Chapter 9– Two Weeks Of Winter

Aria’s POV

Two weeks in, and I'm surviving on four hours of sleep, spite, and black coffee that tastes like battery acid.

I stumble into the apartment at eleven PM, nearly tripping over my own feet. The lights are on. Sophie is waiting on the couch, her laptop open but her eyes on the door.

"You look like death." She stands, taking in my appearance with a visible alarm. "When did you last eat?"

I try to remember. "Lunch?"

"Yesterday or today?" She askes folding her hands as she looks at me with such intensity.

The fact that I have to think about it tells her everything. Sophie grabs my arm and pulls me to the kitchen, pushing me into a chair.

"Stay." She orders like I'm a disobedient puppy. "I'm making you food."

"I'm fine" I say yawning.

"You're not fine." She pulls leftover pasta from the fridge, not looking at me. "You've lost at least ten pounds. You have dark circles so bad you look like you've been in a fight. Your hands are shaking. When's the last time you slept more than four hours?"

"I sleep."

"Passing out from exhaustion doesn't count." She puts the pasta in the microwave with more force than necessary. "This job is killing you, Aria. You've been there two weeks and you're already falling apart."

"I'm handling it." I rest my forehead on the cool table. "I just need to adjust to the workload."

"The workload is inhuman." Sophie slams her hand on the counter, making me flinch. "I looked up Cross Technologies. I talked to people who work in tech. Do you know what the average marketing coordinator handles? Four to five projects at a time. Do you know how much Victoria has you working on?"

I don't answer.

"Seventeen." Her voice shakes. "You're managing seventeen projects, Aria. That's the workload of three people. And she keeps adding more every time you finish something."

The microwave beeps. Sophie sets the pasta in front of me with a fork. "Eat."

I pick up the fork but it feels heavy. "I signed a contract." I force myself to take a bite. I have no appetite, but I swallow anyway. "I can't quit. We need the money."

"We'll figure something out"

"There is nothing to figure out." I set down the fork my appetite gone. "This is the only option. I work there or we lose everything. It's that simple."

Sophie sits across from me, her eyes filling with tears she won't let fall."You're not just losing weight and sleep." Her voice is barely a whisper. "You're losing yourself. I see it happening and I can't stop it."

"I'm still me."

"Are you?" She reaches across the table, touching the dark circles under my eyes. "Because the Aria I know wouldn't accept this. She'd fight back. She'd demand better. She'd value herself."

The words cut deeper than any of Damien's cruelty."I'm doing what I have to do." I pull away from her touch. "Please, Sophie. I can't fall apart right now. I need you to let me survive this my own way."

She stares at me for a long moment. Then she nods, wiping her eyes."Okay." She stands, clearing her own plate. "But I'm making you lunch every day. And you're going to eat it. That's non-negotiable."

It's a small kindness in an ocean of cruelty but I  manage a weak smile."Deal."

That night, I slept for four hours before my alarm screamed.

The days blur together. Sixteen-hour workdays become normal. My desk becomes a prison I return to each morning at seven AM sharp. Victoria appears like clockwork with new assignments, her smile growing smug each time I complete the impossible and she hands me something worse.

My coworkers avoid me. The whispers follow me to the bathroom, the break room, the elevator. No one wants to be associated with the Holt girl, the pariah, the woman everyone knows is being punished for sins that aren't hers.

I become a ghost haunting the twenty-second floor.

On Wednesday of week Two, Victoria calls a team meeting at Nine AM in conference room B. I grab my tablet and follow the others, taking a seat at the far end of the table.

Victoria stands at the head, perfectly composed in a white suit.

"Let's discuss the campaign." She pulls up a presentation on the screen. Charts showing declining engagement, poor conversion rates, wasted budget. "As you can see, this campaign has been a complete failure."

My stomach drops. I wasn't assigned to Morrison. I would remember it's one of our biggest clients.

"The strategy was poorly conceived." Victoria clicks to the next slide. "The execution was sloppy. The results are embarrassing."

She turns, her eyes landing on me with laser focus."Aria, would you like to explain what went wrong?"

The room goes silent. Everyone turns to stare at me."I…” My mouth goes dry. "I wasn't on the Morrison campaign."

"You were listed as a contributor." Victoria's smile doesn't waver. "Are you saying you didn't contribute?"

It's a trap. I can feel it closing around me. If I say I didn't contribute, I'm admitting I failed to complete an assignment. If I take responsibility, I'm accepting blame for a disaster I had nothing to do with.

"I don't recall being assigned" I say my voice wavering slightly.

"So you're saying it's a mistake in our project management system?" Victoria's eyebrow arches. "That somehow your name was added to this campaign without your knowledge or input?"

"I'm saying I don't remember" I say.

"Perhaps if you spent less time making excuses and more time doing your job, you'd remember your assignments."

The words are a slap. Several people around the table shift uncomfortably. But no one speaks up neither do they defend me.

"I apologize." The words stick in my throat. "I should have"

"Yes, you should have." Victoria cuts me off. "This failure reflects poorly on the entire marketing department. Moving forward, I expect better from all of you."

The message is clear. I'm the weak link. The failure. The one dragging everyone down as shame burns through me.

"Now, let's discuss Q4 strategy" Victoria's voice trails off.

Her eyes fix on something behind me as I turn.Damien Cross stands in the doorway.His gray eyes sweep the room, taking in the scene, the presentation still showing the campaign failed metrics, landing finally on me.

His expression is unreadable and somehow, impossibly, more terrifying than Victoria's public humiliation.

"Mr. Cross." Victoria recovers quickly, her voice brightening. "We were just reviewing the campaign. I was addressing some performance issues."

Damien's gaze doesn't leave my face. "Continue."He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.

And I realize this isn't a coincidence. He knew about this meeting. He knew what Victoria planned to do. He's here to watch me suffer.

My hands tremble beneath the table where no one can see them.