1

“This has to be a nightmare,” I muttered beneath my breath as I stepped into the reception hall through the revolving doors.

A semi-circle of my colleagues stood clustered around my ex-boyfriend, their faces plastered with smiles as he made a theatrical show of handing out wedding invitations. They congratulated him like he’d just won a Nobel Prize, feeding the ego I had once made the mistake of nurturing. He looked smug in a gray, custom-tailored suit that clearly cost more than he could afford unless his wealthy fiancée had picked up the bill, which was almost certainly the case.

His face was freshly shaved, his ash-blond hair neatly slicked back, and even his nails shone with manicured precision. A walking, talking makeover. Courtesy of his ridiculously rich bride-to-be, no doubt. I’d hated him before, but now? My disgust had skyrocketed.

Muttering another curse, I veered right, hugging the wall in an effort to disappear into the shadows before that pompous bastard noticed me. The last thing I needed was to feed his ego any more than the crowd already had

“Ami!” he called out, stretching my name like the bell for the next round of a boxing match. Honestly? That wasn’t far off.

We’d been circling each other for three months now, lobbing verbal jabs back and forth. And this? This was him aiming for a final knockout.

I froze, acutely aware of the dozens of eyes now burning into my back. With my teeth clenched, I turned, plastering a brittle smile on my face. “Ansel. What an exquisitely awful surprise.”

He let out a dry chuckle, strutting toward me with invitation in hand. “Oh, Ami. You can drop the act.” He waved a dismissive hand like I was some joke he’d already heard. My blood began to simmer. “I know you still want me. You just need to accept that you’re out of your league.”

My fists clenched at my sides. The urge to punch his smug face was becoming dangerously real. “Want you back? Are you seriously delusional? Who the hell would want a cheating, manipulative”

“Let’s not get dramatic, darling.” He cut me off by sticking his palm inches from my face, forcing me to stumble back. “Let bygones be bygones.” He extended the wedding invitation. “Consider this my olive branch.”

Olive branch, my ass. This wasn’t a peace offering. He wanted me there so he could parade his heiress wife in front of me like a trophy. He wanted to rub it in my face how he’d upgraded while I’d been left behind.

A storm of expletives crowded my tongue, but before I could spit them out, a voice behind me broke the tension.

“She’ll be there,” Romilly announced, her voice sharp and unwavering. She stepped beside me, eyes locked on Ansel, her curly brown hair tossed confidently over one shoulder. Her hand rested on her hip like a gunslinger at a duel. “She accepts your invitation.”

I turned to her, eyes wide. “Romilly, what the hell are you doing?” I hissed.

She winked, keeping her gaze locked on Ansel. “I’m coming too,” she added. “Just make sure our invites include plus ones.”

Ansel’s brows lifted in amusement. “Plus one? You expect me to believe she” he jabbed a finger in my direction “has someone?”

I opened my mouth, but Romilly beat me to it. “She does.” Her voice didn’t waver. “She’ll be attending with her boyfriend.”

I stood frozen, unable to form a single word, as Ansel let out a disbelieving snort.

“Well, this should be entertaining.” He handed the invitations to Romilly, spun on his heel, and swaggered back to the pack of coworkers before my brain could catch up.

Heat rose to my cheeks not from embarrassment but fury. I grabbed the strap of Romilly’s bag and yanked her into the nearest stairwell. “What the actual hell, Romilly?” I half-screamed.

She rolled her eyes, unbothered. “Relax. It’s time you showed him you’re not afraid to face him.”

I gaped at her. “By handing him the perfect opportunity to humiliate me?”

She gave me a pointed look. “When’s the last time you wore actual makeup and a dress? And no, BB cream and lip balm don’t count. Neither does that oversized sweatshirt you’ve practically moved into.”

A weak chuckle escaped me. “I wore dresses when I was with him.”

“And then he broke your heart, and you stopped.” Her smirk was annoyingly smug. “Face it, Ami. You’ve let him win.”

My irritation spiked. “This isn’t a damn game.”

“It is,” she countered. Her eyes scanned my current look messy bun, faded jacket, ancient yellow tee, floor-length gray skirt, and scuffed sneakers. “And you’re playing to lose. Time to change the rules.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she spun on her heel and marched down the stairs. I followed, fuming. How exactly was I supposed to “fight back”? Ansel was marrying into royalty while I was clinging to emotional shrapnel and barely-paid bills.

The only thing keeping me somewhat together was my job. Working at Lockhart Digital Entertainment had always been a dream, even if I was stuck in the worst department imaginable, at a desk buried in the basement.

Ansel, who couldn't hold a coherent sentence without stumbling, had somehow landed a managerial position straight out of nowhere. He’d sweet-talked the recruiter and poof there he was, Mr. Manager. Meanwhile, I wasn’t even sure what my title was supposed to be.

Sighing, I trailed Romilly into the corridor leading to our office officially named the Data Revising Department, unofficially known as the Recycling Room. We spent our days reviewing rejected or half-dead projects. Glamorous? No. Necessary for survival? Absolutely.

I pushed open the office door and stepped into the cramped room, where five desks sat crammed together. The rest of our team was already there. I made my way to my desk, switched on my computer, and only then noticed the oppressive silence.

Tallis Montclair, our team leader, stood by her desk looking ghostly pale. She offered us a tight-lipped smile.

“What’s going on?” I asked cautiously.

“You’ve heard we have a new CEO… right?” she asked.

I rarely kept up with corporate politics, but Romilly jumped in. “Yeah, I heard. Mr. Jareth Lockhart’s son took over. Apparently, he’s really good-looking,” she added with a dreamy tone.

Tallis let out a high-pitched, slightly hysterical laugh. “Yes, well. Mr. Theron Lockhart is… attractive, sure.”

My stomach dropped at the sound of that name. No. It couldn’t be *that* Theron Lockhart. The one who had made my high school years unbearable. Could it?

Tallis inhaled shakily. “Anyway, he’s made some… changes.”

She paused, swallowed hard, then said the words no one wanted to hear.

“We’ve all been let go.”