you mean.”

Sarah didn’t hesitate—she swung her leg over and straddled him. His hands went straight up her back, greedy. For a split second her eyes went cold, hard. Then she leaned in, letting him think he was winning.

She covered it instantly with a slow, teasing smile, then pressed one finger lightly against his chest, stopping him.

“Jeffrey…” she said, voice soft and sweet, but with a little steel underneath. “You still haven’t given me your word.”

He was gone—breathing hard, eyes glassy. He leaned in close, mouth almost against her ear. “I swear. I promise. As long as I’ve got any pull on the Board, the Old Theater project lead is yours. Chloe’s days are numbered.”

Sarah let a small laugh slip out. “That’s all I needed to hear. You said it yourself—no one twisted your arm.” Her fingertip started drawing lazy circles on his collar. “And when Dave starts asking questions, you’re going to back me up, right?”

“Jesus, yes. All me, baby. My choice.” Jeffrey’s voice was thick, already dropping his face into the side of her neck.

He licked a sloppy line across her skin; the smell of old cigars and bourbon hit her immediately. Sarah flinched just slightly, then turned it into a little giggle and a squirm. “You’re in such a rush tonight…”

“Me? You’re the one who came looking for me,” His grip tightened. Then he just grabbed the thin straps of her dress and yanked—hard. The ripping sound cut through the music like a slap.

She covered it instantly with a slow, teasing smile, then pressed one finger lightly against his chest, stopping him.

“Jeffrey…” she said, voice soft and sweet, but with a little steel underneath. “You still haven’t given me your word.”

He was gone—breathing hard, eyes glassy. He leaned in close, mouth almost against her ear. “I swear. I promise. As long as I’ve got any pull on the Board, the Old Theater project lead is yours. Chloe’s days are numbered.”

Sarah let a small laugh slip out. “That’s all I needed to hear. You said it yourself—no one twisted your arm.” Her fingertip started drawing lazy circles on his collar. “And when Dave starts asking questions, you’re going to back me up, right?”

“Jesus, yes. All me, baby. My choice.” Jeffrey’s voice was thick, already dropping his face into the side of her neck.

He licked a sloppy line across her skin; the smell of old cigars and bourbon hit her immediately. Sarah flinched just slightly, then turned it into a little giggle and a squirm. “You’re in such a rush tonight…”

“Me? You’re the one who came looking for me,” His grip tightened. Then he just grabbed the thin straps of her dress and yanked—hard. The ripping sound cut through the music like a slap.

Jeffrey hooked his fingers under the thin straps of her dress and yanked them down in one rough pull. The fabric slid off her shoulders, exposing her chest. He didn’t wait—dropped his head and put his mouth on her, sucking hard while his other hand grabbed and squeezed, rough and impatient.

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek to keep from flinching. She felt his palm pressing too tight, the wet heat of his mouth, and a fresh wave of nausea hit her stomach. But she forced herself to stay still, to breathe slow.

He shoved the hem of her dress up around her waist, then hooked a finger into the black lace thong and dragged it down to her knees. Pants unzipped in seconds, he lined up and thrust in hard—one brutal push, no pause.

Sarah’s breath caught. Her whole body tensed for a second before she made herself relax into it.

Every grunt he made felt like another line being crossed off her list. She stared past his shoulder at the dim red light on the wall, lips pressed thin. She wasn’t enjoying this.