Point of breaking.

KATIE

Stirring from sleep, I blinked my eyes rapidly, disoriented for a second before everything rushed back in—Mark, Evan, my so-called father, the revelation, the walkout on Evan, everything. Reality hit me like a cold slap. I wasn’t in my room anymore. I was in Maria’s tiny but cozy apartment.

I sat up and looked around. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

That’s when I noticed the note stuck on the small white fridge in the corner. I padded across the room barefoot, my eyes scanning Maria’s careful handwriting: "Had to rush off to work. Make yourself at home. Eat whatever you like. We’ll talk more when I get back. —Maria."

A soft smile tugged at my lips. Maria had always been that one constant thread holding me together. I opened the fridge and pulled out a few slices of bread, popping them into the toaster. While the bread browned, I leaned against the counter, letting my thoughts consume me.

What now?

That question had been haunting me since I stepped out of Evan’s penthouse and into the cold truth of having nowhere to go. For years, everything I’d known was tied to the Malory name. All the power, the luxury, the access—none of it had belonged to me.

I was only a borrowed feather in a peacock’s tail. And Mark? I scoffed just thinking about how easily he discarded me once I stopped being useful.

The toast popped up soon after. I slapped some butter across the slices and took them to the little table by the window. With each bite, I forced myself to think. No more wallowing. No more self pity. I had to rebuild from the scraps left for me.

I wasn’t going to let life walk over me again.

If there was one thing I had that couldn’t be stripped away, it was knowledge. And experience. I had been at the forefront of several Malory business deals, sat in boardrooms, shaken hands with CEOs, and pitched to investors. Most of the time, I was the real brain behind the strategy—even if my father liked to act like it was all him.

Those connections still existed. The name might be gone, but the memories weren’t. I’d left impressions, built relationships. Maybe not everyone would shut their doors in my face.

Why don't I start something, then? A business of my own. Nothing fancy to begin with, just something that could gradually make me stand on my own two feet. I’d need capital, of course, and that meant I'll need bank loans.

The thought was daunting, but also oddly exciting.

I wasn’t a Malory anymore, and thank God for that. Because now, whatever I built would be mine.

I grabbed Maria’s notepad from beside the fridge and scribbled down ideas—small ventures, industries I understood, people I could call on. My brain buzzed to life, something I hadn’t felt in the past few days.

It was time to create something new from the ashes.

Immediately I finished my toast, I got dressed in one of Maria’s oversized coats and tied my hair into a neat bun. There wasn’t time to waste. I knew exactly where I had to go—the bank my father’s company had used for years. I had been there with him a couple of times, enough to leave an impression. They knew me. They had to.

Upon getting there, I walked into the tall glass building of the bank. I made my way to the reception and requested to speak with Mr. Donovan, the bank manager.

Moments later, I was led to his office.

He looked up as I stepped in. “Katie Malory,” he greeted, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Or... should I say Miss Katie.”

I ignored the change in his tone and took the seat across from him. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I’ll get straight to the point...I would like to take a personal loan to start a new small busines.”

His brows lifted slightly. “You mean a personal loan?”

“Yes,” I replied, sitting straighter. “I know my father’s company banks here. I’ve worked alongside him for years. I believe my credibility should be solid enough.”

He exhaled slowly, then reached into the drawer of his desk. I thought he was getting some paperwork.

Instead, he slid a folded newspaper across the table.

I stared at it before unfolding the front page. And there it was, my father’s cold, calculated face beside a headline in bold:

“Malory Family Publicly Disowns Daughter Amid Scandal”

My throat dried up instantly. The words blurred for a second.

“I… I’m still the same person. My capabilities haven’t changed,” I argued, my voice lower now, but firm. “I can still pay back. All I need is a chance.”

“I’m sorry, miss Katie,” Mr. Donovan said, pushing the paper back toward me. “But banks don’t operate on sentiment. You’re not a Malory in the world’s eyes anymore. Your financial backing, your security, everything that gave you leverage...is gone.”

I felt a flush crawl up my neck. “So, because my father disowned me in the media, I’m no longer a good investment?”

He didn’t respond. His silence was answer enough.

I swallowed hard, biting back the sting in my eyes. “Right,” I said quietly, standing up. “Thanks for your time.”

“Katie—” he began, maybe out of politeness or guilt.

But I was already halfway to the door, the newspaper crumpled in my trembling hand.

The world knew.

And they had already started shutting their doors.

This wouldn't be easy as I had hoped.

Without backing down, I made my way to another bank.

I wish I could say it was just that one bank. That maybe Mr. Donovan had been particularly cruel or too loyal to my father to see beyond the headlines. But after the third, fourth, and fifth bank gave me the exact same rehearsed rejection, the truth began to settle deep in my bones like cold rain. There was no escaping my last name, even now that it had been stripped from me.

Everywhere I went, the response was the same. Polite but distant smiles. Hesitant glances. A screen turned slightly in my direction, showing the same headline or some online version of it. I had become a walking scandal.

At one bank, the manager didn’t even bother with small talk. “Miss Katie, I think it’s best you sort out your personal issues before considering financial ventures. It would be unwise for us to proceed with your request under the current... circumstances.”

Circumstances.

I left that one holding my breath, because if I didn’t, I was sure I would scream.

By the end of the day, my feet were sore and my pride was tattered. I had knocked on so many doors I once could walk through without invitation...and every single one was slammed in my face.

It didn’t matter that I had worked with my father for years, or that I had ideas, plans, or even grit. It didn’t matter that I was capable. All that mattered now was the story plastered across every media outlet: Katie Malory—fallen daughter, discarded wife, scandal-ridden outcast.

I sat on a bench near the last bank, watching people pass, wondering if they could see through me. Wondering if they could smell the feeling of rejection seeping off me.

Considering the options I have, the one Evan gave me, I was on the point of breaking.