Chapter 019

The concrete steps of the service stairwell were cold and endless, echoing with the frantic, slapping sounds of my flats. I descended four flights at a time, my lungs burning, my mind entirely detached from the luxury suite I had just fled.

Let him be angry, I thought fiercely, pushing through a heavy fire door that burst out into a rainy side alley. Let Adrian Holt think whatever he wants.

The downpour hit me instantly, soaking my satin blouse and flattening my hair against my scalp. I ran to the main street, waving my arms frantically until a battered yellow cab screeched to a halt. I threw myself into the backseat, shouting my address to the driver.

The transition from the pristine, scent-filled air of the Grand Regent to the suffocating smell of damp upholstery and cheap pineapple air freshener was violent. I stared at my hands, still shaking, as the cab gridlocked in the midday traffic.

"Can't you go any faster?" I pleaded, leaning forward.

"Unless this car sprouts wings, lady, we're stuck," the driver grunted.

It took twenty-five agonizing minutes to reach my neighborhood. The moment the cab pulled up to the crumbling brick facade of my building, I tossed a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at the front seat, nearly the last of my pocket cash, and bolted out into the rain.

I took the stairs two at a time, the familiar smell of boiled cabbage and old pipes hitting me like a slap. On the third floor, Mrs. Gable was pacing the hallway, her floral apron wrapped tightly around her waist.

"Mara, thank goodness!" Mrs. Gable exclaimed the second she saw me.

The elderly woman hurried over, her slippers squeaking against the worn linoleum floor. Rainwater dripped from my clothes onto the hallway, but I barely noticed.

"What happened?" I asked breathlessly. "Is she okay?"

Mrs. Gable shook her head anxiously. "I heard a loud crash about fifteen minutes ago. I knocked and knocked, but your mother didn't answer. Then I heard her crying." She looked toward my apartment door. "I didn't know what else to do except call you."

My heart pounded against my ribs. I fumbled through my bag until I found my keys. My hands were shaking so badly that it took three tries before I managed to unlock the door.

The apartment was freezing. In the center of our cramped living room, the heavy metal floor lamp had been knocked over, its cheap plastic shade shattered across the linoleum. Next to it, my mother lay on her side, her frail body curled into a tight ball, her thin nightgown damp with sweat. She was shivering violently, clutching a broken glass to her chest, her pale lips moving in a silent, terrified whisper.

"Mama!"

I dropped to my knees, scattering the glass shards with my hands, completely ignoring the sharp sting as a piece sliced into my palm. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her small, burning frame against my chest. Her skin felt like a furnace.

"The men..." she choked out, her glassy eyes rolling back as she gripped my wet blouse with weak, trembling fingers. "Mara... the men from the bank... they were knocking on the walls. They were trying to take the chairs..."

"No one is taking anything, Mama. I'm here. I'm right here," I sobbed, rocking her back and forth on the cold floor.

She had experienced another fever-induced hallucination, panicked, and tried to walk to the kitchen, taking the lamp down with her. Mrs. Gable hovered in the doorway, her hands pressed to her mouth. With Mrs. Gable’s help, it took me an hour to get my mother into bed, clean her wounds, and force her to swallow the expensive pill that helps her sleep.

By the time her breathing finally leveled out into a deep, medicated sleep, the sun had completely disappeared behind the heavy storm clouds outside.

I sat on the edge of her mattress, the adrenaline finally draining from my system, leaving behind a cold, hollow exhaustion. I looked down at my hand. A jagged cut across my palm was oozing dark blood, staining my skirt. Broken ceramic still covered the floor.

I fetched the dustpan and broom, sweeping the shattered pieces into a small pile before wiping away the dried soup with an old towel.

By the time I finished, my blouse had dried in uneven patches from the rain. I filled the kettle, made myself the cheapest instant noodles I could find, and ate them standing over the sink.

The apartment felt smaller than ever. Then, the reality of what I had done today finally crashed over me.

I had walked out on Adrian Holt. I had left his private server open, abandoned his files, and vanished through a service door without a single word of explanation. My phone sat on the bedside table. I picked it up with a numb, trembling hand and pressed the power button. The screen illuminated, and my heart stopped beating entirely.

There were seventeen missed calls from Sarah—three from Clara's personal line and a message from her too. My stomach sank.

Clara: Mara, I hope everything is alright. Sarah mentioned you had to leave unexpectedly after the review. I understand emergencies happen, but next time, please let someone know before leaving. We rely on communication here.

Another message appeared almost immediately.

Clara: Be in my office tomorrow morning at 8:30. We need to discuss a few things before the rest of the staff arrives.

Then another unread text message from an unknown number that could only belong to one person.

“You have exactly until nine tomorrow morning to come up with a lie I find entertaining, Elizabeth. Because if you aren't at my desk by 9:01, I will ensure your aunt watches you leave this building in handcuffs.”

"shit," I whispered, suddenly feeling all the stress since the whole act.

I didn’t sleep. I spent the entire night sitting in the dark kitchen, a cold compress pressed against my bleeding palm, watching the minutes tick away on our cracked wall clock. By 8:30 AM, I was standing in the lobby of the Allegra Group.

My reflection in the glass doors was horrifying. I had covered the cut on my hand with a flesh-colored bandage, pulled my hair back into its usual severe bun, and worn a high-necked navy blouse, but nothing could hide the dark, bruised shadows under my eyes. I looked like a ghost.

The moment the elevator doors opened on Clara’s floor, the atmospheric pressure hit me. The interns weren't just stressed; they were terrified.

"Mara!" Sarah’s voice sliced through the air before I could even reach my desk. She marched over, her sharp bob swaying violently, her eyes furious. "Where the hell did you go yesterday? Mr. Holt’s team called twice last night demanding to know why you walked out of the penthouse suite mid-assignment!"

"My mother..." I began, my voice hoarse. "She had a medical emergency. I had to—"

"I don't care if your house burned down!" Sarah hissed, leaning over my desk. "Clara is in a frenzy. The only reason you aren't fired right now is that Mr. Holt personally requested that he be the one to handle your disciplinary action. He's down in the private suite right now. Move"