I should have known better than to show up in a dress that cost three paychecks.
The Bellmont Hotel lobby swallows me whole. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, the kind of place where even the air smells expensive. My heels click against the polished stone, announcing that I don't belong here, that I'm trying too hard.
I smooth down my dress. Navy blue. Simple. Elegant, the sales girl said.
My phone buzzes. Mia, probably, asking if I've chickened out yet. I silence it without looking. I can't think about the knowing look she gave me when I said I was finally going to ask Ryan why he's never introduced me to his work colleagues. Why after eight months together, I'm still his little secret.
Tonight, that changes.
The elevator dings. Third floor.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirrored doors. Twenty four and trying so hard. Dark hair swept up because Ryan mentioned once he liked it that way. The dress that's going to haunt my credit card statement for months.
I square my shoulders and step out when the doors slide open.
The hallway stretches before me. I can hear voices ahead. Laughter. The clink of glasses. My heart does this stupid flutter thing. This is Ryan. My Ryan. The man who brought me soup when I had the flu, who texts me good morning every day, who said he loved me three months ago.
He'll be happy to see me.
I turn the corner and spot the half open door. More voices spill out. I catch a glimpse of the room. Long table, white linens, gleaming silverware. People in expensive suits.
I'm reaching for the door handle when I hear it.
Ryan's voice.
"…can't believe you're still single, Knight. Women must be lining up."
I freeze. My hand hovers an inch from the polished brass.
"Not interested." Another voice. Deeper. Colder. Authority wrapped in ice.
Someone laughs. "Come on, there's got to be someone. What about that brunette from the Morrison account? She was into you."
"Pass."
"Standards too high?" Ryan again. There's an edge to his voice I don't recognize. Like he's trying too hard to sound casual.
"I prefer substance to spectacle," the cold voice says.
More laughter. I should walk in. I should push open the door and make my entrance, let Ryan see me, let this whole awkward moment pass. But something keeps me frozen in place. Some animal instinct that smells blood in the water.
"Speaking of spectacle," another man chimes in, "Carter, didn't you mention you were seeing someone? Bring her along?"
My breath catches.
This is it. This is the moment. I lean forward slightly, ready to hear Ryan tell them yes, actually, she's here, let me introduce you to Zara.
The silence stretches too long.
"Nah," Ryan says finally. Casual. Easy. Like he's turning down a drink refill. "Nothing serious."
The words hit like a slap.
Nothing serious.
Eight months. Eight months of good morning texts and late night phone calls and him keeping a toothbrush at my apartment. Eight months of me rearranging my schedule when he needed me, of listening to him complain about his boss, of being there.
Nothing serious.
"Probably for the best," the cold voice says. Knight, they called him. "These events require a certain… polish."
"Exactly." Ryan's voice warms with agreement. With relief. "I mean, she's sweet and all, but God, can you imagine? She's so… ordinary. Works in some little design studio, barely scraping by. She'd be completely out of her depth here."
Ordinary.
The word embeds itself between my ribs like a knife.
"She'd embarrass me in front of important people, you know? I can't show up to events like this with someone who doesn't understand this world. Who doesn't fit."
I can't breathe. The hallway tilts slightly, or maybe that's just me swaying. My hand clutches the door frame for support.
"Smart thinking," someone agrees. "Image matters in this business."
"Yeah, well." Ryan laughs. Actually laughs. "It's not like she expects anything more. She knows where she stands."
Do I, though?
Did I ever really know?
The conversation shifts. Someone mentions quarterly reports. The moment passes for them, easy as breathing, while I'm standing in this hallway with my heart cracking open in my chest.
I look down at my dress. Three paychecks. Three paychecks to be ordinary. To not fit. To embarrass him.
Something cold and sharp crystallizes in my chest. It pushes out the hurt, fills the space where humiliation was pooling. Anger. Pure and clean and clarifying.
I've been so stupid.
Eight months of making myself smaller, quieter, more convenient. Eight months of accepting breadcrumbs and calling it a relationship. Eight months of waiting for him to be proud of me, to want to show me off, to see me as something more than ordinary.
I push open the door.
The room goes quiet. Heads turn. I clock Ryan immediately, standing near the bar with a drink in his hand, his face going pale. Next to him, a man in a charcoal suit. Tall. Dark hair. Sharp features carved from granite. His eyes meet mine.
Knight.
I don't look away from Ryan.
"Hi." My voice comes out steady. "Sorry to interrupt."
"Zara." Ryan sets his glass down too quickly. It clatters. "What are you doing here?"
"Surprising my boyfriend. But I've just realized something."
The room is so quiet I can hear someone's watch ticking.
"I've been ordinary long enough."
I turn to face the assembled group. Twelve pairs of eyes watching me.
"We're done," I say to Ryan. Loud enough that everyone hears. "Consider yourself single."
"Wait, Zara, let me…" He moves toward me.
"Don't." The word cracks like a whip. He stops. "You were right about one thing. I don't fit in your world."
I let my gaze sweep the room one more time. Land on Knight, who's watching me with an expression I can't read. Something that might be interest. Might be respect.
"But at least I have the decency to be honest about who I am."
I turn on my heel and walk out. Head high. Shoulders back. Each step measured and deliberate until I hit the hallway and the door swings shut behind me.
The hallway stretches ahead. My phone buzzes. Ryan, probably. I silence it without looking.
The elevator bank appears at the end. Those gleaming gold doors promising escape.
My throat tightens. Eyes start to burn. No. Not yet.
I jab the call button. The down arrow lights up. Six. Five. Four.
Behind me, muffled laughter. The clink of glasses. Like nothing happened.
Three. Two.
I blink rapidly, forcing the tears back. Almost there.
The elevator chimes.
Doors slide open.
I step inside. Empty. Thank God.
My hand shoots out and presses the lobby button three times in quick succession, then hits the close door button like I'm trying to punch through it.
Come on. Come on.
The doors begin to slide shut, that blessed narrowing gap between me and this nightmare, and something inside my chest finally loosens.
Almost there. Almost safe.
A hand appears between the closing doors.