Chapter 7
Elara
Love isn't something you can delete with a single text.
But it also isn't something that survives what happened last night. What happened this morning. What was still happening right now as my face was plastered across every news channel in the city.
Then I turned my phone off again before I could see if he replied.
The bus ride back to the city felt endless. I sat in the back, my forehead pressed against the window, watching the countryside give way to suburbs, then to the bright lights of Manhattan.
Somewhere out there, Damien Sinclair was probably dealing with his own fallout from those photos. Probably had a team of lawyers and PR people working overtime to contain the damage.
I had nobody.
Just me and a bruised back and the knowledge that I'd lost everything in the space of twenty-four hours.
The bus pulled into Port Authority just after ten PM. I grabbed my bag and stumbled off, my legs stiff from sitting, my whole body aching.
I should go home. Should sleep. Should figure out what to do next.
But the thought of going back to my tiny apartment—the apartment where I'd gotten ready for last night, where I'd been so excited and nervous and stupidly hopeful—made my stomach turn.
I couldn't go back there. Not yet.
So I walked.
Through Times Square with its blinding lights and tourist crowds. Down Fifth Avenue past The Plaza Hotel, which I couldn't even look at without feeling sick. Through the quieter streets of the Upper East Side where people like Damien Sinclair lived in buildings I'd never be allowed to enter.
My phone stayed off in my bag. The world stayed distant and unreal.
I walked until my feet hurt. Until the pain in my back became a constant throb I could almost ignore. Until the sky started to lighten with the first hints of dawn.
Then I finally went home.
I took one day off. Just long enough for the worst of the bruises to fade to yellow-green instead of purple-black. Just long enough to practice walking without wincing every time I moved.
I couldn't afford to lose more pay.
On my second day back, I woke up at five AM, showered, put on my most conservative work clothes, and took the subway to Sinclair Industries.
The building loomed over me as I approached—all glass and steel and power. I'd worked here for six months and still felt like an imposter every time I walked through those doors.
Now, after everything that had happened, I felt like a criminal.
But I kept my head down and my eyes forward. Swiped my ID card at the security desk. Took the service elevator up to the logistics department on the thirty-second floor.
Nobody looked at me when I walked in.
That was normal. People in logistics didn't get looked at much. We were the invisible ones, the ones who made sure everyone else had what they needed to do their important jobs.
I'd always been okay with that. Being invisible meant being safe.
But today, the silence felt different. Heavier.
I went to my desk and started working through my morning routine. Ordered coffee and juice for everyone in the department. Made sure the newspapers were delivered to each desk. Organized the files that had been dumped on my chair overnight.
People came in. Sat down. Started their days.
Nobody said good morning back when I greeted them.
I told myself it didn't matter. Told myself I was imagining the way conversations stopped when I walked past. Told myself the sideways glances and whispered comments were just paranoia.
But I knew better.
They'd all seen the photos. They all knew.
And nobody was going to let me forget it.
Time moved fast after that. The busy days made everything feel distant—that night, the man, the betrayal. Like maybe it had all been a nightmare.
A month passed.
I worked. I went home. I avoided my phone. I sent money to Margaret every week—not much, but enough to show her I was serious about getting us out.
Marcus stopped texting after the first week. I didn't blame him. What could he possibly say? What could I?
On a Tuesday morning exactly four weeks after that night at The Plaza, I arrived at work at seven thirty AM like always. Went through my routine like always. Ordered the coffee, organized the papers, prepared for another day of being ignored.
At eight thirty, my supervisor burst into the department, her face flushed and her breathing heavy like she'd been running.
"Emergency board meeting!" she gasped. "The CEO wants everyone upstairs. Now. You too, Elara!"
I froze with a stack of files in my hands.
The CEO.
Damien Sinclair.
I hadn't seen him since that morning. Hadn't heard from him. Had done everything in my power to pretend he didn't exist.
And now he wanted me upstairs.
"Move!" My supervisor was already heading for the door. "We can't keep him waiting!"
I grabbed my files and followed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
This was it. He was going to fire me. He was going to make an example of me in front of everyone.
I was going to lose the only job I'd ever had.
The elevator was packed with people from logistics and accounting and half a dozen other departments I didn't recognize. I squeezed into the back corner, clutching my files against my chest like armor.
Before I could even process what was happening, my coworkers were shoving more files into my arms. Stacks and stacks of them—so high I could barely see over the top.
I didn't complain. I just held them and followed everyone into the elevator.
I kept bumping into people. Kept apologizing.
The elevator dinged.
I stumbled out, half-running to keep up with the crowd surging toward the conference room.
My arms were aching. My back was throbbing. The files were slipping.
Then someone shouted: "Mr. Sinclair's coming!"
The hallway went dead silent.
People moved aside like they were parting for royalty.
I felt it—this overwhelming presence, like the air itself had changed.
I couldn't help it. I turned around to see who could command that kind of power.
And then everything went wrong.
My head spun. The files slipped from my arms. Papers scattered everywhere.
I was falling.
I couldn't stop myself.
Before I hit the ground, I saw a face. Sharp jawline.
I knew this face, because it belonged to the CEO, and the man I had one night stand with.
Then darkness.
