Amira sat in her car in the parking lot of a discreet cocktail lounge three towns over. She had stopped at a pharmacy for butterfly bandages and antiseptic. Using the rearview mirror, she cleaned the wound on her temple. It was jagged, ugly, but it would heal.
She needed a drink. The pain in her head was throbbing, but the pain in her chest was a screaming void.
She pulled out her phone. She opened the encrypted app. She hesitated. What was she doing? Showing her weakness to a stranger? But he wasn't just a stranger. He was an exit. This injury, this humiliation, was proof that she needed that exit now. It was a piece of evidence, not a plea for sympathy.
She took a selfie. The bandage, the bloodshot eyes, the exhaustion. She sent it to Carleton.
Rough day.
The reply came instantly.
Who did this?
The three words felt like a warm blanket. He didn't ask "what happened." He asked "who." He knew there was a villain.
Work hazard, she typed back.
She went inside. The lounge was dark, smelling of expensive bourbon and cedar. Zoe was already in a booth in the back, waving frantically.
Amira slid into the booth. Zoe gasped.
"Oh my god, Amira. Your face."
"Double vodka," Amira told the waitress who appeared. "Neat."
She drank the first one in one gulp. Then she told Zoe everything. The proposal. The contract. The plan to leave in thirty days.
The lounge door opened. A gust of wind and loud laughter blew in.
Amira stiffened. She knew that laugh.
It was Ethan. He walked in with his entourage-Landon, Xavier, and a few other hangers-on. They were celebrating. They took the large leather sofa grouping right behind Amira's booth.
Amira slid down in her seat, hiding behind the ornate wooden pillar. Zoe's eyes went wide. "Don't look," she whispered.
Amira didn't look. She listened.
"Where's the good doctor tonight?" Xavier asked, his voice carrying over the soft jazz music.
Ethan laughed. "Probably crying in her room. Or cleaning up her mess."
"She tried to break up with me today," Ethan announced, his tone bragging.
The table erupted in laughter. "No way," Landon said. "She's got nowhere to go."
"Exactly," Ethan said. "She's like a stray dog. You kick her, you starve her, she still comes back wagging her tail. It's pathetic, really."
Amira gripped her glass. Her knuckles turned white. The glass felt like it might shatter in her hand.
"Delisa is a queen," Ethan continued. "Amira is just... a placeholder. She's cheap. Low maintenance. That's why I kept her around so long. She's convenient."
Tears pricked Amira's eyes, hot and angry. She swallowed them down with the second vodka. She wouldn't cry for him. Not ever again.
She signaled Zoe. "We're leaving."
They stood up. Amira kept her head down, using her hair to hide her face. She moved quickly toward the exit.
But her purse strap caught on the corner of the table. It pulled tight, knocking a heavy crystal ashtray onto the floor.
Smash.
The sound cut through the lounge's refined chatter.
Ethan turned around.
His eyes landed on Amira. He saw the bandage. He saw the look in her eyes.
His smirk vanished.
"Amira?"
