The Gardner Building gleamed against the night sky like a shard of ice. I stepped out of the cab and stared up at the glass tower, its windows glowing with the warm light of success. Somewhere up there, Alexander was celebrating. Somewhere up there, my entire life was about to shatter.
I pushed through the revolving doors. The lobby security guard glanced at me, then away. My reflection in the polished marble caught my eye—plain wool coat from Target, boots I'd worn for three winters, hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. I looked like exactly what I'd pretended to be for three years. Nobody important.
The elevator rose smoothly, counting off floors in soft chimes. My hand gripped the envelope tighter. Inside were the screenshots, the receipts, the proof. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
The doors slid open on the forty-second floor.
Music and laughter spilled into the hallway. Through the glass doors of the conference room, I could see the party in full swing. Champagne flutes caught the light like tiny crystals. Women in designer dresses moved through the crowd with practiced grace. Men in tailored suits clustered around the bar, their watches glinting. Everyone looked expensive. Everyone looked like they belonged.
I pushed through the door.
The noise hit me first—overlapping conversations, the clink of glasses, someone's high-pitched laugh cutting through the din. The air smelled like expensive perfume and catered hors d'oeuvres. A few heads turned my way, then dismissed me just as quickly. I was background noise. A mistake.
I scanned the room for Alexander's face. My fingers started to go numb around the envelope.
'Oh my God.'
The voice came from behind me, bright and carrying. I turned.
Priscilla Cruz stood in the hallway, champagne flute raised like a prop in a play. She wore a black dress that probably cost more than my rent. Her eyes traveled down my body slowly, taking in every worn seam and scuffed edge. Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
'Sweetie,' she said, loud enough that several people near the door turned to look. 'Are you lost? The service entrance is actually around back.'
Heat crawled up my neck. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
Priscilla tilted her head, her expression dripping with theatrical concern. 'Or are you delivering something? Catering maybe?' She glanced at the envelope in my hand. 'Although that's a weird way to carry food.'
A woman in a burgundy pantsuit paused mid-conversation to stare. A man in glasses smirked into his drink.
'I'm here to see Alexander,' I managed. My voice sounded thin.
'Alexander?' Priscilla's eyebrows lifted. She turned to address the growing audience. 'Did anyone order something from Alexander?'
Laughter rippled through the nearby cluster of colleagues.
'Oh wait, wait.' Finnegan Hunt materialized at Priscilla's elbow like he'd been summoned. He was shorter than her in her heels, with slicked-back hair and a smile that showed too many teeth. 'I know this woman.'
My stomach dropped.
Finnegan pointed at me, his finger stabbing the air. 'I've seen her before. She's always lurking around the building.' He looked at Priscilla, then at the others, his voice rising with excitement. 'Like, multiple times. Just standing outside. Staring up at the windows.'
'I work here,' I said. The words came out sharper than I intended.
'Do you though?' Finnegan's eyes went wide with mock concern. He turned to the crowd like a comedian working a room. 'Because I'm pretty sure I would've noticed you at any of the actual meetings.' He made a show of looking me up and down, then shrugged. 'No offense, but you don't exactly scream corporate success.'
More laughter. A woman whispered something to her companion, who covered her mouth.
Priscilla sipped her champagne, watching me over the rim of her glass. 'Honey, I think you might be one of those obsessed types.' Her voice dripped with pity. 'You know, the ones who can't take a hint?'
'I'm his girlfriend,' I said.
The words dropped into the conversation like a stone into still water.
Priscilla's smile didn't waver. 'Sure you are, sweetie.' She glanced at Finnegan. 'Should we call security? I feel like we should call security.'
'I have proof,' I said, raising the envelope. My hand shook. 'I have screenshots. Receipts. Everything.'
Finnegan laughed, loud and sharp. 'Oh God, she has receipts.' He mimicked holding papers, his voice climbing into a mocking falsetto. 'I have proof! I'm his girlfriend!'
The crowd was growing. More faces turned our way. Some looked amused. Some looked uncomfortable. None of them looked like they believed me.
Priscilla stepped closer. Her perfume was overwhelming, something floral and cloying. 'Listen,' she said, her voice dropping to a stage whisper that everyone could still hear. 'I don't know what fantasy you've built up in your head, but Alexander doesn't date…' She gestured vaguely at me. 'Whatever this is.'
My vision blurred at the edges. The envelope crumpled in my grip.
'Where is he?' I demanded.
Priscilla's smile finally reached her eyes. 'Oh, you want to see Alexander?' She turned to the crowd. 'Should we let her see Alexander?'
Finnegan grinned. 'This is going to be good.'
