Monday arrived too quickly, dawn spilling through the curtains like an unwelcome reminder that time was no longer mine. Each tick of the clock drew me closer to Wednesday, to Marco’s deadline, to the unraveling of everything I had spent eight years holding together.
The mansion’s silence pressed on me as I dressed. My hands shook as I fastened my blouse, every button a small battle. I stared at my reflection longer than necessary—powder over tired skin, lipstick bright enough to fake composure. But the woman in the mirror didn’t look like me anymore. She looked like someone playing a part she no longer believed in.
The driver greeted me as usual, but even his “Good morning, ma’am” felt loaded, as though he’d heard whispers I hadn’t. The ride to the office blurred, skyscrapers flashing li
