Chapter 2

"We'll discuss it after the meeting, Ava," Mark said again, his voice smooth but firm. He dismissed my request as if it were a childish whim. The condescending pat on my shoulder made my skin crawl. I felt the familiar burn of frustration, the feeling of being managed and minimized.

I sat through the rest of the meeting in a daze. The hours dragged on, each tick of the clock a reminder of the six years I had waited. Waited for him to be ready for marriage. Waited for him to prioritize us over his work. Waited for him to see me as an equal, not an accessory to his success. Now, all that waiting had led to this. An empty chair next to me and a future that had vanished.

The door opened again, and Chloe Davis walked in, carrying a tray of coffee. She was twenty-two, with wide, innocent eyes and a smile that seemed permanently fixed on her face. She looked exactly like I did six years ago, when I first started as an intern at this firm, full of admiration for the brilliant senior architect, Mark Johnson.

She placed a cup in front of Mark, her fingers brushing against his. "I brought you your favorite, Mark. Extra shot of espresso."

"Thanks, Chloe. You're a lifesaver," he said, his voice warm and appreciative. It was the same tone he used to use with me.

Chloe then turned to me, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "Oh, Ava. I didn't know what you wanted."

The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. Our first project together. I had stayed up all night perfecting the renderings. Mark had found me asleep at my desk the next morning.

He had gently woken me up, a warm cup of coffee in his hand. "Extra shot of espresso," he had whispered, his eyes soft with a look I hadn't seen in years. "For my brilliant architect."

We had spent that whole day working side-by-side, our hands brushing as we reached for the same blueprint, our shoulders touching as we leaned over the drafting table. There was an energy between us, a spark that promised a future filled with shared passions and late-night collaborations.

Now, that same coffee, that same gesture, was being offered to someone else. I felt a cold wave wash over me, pulling me from the warm memory and back into the sterile, chilly reality of the conference room.

Mark took a sip of the coffee and smiled at Chloe. "It's perfect."

He didn't even look at me. It was as if I was already a ghost in the room, a relic of a past he was eager to discard.

Chloe lingered by his side, pointing at a detail on the blueprint. "I had a thought about the atrium facade, Mark. Maybe we could..."

Her voice was bright, eager. He leaned in, listening intently, their heads close together. The intimacy of the moment was a knife in my chest.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled through me. I pushed my chair back abruptly, the legs screeching against the floor.

"Are you okay, Ava?" Mr. Davenport asked, his brow furrowed with concern. The entire room was looking at me again.

Mark finally turned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes before it was replaced by a mask of polite concern. "Ava, you look pale. Are you feeling sick?"

It was a token question, a performance for our boss. He didn't care.

Before I could answer, Chloe stepped forward, her hand fluttering to her chest in a gesture of exaggerated sympathy. "Oh, Ava, you've been working so hard. Maybe you pushed yourself too much." She then looked at Mark, her eyes wide. "She was just telling me yesterday how stressed she's been feeling."