Chapter 2

Alena POV:

Brittany's smug face was the first thing I saw when I walked back into the office the next morning. She was leaning against the doorframe of my office, the space that had been mine for eight years, now seemingly absorbed into her orbit. Her eyes narrowed as I approached. "Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence. Blake was wondering if you' d finally gone off the deep end."

I didn't answer. I just walked past her, heading straight for my desk, which now felt like enemy territory. My brief moment of rebellion yesterday had been exactly that-a moment. The cold reality of my situation clung to me like a shroud.

"Rough night, Alena?" she pressed, her voice dripping with artificial concern. "You look a little... unkempt. Didn't your little stand last night work out?" Her lips curved into a sneer.

I placed my briefcase on my now-cluttered desk, ignoring the piles of paperwork that weren't mine. "What do you want, Brittany?" My voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

She pushed off the doorframe, stalking closer. Her Chanel bag hung ostentatiously from her shoulder. "Just curious. You seemed pretty wound up. Like a spring that finally snapped." She chuckled, a brittle, humorless sound. "Or maybe you just realized that some people are meant to win, and others are meant to... well, serve." She shrugged, as if it were a universal truth.

I looked at her, really looked at her. Her designer suit, her perfectly styled hair, the condescending tilt of her head. She was a caricature of success, a glossy façade. "You know, Brittany," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "it must be exhausting, pretending to be something you're not."

Her smile vanished. Her eyes flashed with anger. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I continued, meeting her gaze head-on, "the truth always comes out. Eventually."

She recoiled slightly, a flicker of insecurity crossing her face before being replaced by pure venom. "You think you're so clever, don't you? So noble. But you're just bitter, Alena. A bitter, discarded plaything." She spun on her heel, her silk blouse rustling. "Enjoy your little pity party. Blake and I have a firm to run."

As if on cue, Blake emerged from his office, a dazzling smile plastered on his face. He wrapped an arm around Brittany' s waist, pulling her close. "Everything alright, sweetheart?" he murmured, his eyes sweeping over me with a fleeting, dismissive glance.

Brittany beamed up at him. "Just clearing up some... old business, darling." She leaned in and whispered something in his ear, then giggled.

I watched them, a perfect, polished pair. He, the ambitious senior partner, and she, the new, shining star with powerful connections. The irony would have been laughable if it didn't feel like a punch to the gut.

They walked towards the conference room, Blake' s arm still around Brittany. She swayed a little, her high heels catching on the carpet, and a stack of files she was carrying-files for my tech deal-tumbled from her grasp, scattering across the polished marble floor. Papers, diagrams, contracts... they fanned out like fallen leaves.

Brittany shrieked, a high-pitched, affected sound. "Oh my god, my nails! Blake, darling, help me!"

Blake, ever the gentleman, knelt to gather the papers. But Brittany, flailing dramatically, managed to kick a coffee cup that was sitting precariously on a nearby cart. It hit the floor with a porcelain-shattering crack, sending scalding brown liquid, sugar packets, and discarded stir sticks splaying in an unholy mess.

The smell of burnt coffee filled the air. Brittany gasped, clutching her arm. "Oh, the horror! My new suit is ruined!" she wailed, though only a few drops had actually touched her sleeve.

Blake glanced up, his expression a mix of annoyance and forced concern. He saw me standing there, a silent observer. His eyes hardened. "Alena," he commanded, his voice sharp, cutting through Brittany's dramatics. "Get over here and clean this up. Immediately."

My blood ran cold. Clean this up. Like a subordinate. Like a maid. Like his "free paralegal."

I hesitated, my body stiffening. The injustice burned.

"Alena! Don't make me ask again," Blake snapped, his charm dissolving into impatience. "Brittany is distressed. We have a meeting in five minutes. Someone needs to handle this." He pointed to the mess, then at me. "You're good at this kind of thing. Efficient."

Efficient. He always had a backhanded compliment ready. My stomach churned. I knew what this was. A public humiliation. A reminder of my place.

My period had started that morning, a dull ache in my lower back, a constant throb that underscored every emotional blow. It felt like my body was mirroring the betrayal, a physical manifestation of the emotional wreckage. I had endured so many pains for Blake, for his career, for us. This seemed like just another one, a final test of my endurance.

With a sigh that felt torn from the depths of my soul, I walked towards the spilled coffee. I bent down, ignoring the throbbing pain, ignoring Brittany's triumphant smirk. My fingers, accustomed to turning legal pages, now picked up shattered ceramic and sticky sugar packets.

"Careful, Alena," Brittany cooed, stepping back as if my touch might contaminate her. "Wouldn't want to get your pretty suit dirty. Oh, wait, you're wearing... last season's." Her laugh was like glass shards.

Blake didn' t say anything. He just watched, a silent accomplice. He always did. He watched me clean up his messes, his mistakes, his debris. For eight years, I had cleaned up after him.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I pressed a hand to my abdomen. The pain was sharp, almost debilitating. My vision blurred for a second. I swayed, my knees threatening to buckle.

Blake, for a split second, started to reach out, his hand extending. A flash of something akin to concern crossed his face.

But Brittany was quicker. She gasped, a dramatic hand flying to her chest. "Blake, darling, I feel faint. That smell... it's overwhelming." She leaned heavily against him, pulling his attention away, her eyes shooting me a triumphant look.

He immediately turned, his hand settling on her back, guiding her away. "Let's get you some fresh air, Brittany. Alena can handle this." He didn't even look back. Not once.

They walked away, Blake's arm still around Brittany, their voices fading as they entered the conference room. I was left alone, kneeling on the cold marble floor, surrounded by the wreckage of spilled coffee and shattered porcelain. My head swam, the pain in my stomach intensifying. My hands, sticky and stained, trembled.

Eight years. Eight years of my life, my love, my loyalty. Reduced to this. Cleaning up his new girlfriend's mess.

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. This wasn't just a humiliation. This was a moment of absolute clarity. He didn't care. He never had. He never would. And I had wasted so much to learn this simple, brutal truth.

I would clean this up. But it would be the last thing I ever did for Blake Molina. My last act in this twisted, degrading play. This was not just coffee I was wiping. This was my past. And I was scrubbing it clean.

From this office. From this firm. From his life. Forever.