I looked down at my own dress—a sensible champagne sheath.
Elegant. Professional. Appropriate for an Administrative Director.
The uniform of the support staff, not the star.
My assistant jogged over, looking distressed. "Director Kaufman... Mr. Gilbert is asking about the seating adjustment..."
"Execute the new chart." My voice was steady as granite.
"But..." She hesitated, biting her lip. "That seat in the second row... it's..."
"I said, execute the new chart."
She snapped her mouth shut, her eyes swimming with pity.
I didn't need pity.
I needed closure.
At seven sharp, the gala commenced.
Jonathan took the stage, radiating charisma and dominance.
The livestream cameras swept the audience, pausing on my face for a fraction of a second before moving on to more important people.
Jonathan's speech was masterful. He thanked the angel investors, the executive team, the strategic partners.
He even thanked the janitorial staff for their diligence.
But he never mentioned me.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. The weight of their gazes pricked my skin like needles.
Then came the awards ceremony. The atmosphere grew electric.
Names were called. Applause thundered.
I sat in the shadows of the second row, my thumb unconsciously tracing the plain silver band I still wore on my ring finger.
"Next," Jonathan's voice rose, tinged with excitement, "is tonight's most anticipated segment—the Special Year-End Bonus."
The hall fell into a hush so deep you could hear a pin drop.
The spotlight prowled across the audience, searching.
Ideally, it should have landed on me.
My heart skipped a beat, a traitorous flare of hope igniting in my chest.
But the light swung past me.
And locked onto Anna Pruitt.
She gasped, covering her mouth with delicate hands, eyes wide with feigned shock before a shy, victorious smile bloomed on her face.
Jonathan descended the stage stairs, step by deliberate step, walking toward her.
He stopped in front of Anna and produced a velvet box.
Flipped it open.
A three-carat diamond fractured the stage lights into a blinding prism.
"Anna," Jonathan's voice boomed through the speakers, "in just these few months, you have breathed new life into this company. You gave us direction when we were lost."
"I hope this ring symbolizes the solid, intimate partnership we are building."
He plucked the ring from the velvet.
Anna extended her hand, allowing him to slide the diamond onto her finger.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Anna threw herself into Jonathan's arms, burying her face in his neck.
The massive LED screen behind them displayed a cinematic close-up of the ring and their embrace.
Then, without warning, the director cut the feed.
The screen filled with my face.
Pale. Stiff. Shattered.
A collective gasp rippled through the room as the audience saw the raw devastation broadcast ten feet high.
Jonathan's eyes darted to the screen. Panic flickered in his gaze. He instinctively tried to pull back, to create distance.
But Anna clung tighter, her voice trembling into the microphone. "Jonathan... thank you..."
He froze. Trapped.
Finally, he awkwardly patted her back, refusing to look in my direction.
I stood up.
Under the weight of a thousand complicated stares—pity, mockery, curiosity—I turned and walked toward the exit.
The restroom door swung shut behind me.
My knees gave out.
Leaning over the marble sink, I splashed ice-cold water on my face, again and again, trying to numb the skin. Trying to numb the heart.
The woman in the mirror had bloodshot eyes, but no tears fell.
They refused to surface. Instead, they crystallized in my throat—jagged shards of ice stabbing me from the inside.
Voices drifted in from the corridor.
"...didn't expect Mr. Gilbert to have a thing for the innocent type like Anna."
"Director Kaufman is a cautionary tale. Five years of her life, and she ended up sewing the wedding dress for another woman."
"I heard that ring cost eighty grand! Was that company money?"
"Shh! Keep it down..."
The footsteps faded.
I stared at my reflection and let out a short, hollow laugh.
By the time the gala ended, it was 1:00 AM.
I sat alone in the empty banquet hall, watching the crew dismantle the stage where my heart had been publicly executed.
Jonathan's assistant approached, walking on eggshells.
"Director Kaufman... Mr. Gilbert wants to see you in his office."
