Alissa POV:
Ethan reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, velvet bag. He tossed it onto the desk. It landed with a soft thud.
"Here," he said, his voice flat. "Bella said to give these to you. She doesn't want them anymore."
I looked at the bag. It was cheap, the velvet worn in places.
I picked it up, my fingers brushing against the rough fabric. Inside were a few pieces of costume jewelry. Gaudy earrings, a fake pearl necklace.
Bella's discards. Forced upon me.
A fresh wave of nausea hit me. The casual cruelty of it all.
I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to throw the bag back at him. I just wanted this to be over.
I put the bag in my purse. I would throw it away the moment I left the building.
As I stepped out of his office, Bella was waiting. Leaning against the wall, scrolling on her phone, feigning nonchalance.
She looked up, a sweet, innocent smile blooming on her face. "Alissa! Oh, I'm so glad I caught you."
Her eyes, bright and calculating, flicked to my purse. To the section where I' d just placed the velvet bag.
Her smile tightened for a split second. A flicker of triumph.
"Ethan told me you were leaving," she chirped. "I just wanted to say... no hard feelings, right? It's just business."
Business. She was a master of manipulation.
"Of course," I said, my voice neutral. "No hard feelings."
Then, she held up her wrist. A glint of silver.
"Oh, and you know that charm bracelet Ethan gave me?" She twirled her wrist, the tiny charm glittering. "He said it's a symbol of new beginnings. Isn't that sweet?"
From inside Ethan's office, I heard a muffled thump. A sound of irritation.
Bella leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He got me a matching one for my new apartment key. He's just so thoughtful."
She winked, then straightened up. "Well, duty calls! Ethan's waiting."
She glided past me, her perfume sickeningly sweet.
I walked to the nearest trash can, pulled out the velvet bag, and dropped it in. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, I unclasped the silver charm bracelet from my wrist, the one Ethan had given me years ago, and sent it clattering into the bin.
Let it all be gone.
I re-entered my department. The air was thick with the overpowering smell of spicy food. My stomach rebelled instantly.
"Alissa, thank goodness you're here!" Mark exclaimed, his face contorted in a grimace. "HR just sent over 'afternoon snacks.'"
He gestured to a table laden with steaming dishes. Chili noodles, hot wings, jalapeño poppers. All the things I couldn't eat. All the things Bella loved.
My colleagues were huddled together, fanning themselves. "Seriously, what is this stuff?" one complained. "My eyes are watering."
"It's like a chemical weapon," another muttered.
Mark pulled me aside. "We all think it's Bella. She knows you hate spicy food, and she's been trying to get everyone to 'embrace new flavors' all week."
My phone buzzed. A notification from the company chat group. Bella.
"Hope everyone is enjoying the delicious and spicy afternoon treats! Good for the metabolism! "
The casual cruelty, the veiled jab. It was her signature move.
I looked at my team, their faces flushed and uncomfortable. They deserved better.
"Mark," I said, my voice clear and firm. "Tell everyone to toss it. All of it."
He blinked. "Really?"
"Yes. And order something decent. My treat."
A cheer erupted from the team. "Finally! Someone with taste!"
"Alissa, you're the best!"
I forced a smile, but inside, a knot of sadness formed. This was my last act as their leader. My last act of protection.
As I walked out of the office at the end of the day, my phone rang. My mother.
"Alissa, honey? Did you tell Ethan you quit?"
"Not directly. He knows now."
"Brendon wants to know why you're being so secretive. He's worried. He said Ethan's been... difficult."
"Mom, please. Don't tell Ethan where I'm going. Not a word to anyone." My voice was urgent.
"Of course, darling. But... is everything okay?"
Then, Brendon's voice, gravelly and apologetic, came on the line. "Alissa, I'm so sorry, child. For everything. Ethan... he's a mess. He's always been this way since his mother passed. I never imagined he'd hurt you like this."
"He's hurting himself, Brendon," I said, the words heavy with resignation.
"He's just so lost," Brendon continued, his voice full of pain. "He loved his mother so much. And that fight... before she died... he never forgave himself."
I knew the story. Ethan, a hot-headed teenager, had called his mother "useless" during a heated argument about her overspending. She had stormed out, gotten into a car accident, and died instantly. The guilt had festered, turning him into the controlling, emotionally stunted man he was today.
Brendon had taken me in after my parents' divorce, a gesture of kindness that had blossomed into a real family bond. Ethan had been a welcome presence in our home, a troubled but charming boy who I loved with all my heart.
I understood his pain. I truly did. For years, I had held his hand through his nightmares, listened to his confessions, tried to soothe his tortured soul.
But my empathy had been a bottomless well, and he had drained it dry.
For a year, I had swallowed my own pain, convinced that my love, my understanding, could heal his wounds.
But he had mocked my mother, belittled my family, publicly humiliated me.
I remembered the night I tried to break up with him a few months ago. His face had contorted with rage. "You think you can just leave me? After everything? You're nothing without me, Alissa. A pathetic little gold-digger, just like your mother."
My heart, once so full of pity for him, was now a barren wasteland. The well was dry.
A sharp knock on my car window startled me.
Ethan. His face was pale, his eyes wide.
"Alissa," he said, his voice husky. "Come home."
