Chapter 3

Ethan cleaned himself up in the executive washroom, the cheap paper towels rough against his skin.

The coffee stain was large and obvious. His spare shirt in the office was a different color. He'd look mismatched.

Two junior analysts came in, chattering. They fell silent when they saw him.

"Mr. Miller," one said, his eyes flicking to the stain. "Rough morning?"

Ethan just nodded, forcing a tight smile.

"That Chase Albright," the other one muttered, lowering his voice. "Heard he's got Ms. Sterling wrapped around his little finger. Again."

"Yeah, poor Mr. Miller. Always caught in the crossfire."

Their pity was almost worse than the indifference. He just wanted to disappear.

He remembered a time, early on, when Tori had trusted his judgment implicitly.

A risky acquisition was on the table. Her gut said yes, but Ethan's analysis showed underlying financial instability in the target company. He'd argued his case, respectfully but firmly.

She'd listened. Really listened. And then, she'd backed his play, pulling out of the deal.

Months later, the target company collapsed. Tori had thanked him, a rare, genuine smile on her face. "You saved us, Ethan."

Now, her faith was solely in Chase, a man whose only visible talent was manipulation.

The shift was a cold, hard knot in Ethan's chest.

Later that day, Tori buzzed him.

"Ethan, bring those fabric swatches Chase picked out up to my penthouse. And the antique silver picture frames he liked from that catalog. He wants to see how they look in the space."

Her penthouse. The place where their secret encounters had happened. Now being redecorated to Chase's flamboyant taste.

"Yes, Ms. Sterling."

He gathered the items, his hands stiff.

When he arrived, the living room was already different. Gaudy, oversized furniture was replacing her previously understated, elegant pieces. Chase was directing movers, a king in his newly claimed castle.

Tori saw him. "Oh, Ethan. Good. Put them over there."

She gestured vaguely. She noticed his stained shirt, the one he hadn't had time to change properly.

"You're still wearing that? Did you get that coffee spill looked at?" A flicker of something, maybe concern, crossed her face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"It's fine, Ms. Sterling."

"Well, try not to drip on anything. Chase is very particular." She offered a small, forced smile. "Sorry about earlier. He can be a bit... enthusiastic."

A bit enthusiastic. That's what she called deliberate malice.

"I need you to run out and get some of those artisanal macarons Chase likes. From that little French place downtown. He gets peckish in the afternoon."

Another task for Chase. Another reminder of his place.

Ethan nodded. "Of course."

As he turned to leave, he realized something.

All those times she'd been "too busy" for him, too overwhelmed, too stressed to offer a kind word or a moment of her time when he was struggling, it wasn't because she was busy.

It was because she didn't care.

Not about him.

The realization was a quiet, devastating blow. It settled deep in his bones, a cold, heavy truth.

He spent the next hour navigating downtown traffic to fetch Chase's precious macarons.

When he returned to Sterling Capital, there was a buzz in the air. Chase was apparently holding court in the main conference room, outlining his "visionary" new tech startup to a select group of senior partners. Tori was beaming at his side.

Ethan could hear the sycophantic laughter from the hallway.

He delivered the macarons to Tori's empty office, placing them carefully on her desk.

He was just a delivery boy. An errand runner.

The indispensable shadow had become a mere footnote.