Chapter 4

The office noise faded to a dull roar in my ears.

Jessica's post.

"Desert Morningstar."

My design. My story.

Stolen. Again. Instantly.

How? I'd just finished sketching it. On paper. In this office.

Colleagues were already gathering around Jessica's cubicle, cooing over her "brilliant new concept."

"Wow, Jessica, that's stunning!"

"You're on fire lately!"

Their voices, sharp and bright, cut through my shock.

Then Sarah, from next to me, looked from Jessica's Instagram to my dropped sketchbook on the floor.

Her eyes widened. She picked it up.

Flipped through my "Desert Morningstar" storyboards.

Her gaze shot to me, full of a dawning, horrified understanding. Then, confusion. Then, suspicion.

"Emily... this is..."

Before she could finish, Jessica was there, drawn by the sudden quiet around my cubicle.

She saw the sketchbook in Sarah's hands. Saw my face.

Her expression, for a fleeting microsecond, was pure, cold triumph.

Then it melted into her practiced look of wounded innocence.

"Oh, Emily," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Are you... are you trying to design jewelry now too? That's... interesting."

She glanced at my storyboard, then back at her phone. "It's a bit similar to my 'Desert Morningstar' concept, isn't it? What a coincidence."

A coincidence.

The word hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.

Someone muttered, "Similar? It's the same damn thing."

The murmurs started. Doubtful glances. Whispers.

I felt the familiar chill of being judged, of being disbelieved.

In the chaos, as people pressed closer, someone jostled me. Hard.

I stumbled, my head cracking against the sharp edge of a filing cabinet.

Pain exploded behind my eyes. Stars.

Jessica rushed forward, all fake concern.

"Oh my god, Emily, are you okay?"

She reached for me, but her touch was less a support and more... a positioning. She subtly angled herself so it looked like I had stumbled into her, that my fall was my own clumsiness, perhaps even aggression.

"She just lunged," I heard Jessica whisper to someone nearby, her voice laced with fear. "I think she's really unstable."

Unstable.

That was their favorite word for me.

The pain in my head, the injustice, the sheer audacity of her continuous theft and manipulation... something inside me snapped.

I wasn't going to be the quiet, confused victim this time.

I straightened up, ignoring the throbbing in my skull.

Looked Jessica dead in the eye.

And I slapped her.

Hard.

The sound cracked through the office like a gunshot.

Everyone froze.

Jessica's eyes widened in genuine shock, her hand flying to her cheek.

"You... you hit me!"

"Stay away from my ideas, Jessica," I said, my voice low and shaking, but clear. "Stay out of my head."

The office was silent.

Then, the accusations began, louder this time.

"She's lost it!"

"Assault! Call security!"

Jessica, predictably, burst into tears.

"I was just trying to help her... she's so stressed about the competition..."

I didn't wait for security.

I turned and walked out.