My phone buzzes on the desk. I already know what it’ll say, but I pick it up anyway.

I let out a long breath, cheeks puffing before I can stop myself. Same message as last night and the night before. Ever since he got promoted to the fourth floor, he feels…distant.

The blue glow of my monitor blinks out as I shut it down. My fingers bunch in my jacket, holding tight, like maybe I’ll squeeze the irritation out of me. It’s stupid. He’s killing himself over this deal, and here I am sulking because he won’t clock out on time.

I used to brag that he always put me first. And now, the second he puts work ahead, I’m pouting like some spoiled kid.

Real fiancée of the year.

I shove my arms through my coat sleeves and grab my bag. He mentioned dinner. I bet he’s hungry. The least I can do is make sure he eats.

The cool fall air lifts the strands that slipped free from the bun I wear like armor. Bradley swears by fake-it-’til-you-make-it, and part of that means looking like I belong at his side. So even though I’d rather be in leggings and a ponytail, I’m buttoned into a pencil skirt, silk blouse, and blazer. The whole outfit costs almost a month of my salary, but the way his eyes lit up when I first wore it made the pinch feel worth it.

There’s a noodle shop just down the block. We used to spend whole evenings here when we first started. The scent of spice pulls me right back to when we used to camp at one of the corner tables for hours, bowls clinking between us.

“Well, now. Look who’s just turned up,” Mr. Tanaka calls out as I approach the counter. Despite being in his late sixties, his beaming smile makes him appear young.

“Sorry it’s been so long.” I give him a sheepish smile. “Work’s been…a lot lately.”

I guess I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since Bradley and I were here.

His brows pinch, faint but there, like he wants to ask more but lets it slide. “Good to see you anyway. Taking the usual? That guy you used to come with running late?”

“Yes, the usual. To go.” I hesitate, then add, “He’s stuck at the office. I thought I’d surprise him.”

Mr. Tanaka hums under his breath, and a sigh escapes. “Just remember to come by even without that guy.”

My smile freezes. The way he says “that guy” reminds me of the last time we came here. Bradley barely got a hello, no easy charm, no warmth. At the time, I brushed it off, but now…

I open my mouth to ask, but my order’s already waiting on the counter. Fast as always.

“It was good to see you, Dahlia.” His eyes soften, almost sad. “Don’t be a stranger.”

I clutch the bag tighter than I need to, nodding before slipping back out into the cold.

Food in hand, I ride the elevator, watching each number blink as the car climbs higher. The closer it gets, the more something gnaws in my stomach. I push it down, hug the warm paper bag closer.

The hallway is dark when I step out, every office quiet except for the one at the end. His. A stripe of light cuts across the carpet from the crack under the door.

My floor is all cubicles, rows of heads bent over glowing screens, but here, it’s nothing but private offices along the windows. Bradley was so proud when he made it up here. We threw a party that night, cheap beer and thrift store decorations. He kissed me under the string lights I taped to the ceiling, said everything was changing, that this was the start of the life we’d been waiting for.

The memory settles me, and I move down the hall with long strides. There’s a giddy anticipation bubbling beneath my ribs at the thought of his smile when he sees me.

Before I reach the door, a low, rhythmic sound leaks through the wood and freezes me mid-step. Heat burns the back of my neck, prickling down my arms. My grip tightens around the bag, oil bleeding through the paper, the smell of sesame and garlic suddenly sour.

No. I must be imagining it.

I press my hand to the knob. My fingers slip with sweat as I turn it, the latch giving a sharp click. The noise doesn’t stop. It sharpens, grows more distinct with every inch the door moves.

My chest locks tight, breath stuck in my throat. Every instinct screams at me to turn around, to walk away, to pretend I never came.

The door keeps sliding open, revealing a woman laid over Bradley’s desk, her dress shoved high over her hips. The plant I bought him sits tipped in the corner, dirt spilled across the carpet. The sight barely makes sense before the slap of his hips connecting with her snaps me out of my daze.

He whirls at my gasp, eyes wide, fumbling with his belt. “Dahlia, wait. Baby, please, it’s not what it looks like.”

I choke out a bitter laugh. “Is this the part where you say ‘I accidentally fell and somehow landed with my dick in her’?”

He circles the desk with both palms raised as if approaching a wild animal. “Please, listen to me. I’ve been under so much pressure. These clients, the late nights, all of it. I was losing my mind. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It meant nothing. You know you’re the only one I love.”

The blonde shifts, pulling her dress down. Her face twists, insulted at the word “nothing.” I almost laugh, because apparently, she thought this was more than a stress reliever.

My arms wrap tight across my chest. “Nothing? Are you really going to play that game? A little cliché, don’t you think?”

“I swear to you, it wasn’t planned. She came on to me. I should have stopped it, but I was weak. God, Dahlia, you know me. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you. Everything I do is for us.”

Bradley drags a hand through his hair, eyes shining with panic. “Don’t do this. Don’t throw away everything we’ve built over one mistake. Think about the house, the future we talked about, the sacrifices we both made to get here. You can’t mean to walk away because of this.”

Bile sours my mouth, his proximity making me nauseous, and I back away from his touch, giving myself some much-needed space. “Because of this? I just caught you having sex with someone else.”

His expression flickers, pleading hardening into irritation. “You’ve been so needy lately. Always tired, always sulking when I had to stay late. Do you have any idea the pressure I’m under? I felt alone, Dahlia. Maybe if you had been more supportive, I wouldn’t have slipped tonight.”

The audacity makes my chest burn. “You’re blaming me?”

He exhales sharply, composure cracking. “I’m saying this doesn’t have to end everything. You’re being dramatic. You have to see that. We’re stronger than this. You need me.”

The certainty in his voice makes me freeze.

The truth of his words stings because I really had given up everything. When he begged me to follow him here, convinced me to use the money I had left from selling the flower shop, when he started saying we needed to focus on work and not making friends…he made me depend on him.

“Is that why you didn’t bring me up here with you? So, you could keep me small while you slept with someone else on the desk I decorated?”

Something cold and smug slides over his face, like a mask falling away. “Dahlia, you know you don’t belong on this floor. You don’t even have a degree. You were never going to make it here without me. I built this. I made you. Without me, you have nothing. So stop being an idiot, and let’s go home. We will forget this ever happened, and you will make it up to me later.”

The words slam into me. Any lingering doubt vanishes. The man in front of me is a stranger.

“You are an egotistical, small-dicked, balding freaking asshole.” Before I can think, the heel of my palm connects upward into his nose with a crunch. Blood seeps between his fingers as he clutches it, eyes narrowing. Rage replaces the panic. I don’t wait for him to lunge. I kick his shin, hard, and bolt for the door, not stopping until I’m out of the building and the brisk night air hits my skin and reality with it.

I’m homeless, jobless, friendless…in other words, I’m totally screwed.

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