My mind drifted back to a library carrel, seven years ago.
Charles had been a nobody then. A handsome face with a sketchbook full of impossible lines and a transcript full of Cs. I was already making waves, the scholarship kid who was redesigning the campus student center before I even graduated.
I started Sterling Architecture—back then just "Ross & Sterling"—out of our dorm room. I did the math, the engineering, the client pitches. Charles... Charles was the face. He was the charm.
"We're a team, Nadine," he used to say, kissing my forehead as I worked through the night on a deadline he had forgotten. "You build the world, and I'll sell it to them."
Seven years. Seven years of "not yet, babe, let's just get the firm stable first." Seven years of "next year, I promise." Seven years of building his throne while he kept me waiting in the wings.
And Elaine.
I remembered the day I hired her. She was fresh out of business school, eager, sharp. "I just want to learn from the best," she had told me, her eyes wide with admiration. I had mentored her. I had taught her how to manage the books, how to handle difficult clients. I had invited her to dinners.
I had invited the viper into my bed.
The late nights they spent "going over the quarterly reports." The whispered phone calls. The way she started dressing like me, talking like me. It all made sense now. The slow erosion of my authority, the subtle gaslighting. It wasn't just ambition; it was a coup.
A sharp jolt brought me back to the present.
Hot liquid scalded my arm.
"Watch it!" I hissed, jumping up. Coffee dripped from my sleeve onto the concrete floor.
A junior associate—someone whose name I couldn't even remember, someone I had probably approved for a bonus last Christmas—stood there, holding an empty cup. He didn't look apologetic. He looked bored.
"You spilled coffee on me," I said, incredulous.
"You were in the way," he shrugged, stepping around me.
"Excuse me?" I stepped in front of him. "I am still a founder of this firm. You will apologize."
He laughed. A short, sharp bark of amusement. "Founder? You're the office joke, Nadine. You're nothing now. You're lucky Charles even lets you in the building. Why would I care about apologizing to the basement troll?"
My hand twitched. I wanted to slap the smirk off his face.
"Oh, stop it, Brian," a sickly sweet voice chimed in.
Elaine clicked down the hallway in her Louboutins—shoes I knew Charles had bought her on the company card. She placed a hand on the associate's arm, but her eyes were locked on me, gleaming with malice.
"She's still Charles's... well, whatever she is," Elaine smirked. "We should be kind to the charity cases. Are you okay, Nadine? That looks like it burns. Maybe you should go wash up in the janitor's sink."
"Save it, Elaine," I said, my voice low. "I don't need your fake concern."
"Just trying to help," she said innocently. "Oh, by the way, don't leave yet. Charles expects you at the gala dinner tonight at the Pierre. 7 PM sharp."
"I'm not going," I said. "I have nothing to wear, thanks to you."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Elaine waved a hand dismissively. "Just wear something... functional. You won't be sitting at the head table anyway."
She leaned in close, her perfume—my perfume—cloying in the stale air. "Or are you finally going to quit? Give up? Prove everyone right that you're weak?"
I held her gaze. "I'll be there."
I shouldn't have gone.
The elite of the architectural world were there, sipping champagne and laughing. I stood near the entrance, wearing a simple black dress I had retrieved from the back of my closet. Charles spotted me instantly. He detached himself from a group of investors and strode over, looking dashing in his tuxedo.
"You made it," he said, not smiling.
"You said there was a surprise," I said, keeping my face blank. "Is this it? Watching you with the people I brought to the firm?"
"Actually," Charles said, gesturing to a waiter passing by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. "We're short-staffed tonight. The catering company messed up."
He looked at me pointedly.
"You want me to... serve?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Why not?" Charles shrugged, adjusting his cufflinks. "This is how you repay the firm, Nadine. For the scandal. For the embarrassment. Thankfully, we contained it before it hit the major news outlets, but the rumors... they're damaging. You owe us."
I looked around the room. I saw the faces of people I respected. People who used to respect me. If I made a scene now, I would only prove the "unstable whore" narrative true.
I took the tray from the waiter.
For an hour, I walked through the crowd, offering crab cakes to people who used to beg for five minutes of my time. I kept my head down, praying no one would recognize me. But I heard the whispers.
"Is that Nadine Ross?"
"My god, it is."
"How the mighty have fallen."
My feet ached. My pride was in tatters. But I endured it. I told myself I was gathering intel. I was biding my time.
Then, the music stopped.
Charles walked onto the stage. The spotlight hit him, just like it had the night my life fell apart.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he beamed, raising a glass. "Thank you all for coming. Tonight is a celebration of new beginnings. Sterling Architecture is entering a new era. An era of transparency, strength, and love."
He turned to the side of the stage. "Elaine, come up here."
Elaine walked up, wearing a shimmering silver gown that looked suspiciously like a design I had sketched for my own wedding dress years ago. She looked radiant. Triumphant.
Charles took her hand. He got down on one knee.
The room went silent. The tray in my hands shook violently.
"Elaine," Charles said, his voice amplified by the microphone. "You have been my rock. My true partner. Will you marry me?"
"Yes!" Elaine shrieked, feigning surprise.
The crowd erupted in applause.
I dropped the tray. The crash of crystal and silver on the marble floor cut through the applause. Heads turned.
I ran out of the ballroom, down the grand staircase, and out into the cool night air. I didn't stop running until my lungs burned and I was blocks away.
I hailed a taxi with trembling hands.
"Where to, lady?" the driver asked.
I looked down at my stomach. I thought about the baby. His baby.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't be tied to him. Not anymore.
"St. Jude's Hospital," I said, my voice hollow. "The women's clinic."
"You okay?" the driver asked, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.
"No," I whispered, leaning my head against the cold glass. "I'm up for an abortion."
