Chapter 5 A Broken Goodbye

Emma's shoes tapped on the polished marble floor, echoing through the office building's enormous quiet. Her box of possessions seemed heavier than it should, her shaking arms straining beneath the weight of what little she had brought-and what had been so rudely taken away. As she passed, eyes gazed, inquisitive and icy, like sharks circling in bloody seas. No one said anything.

Wolfe Enterprises' glass doors opened before her as if a beast's jaws had finally spewed her out. Emma took one more peek over her shoulder before stepping into the cold winter air. The cold hurt her cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the maelstrom inside her.

How could everything go apart so quickly?

Just two weeks ago, she thought her life had finally turned a corner. After months of rejections and scraping by, she discovered a job that made her feel worthwhile. She had pleased customers, solved difficulties, and worked late at night not for accolades but because she believed in doing things well. She had mistakenly believed that hard labour could warm even the coldest souls.

Instead, Alexander Wolfe humiliated her in front of half the company with razor-sharp comments.

"You are done here, Miss Carter. Pack all your belongings and depart. Now."

There was no explanation. There is no opportunity to speak. It's just a judgment.

Emma sat on a seat near the subway entrance, her fingertips white on the cardboard box. She suppressed the scorching tears in her eyes. But when she blinked, they poured regardless.

She had not merely lost her work; she had also lost something more. Something that had been developing slowly and without her consent.

She had once admired Alexander Wolfe.

She was smart, imaginative, and unrelenting. But below the power suits and granite looks, she saw a man battling ghosts. There were short, rare times when he looked at her as if she were not simply another employee. It is as if he noticed her.

She was incorrect.

Emma let her tears fall. What was the purpose of holding back any longer?

The next few days were a haze of empty hours. Emma sent out resumes to dozens of employers. The majority did not respond-the ones who did provide cryptic rejections or silence. The weight of despondency pushed down on her, becoming greater with each passing day.

She sold the jewellery her mother gave her before dying.

She missed meals to make the most of her remaining rent.

She opted to walk rather than take the bus.

Every time she rounded a corner, the city seemed to say, "You are alone."

She continued going. Not because she felt powerful but because she did not have any option.

On the sixth day, Emma returned to her part-time job at the local bookshop, which she had nearly forgotten about during her time at Wolfe Enterprises. The income was low, but the owner, a lovely lady called Rosa, always treated her like family.

Rosa gently touched Emma's hand, saying, "I do not know what happened, but...do not let it break you." "You are intended for more."

Emma flashed a weary grin. "That is what I used to believe."

"Yes, you still do. That is why you are here.

She nodded, blinking away another burst of emotion.

Emma resumed stacking shelves and pricing used paperbacks as the midday light shone through the dusty store windows. The fragrance of old papers was weirdly soothing, a reminiscence of simpler times.

And then he strolled in.

Tall. Charismatic. An aura that caused the air to change. He wore a black coat and a navy scarf, and his demeanour was both captivating and relaxed. His hair was slightly unkempt as if he was not concerned about looks yet still looked devastatingly exquisite.

"Excuse me," he murmured, his tone pleasant and little amused. "Do you have the original edition of Machiavelli's The Prince?"

Emma turned, caught in her thoughts. Her gaze met his, and for a few seconds, she forgot everything-the bookshop, her tiredness, even Alexander Wolfe.

The stranger cocked his head. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, I apologize," Emma responded, recovering. "That is a really precise requirement."

"I enjoy uncommon items," he said with a grin. "And the tales that accompany them."

She chuckled gently, her first sincere laugh in days. "Well, you may be in luck. Allow me to check the catalog."

As she examined the database, he leaned gently against the counter and watched her with a curious gentleness. "You seem to like telling tales as well. The way you talk is insightful.

Emma cast an upward gaze. "Maybe. Life is filled with tales. Some stories do not have happy endings.

"Or maybe," he added softly, "they have not reached the nice part yet."

Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten-not in anguish, but with cautious optimism.

She discovered the book. He purchased it without hesitation.

He gave her the card, and she read his name: Liam Everhart.

Not merely a consumer but one of Wolfe Enterprises' most prestigious customers. She recalls the name from shipping reports.

Thank you, Miss...

"Emma Carter."

He gave a grin. "OK, Miss Carter. I hope to see you again.

He walked away, the bell above the door jingling quietly behind him.

Emma stood there for a while, her pulse pumping for the first time in days-not from fear, but from something that seemed dangerously like hope.

For the first time since her termination, she did not feel broken.

Not completely.

That night, she stood at her window, drinking tea and gazing out at the cityscape. The lights twinkled like stars dispersed over steel.

Her phone buzzed. Rosa sent a message: "You did an excellent job today. And what about that Liam guy? Whew! "Do not let that one go, girl."

Emma grinned as she placed down the phone. She was not thinking about romance yet. But something had changed inside her.

Yes, she had been flung into the darkness. Framed. Betrayed. She felt humiliated by a guy she assumed had seen her.

However, it is possible that... This was not the end.

That may be the start of something bigger.

She had no idea what part Liam would play in her life.

But when the wind whispered across her windowpane and the darkness curled about her shoulders, she sensed one

a thing very clearly:

She was not done.

She would get up again.

And the next time, she would not fall so quickly.