The Hoffman Group tower loomed over Midtown Manhattan, a giant pillar of glass and steel. Amaris parked the Range Rover on the street and walked through the revolving doors.
The lobby fell silent. The receptionist's eyes widened, a mix of shock and disgust on her face. Amaris ignored her and got into the elevator.
On the 40th floor, the whispers started immediately.
"She actually showed her face..."
"I heard he left her standing there like an idiot..."
"Jalyn is so much prettier anyway..."
Amaris kept her spine straight, her eyes fixed forward. She wouldn't let them see her bleed.
She stepped off the elevator and nearly collided with Perry, Elijah's assistant. The man looked down his nose at her, a sneer twisting his lips.
"He's busy," Perry said, blocking the hallway. "He doesn't have time for your hysterics, Amaris. Go home."
Amaris didn't slow down. She reached into her purse, pulled out the envelope she had written at dawn, and slammed it against Perry's chest.
"Then he doesn't have to see me. That's my resignation. Effective immediately. Tell him to lose my number."
Perry stumbled back, catching the envelope. Amaris walked past him toward her old office.
The door was open. The room was bare.
Her desk was cleared. Her bookshelves were empty. Three cardboard boxes sat on the floor, haphazardly stuffed with her personal items-frames, pens, a dead orchid. They hadn't even packed them properly.
Elijah had erased her completely. Not a single trace of her two years of work remained.
Amaris felt a strange sense of relief wash over her. It was a clean break. No lingering ties. She picked up the boxes, stacking them in her arms.
She took two steps toward the door before the pain hit.
It started as a dull ache in her lower belly, but within seconds, it exploded into a white-hot inferno. It felt like a hand was inside her stomach, twisting her intestines into knots.
Amaris gasped, the boxes slipping from her fingers. They hit the floor with a thud, scattering pens and papers everywhere.
She doubled over, clutching her stomach. Sweat broke out across her forehead, soaking through her blouse. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't stand.
Two coworkers walked by the open door. They glanced at her, crumpled on the floor, then at each other. They quickly looked away and walked faster, their heels clicking hurriedly down the hall.
The pain spiked, a red haze covering her vision. Her knees gave out completely. She hit the carpet, curling into a ball, a low groan escaping her lips.
She was going to die here, on the floor of the office of the man who threw her away.
Suddenly, the world shifted. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her off the floor with effortless strength.
The scent hit her first-cedar and cold air, with a faint hint of antiseptic. It was a smell she was beginning to recognize, one that cut through the chaos.
"Amaris!" Cristian's voice was rough, stripped of its usual cool control. He sounded terrified.
She forced her eyes open. His face was inches from hers, his features tight with panic. The icy mask was gone, shattered by raw fear.
He held her against his chest, his grip bruisingly tight. He turned and strode out of the office.
Perry stepped out into the hall, his face pale. "Mr. Lowe, this is Hoffman property-"
Cristian didn't stop. He didn't even look at the assistant. He just threw a glare over his shoulder that made Perry physically recoil, stumbling backward into the wall.
Cristian carried her into the elevator, kicking the emergency button. The doors slid shut.
"NewYork-Presbyterian, now!" he barked into the security camera.
He sank to the floor, keeping her cradled in his lap. He grabbed her hand, squeezing it so hard it hurt, but the pain in her stomach eclipsed everything else.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from her forehead, his movements frantic, uncoordinated. He was murmuring something under his breath, a string of curses mixed with prayers.
Amaris's head lolled against his shoulder. The pain was fading, replaced by a heavy numbness. She could hear his heartbeat, fast and erratic, against her ear.
Just before the darkness pulled her under, she felt a warm hand gently brush the hair from her forehead, the touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
