Chapter 1

I drew a thick red circle around the date on my desk calendar, two weeks from today. It wasn't a project deadline, it was an end date. My end date. After eight years, I was finally leaving this place. The thought should have made me happy, but it just made me feel hollow.

My best friend at the firm, Lisa Rodriguez, leaned over my cubicle wall, a skeptical smile on her face. "Don't tell me, you're actually doing it this time?"

"I am," I said, my voice more firm than I felt. "Two weeks. I' m giving my notice tomorrow."

She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Sarah, you've been saying you're going to leave for the last three years. What makes this time different?"

Her words hit a sore spot because they were true. For eight years, I had poured everything into this firm, into architecture. I told myself it was for my career, but that was a lie. It was for David Chen.

I' d had a crush on him since my first day as an intern, watching the brilliant, untouchable senior partner command a room with quiet confidence. I gave up a scholarship to study art history in Florence for this job, for a chance to work near him. I worked grueling hours, took on the worst projects, and endured the cutthroat competition, all for a crumb of his attention, a single word of praise. He gave me neither.

Just then, a chill fell over our corner of the office. Mr. Henderson, the firm's managing partner, was walking down the aisle. His face was a mask of stoicism, but his eyes, sharp and critical, swept over my desk. He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on my slightly messy stack of blueprints.

"Miller," he said, his voice flat and cold. "The schematics for the waterfront project were due an hour ago. Is there a problem?"

"No, Mr. Henderson," I said, my stomach tightening. "I'm just making final adjustments. They'll be on your desk in ten minutes."

He gave a curt nod and moved on without another word. The interaction was typical, a stark reminder of my place here. I was just another cog in his machine.

Then, the air in the office shifted again. Emily White, a junior architect who had joined only six months ago, walked up to Mr. Henderson. She held a coffee cup in her hand, offering it to him with a bright, sweet smile.

"Mr. Henderson, I noticed you were working late again, so I brought you a black coffee, just how you like it," she said, her voice full of warmth.

A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Mr. Henderson' s lips. "Thank you, Emily. That's very thoughtful."

The contrast was jarring. I watched them, a dull ache spreading through my chest. The warmth he showed her was something I had craved for years. It wasn't Mr. Henderson I wanted it from, but it was the same pattern. I remembered a time, years ago, during my first big project review.

A rival architect tried to claim one of my design concepts as his own. David had stepped in, a rare moment of intervention. He hadn't been warm, but he had been protective, shutting the man down with a few precise, cutting words. "Miller's design is sound. Don't waste my time." It was the closest I' d ever felt to being seen by him. That memory, once a source of secret hope, now just felt pathetic.

I looked from Mr. Henderson's softened expression back to my desk, to the calendar with its red circle. I saw David across the open-plan office, laughing at something Emily was showing him on her computer screen. He looked at her with an unguarded warmth I had never received, a look that wasn't for a colleague, but for something more. That was it. The final illusion shattered. It was time to go. My devotion had been a complete and utter waste.

I took a deep breath, the air feeling thin and tight. Two weeks. Fourteen days until I was free. The countdown had begun.