Shattered illusions

"Let me guess, he stood you up again?" Maya asked the moment she opened her apartment door, her eyes scanning my tear-streaked face and the bag slung over my shoulder.

I could only nod, as the words caught in my throat like shards of glass. She reached out gently, pulling me inside with a soft, sympathetic tug, guiding me straight to the plush couch in her living room. I sank into it, curling my knees up as I fought the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. I'd cried enough on the cab ride over that left my eyes swollen and my chest aching.

Maya disappeared into the kitchen, returned moments later with two crystal wine glasses and a chilled bottle of red wine. She popped the cork, poured generously into both glasses, and handed me one.

"Cheers to surviving another night," she said softly, clinking her glass against mine.

I didn't hesitate as I gulped it down, the rich, velvety liquid burning down my throat. Maybe, just maybe, the alcohol would loosen the grip on my chest.

Maya refilled my glass immediately, her expression a mix of concern and barely contained anger. "I told you to dump his ass, Lena. You're way too good for him. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

She sat beside me, tucking her legs under her. "You've been married for three years, three fucking years, not three days, not three weeks, not three months. And what do you have to show for it? Absolutely nothing. Instead of holding him accountable, you're out here making excuses for him every single time. That's pathetic, babe."

Her words stung, sharp and direct, but they came from a place of love. I exhaled slowly, scooting closer until my head rested on her shoulder. "You know it wasn't always like this, Maya," I murmured, my voice low. "When we were dating, he was the sweetest, most intentional man I'd ever met. He bought me flowers for no reason, we had late-night drives, he remembered every little detail about me. But then the big job came with more duties, more responsibilities. And I wanted to be the supportive wife, so I chose to go with it. I never thought it would get this bad."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Supportive wife, indeed. And yet here you are, crying on my couch because he forgot your anniversary. I mean, come on, what kind of man does that? No matter how busy you are, that date should be scarred in your memory. Or, hell, set a damn calendar reminder. There's no excuse, Lena and you need to stop making them for him."

She reached over and tapped my head gently, almost playfully, but her eyes were serious. I took another slow sip of my wine, letting my mind wander off to a time when I believed that love was something that grew, not something that faded away when you weren’t looking. Marrying Noah at 22 felt like stepping into a life drenched in sunshine, hope, and certainty. I'd been convinced that his stability, his steady job, his gentle nature, equaled my happiness. But it was all a lie because, somewhere along the way, we drifted apart and now it felt we were just roommates living together.

The silence stretched between us until Maya broke it, her voice softer now. "Honey, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need, but I think it's high time you start living for you, not for this made-up version of a fairytale marriage you've been clinging unto."

I let out a weak chuckle, wiping my eyes. "Thank you, Maya. I'll be heading to work from here tomorrow, so I might need to raid your closet."

"That's never a problem, babe. You know I've got you," she said enthusiastically, her grin returning. "So... how about we watch a movie? You get to pick." I nodded gratefully.

She jumped up, disappeared into the kitchen again and returned with a massive bowl of buttery popcorn, as if she'd anticipated this exact moment. We decided to watch a lighthearted rom-com—ironic, maybe, but it was enough to numb the pain. Halfway through the movie, with my head on her lap and her fingers gently combing through my hair, I finally drifted to sleep.

The next morning, I stepped into the towering glass facade of the Blackwood Building with my messy personal life shoved firmly into a locked box at the back of my mind. The structure stood at three hundred meters into the city skyline, a sleek monument to ambition, power, and unimaginable wealth. The Blackwood Corporation was one of the most influential, secretive enterprise in the country, run by Ethan Blackwood himself. The cold, intimidating, utterly unreadable man, whose gaze created an intimidating atmosphere, and his 

presence alone commanded rooms without him speaking.

I worked as his executive assistant, a role that demanded perfection, discretion, and an iron stomach. He rarely spoke to me unless it was absolutely necessary, which was fine by me as long as it paid the bills. I slipped into the elevator, pressed the button for the 99th floor, the exclusive domain of Ethan's office and my small corner. 

When the doors opened, I moved to my desk, a modern glass-and-steel setup just outside his massive double doors. I dropped my bag, powered on my laptop, and went straight into the emails I'd prepped the night before. Going through each one meticulously, I checked for any typo, any misplaced comma, anything that might draw his wrath because Ethan demanded flawlessness.

The desk phone buzzed sharply. "Lena, get in here now." His voice was clipped, cold as the line went dead before I could respond.

I have gotten used to how he spoke to me, it was only hard in my first year when he'd lash out, calling me stupid, slow, incompetent, and whatever insult fit the moment. I was always crying in the bathroom back then, but now? It doesn’t faze me.

I stood up, smoothed my borrowed blouse and pencil skirt and headed out as I knocked lightly on his door.

"Come in," came the cold, authoritative reply.

I entered, my hands clasped politely in front of me, stopping at a respectful distance from his desk. "Good morning, Mr. Blackwood," I said in my practiced, professional tone, offering a small smile.

"Good morning, Lena," he responded without glancing up from his computer screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

"We have a very important meeting with some business partners and investors in thirty minutes," he continued, checking his sleek watch. "Get the executive boardroom ready. You know what to do."

He flicked his hand dismissively, a clear signal that our conversation was over. I nodded slightly, bowing just enough to acknowledge before turning to leave. Although I felt his gaze on my back as I walked out, heavy and assessing, like always.

In under twenty minutes, the boardroom was impeccable. I'd printed the agendas, financial reports, and projections, placing one perfectly aligned set at each leather chair. The bottled water was placed too, but sparkling water for Ethan, and light snacks arranged with precision.

Soon, the double doors swung open as executives and investors filed in, murmuring greetings and taking their seats. Most meetings didn't directly concern me, the corporate strategies and multimillion-dollar deals often sailed over my head but Ethan insisted I attended every one he led and even those he didn't, I would act as his eyes and ears. I took my usual spot beside him, the tablet ready, prepared to document everything.

The head of marketing, a tall, slender man named Richard, stood up to begin the presentation, clicking through slides on the massive screen.

"For the first quarter of the year," he began confidently, "I propose we abandon traditional marketing strategies entirely. We've got to accept that artificial intelligence and modern technology are the dominating trends. So to hit and exceed our sales quotas, I recommend we invest heavily in the new Nano AI Strategy Bot recently launched by Vale Enterprises, our leading investor."

He concluded, and the room erupted with nods of approval, heated debates, counterarguments about risks versus rewards. Voices overlapped as opinions clashed.

I typed quickly, staying invisible as always, speaking only when directly addressed too. Just then Ethan glanced at me and our eyes met for a fleeting second, his were unreadable, while mine quickly darted back to my tablet. He cleared his throat once, and the room went silent as every head turned toward him.

"I think that's a good idea," he said evenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Given how rapidly the world is evolving, it's only logical we adapt to current trends. So here’s what we’re gonna do, we'll run a controlled test on the Nano AI bot this quarter and if it drives conversions, increases sales, and boosts exposure as projected, then we'll commit to full investment."

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table as Richard beamed, glowing with pride as he unwrapped a chocolate bar and popped it into his mouth triumphantly.

Ethan leaned back slightly, commanding attention once again. "Everyone," he announced, "we have a guest joining us shortly and he’s  returning after many years of being away. Please join me in welcoming Adrian Blackwood."