Stacks of neatly labeled files sat before me, each one meticulously compiled with every detail, every goddamn revision, every ridiculous request Mrs. Sinclair had ever thrown my way. Months—months—of my life wasted on this project, only to have it yanked from me and handed to Vic like some fucking participation trophy. My name, my work, all of it erased in the span of a single conference call.
The fluorescent light overhead buzzed, harsh and clinical, making my already pounding headache worse. My office wasn’t anything special—a standard corner of corporate hell. A desk too cluttered with reports and coffee-stained to-do lists, a shelf with useless awards that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, and a window overlooking the city skyline that felt more like a goddamn prison wall than a view. The only warmth in the place was a single framed photo on my desk: me, Eric, and Mateo, smiling like we were still a family. I fucking hated that picture now, but I couldn’t bring myself to take it down.
I clenched my jaw as I shoved another file into the pile for Vic. Gerry hadn’t even looked me in the eye when he told me. Just dismissed me like I was nothing. Like I hadn’t been the one dealing with Edith Sinclair’s bullshit at all hours of the night, jumping through her impossible hoops, swallowing my pride every time she called me incompetent. And now? Now she wanted me off the case entirely. Because of what? A fucking vibe?
A knock on the door barely registered before Taaliah stepped inside, her dark eyes scanning the disaster that was my desk. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong. The tension in my shoulders, the death grip I had on the file in my hands—it was obvious.
“I’m gonna cleanse this space,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You need a reset.”
I snorted. “A fucking exorcism is more like it.”
She smiled but didn’t laugh. Instead, she tilted her head toward my coffee cup—empty. Again. “You need something better than whatever that sludge was. I’ll make you some chai.”
I sighed, pressing my fingers against my temple. “Taaliah, I don’t need—”
But before I could finish, she was already walking out, her braids swinging with each step. No room for argument. No asking permission. Just action.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling a slow, shaky breath. The files were still there. The bullshit was still there. The weight pressing against my chest hadn’t lifted. But for the first time all day, the office didn’t feel quite as suffocating.
The shrill ring of my office phone cut through the silence like a blade, dragging me back from the fog of frustration. I glanced at the screen, my stomach already twisting into knots the second I saw the name. Edith Sinclair. Of fucking course.
For a moment, I considered ignoring it. Let it go to voicemail. Let Vic deal with whatever bullshit she had in store next. But then, some deep, simmering anger inside me refused to let her have the last word. With a sharp inhale, I snatched the receiver and pressed it to my ear.
“Natalia Herrera,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level, professional, despite the fire burning in my chest.
“Oh, darling,” Edith’s honeyed voice oozed through the speaker, laced with the same fake warmth she’d always used to disguise her cruelty. “I just wanted to check in, make sure there are no harsh feelings about our little… change in leadership. You understand, don’t you? It’s not personal. I just feel Vic is better suited to my needs.”
My fingers curled into a fist against my desk. Not personal? Months of work, of bending over backwards to meet her insane demands, of swallowing her condescending bullshit, and now she had the audacity to act like this was some amicable parting?
“Oh, of course, Mrs. Sinclair,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why would I take it personally that you spent months running me ragged, treating me like your personal errand bitch, only to turn around and decide I wasn’t ‘suited to your needs’? No, no harsh feelings at all.”
Edith let out a breathy little laugh. “I knew you’d understand. You’re such a professional, dear. I told Gerry I was sure you’d be graceful about this transition.”
That was it. That was the fucking last straw.
“You know what, Edith?” I said, my voice sharp, lethal. “Fuck you. Fuck your manipulative, self-absorbed, entitled bullshit. You act like you’re some high-society queen, but really, you’re just a miserable old woman with too much money and not enough people who actually give a shit about you. You want Vic? Fine. You can have him. But don’t you fucking dare call me and pretend this is some kind of mutual, respectful decision. I see right through your fake-ass niceties.”
There was stunned silence on the other end. I could practically hear the way her lips pursed, the way she probably clutched her pearls like the fragile little tyrant she was. And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I felt like I could fucking breathe.
The silence didn’t last long. A few minutes passed—just enough time for my pulse to slow, just enough time for the weight of what I’d done to settle—before my office door flew open so hard it rattled the frame.
Gerry.
His face was red, veins bulging at his thick neck, and his beady little eyes locked onto me like a predator zeroing in on its wounded prey. The door slammed shut behind him, and I barely had time to brace myself before his voice, sharp and cutting, filled the space.
“What the fuck did you just say to Edith Sinclair?” he barked, his thick hands planted on my desk like he was about to rip it in half. “She’s threatening to take her business to another firm! Do you have any idea how much money that would cost us?”
I clenched my jaw, gripping the arms of my chair so tightly my nails dug into the fabric. Of course. Of fucking course. My well-being, my dignity—none of it mattered. Not to Gerry. Not to Vic. Not to anyone in this goddamn place. The only thing that ever fucking mattered was the money.
“I’ll fix it,” I said, voice tight, controlled, even though my hands were trembling under my desk. “I’ll call her and smooth things over.”
Gerry leaned in, his beer-stained breath wafting over me. “You better,” he sneered. “Because if you don’t, you’re out. I don’t give a shit how long you’ve been here, Natalia. You do not talk to clients like that. Especially ones with deep fucking pockets.”
With that, he straightened, adjusted the waistband of his too-tight slacks, and stormed out, leaving the door wide open in his wake.
I sat there, frozen, my heart pounding so hard it drowned out the noise of the office beyond my door. My temples throbbed, a dull, relentless pain pulsing through my skull. I reached into my desk drawer with shaking hands, fingers closing around the orange prescription bottle. Without thinking, I popped the cap, tipped a few pills into my palm, and swallowed them dry.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly, staring out the window at the city skyline beyond the glass. The sun was starting to set, streaks of gold and crimson slicing through the gray. In the distance, a flock of birds soared high above the buildings, gliding effortlessly, untethered, free.
God, what I would give to be one of them.
The smell of warm spices drifted into my office before I even heard the soft knock on the door. Taaliah. She walked in with a careful smile, a steaming mug in her hands, the scent of cinnamon and cardamom wrapping around me like a blanket I didn’t have time to pull over my shoulders.
“I made you chai,” she said, setting the mug on my desk like it was some kind of offering, as if a cup of tea could fix the shitstorm I was drowning in. “And I cleansed the space while you were on your call—just some sage and a quick prayer.”
I barely glanced at it. My body was already moving before I made the conscious decision. I grabbed my keys, shoved them into my coat pocket, and snatched up my purse. “Thanks, but I can’t. I have to go see Sinclair if I want to keep my fucking job.” My voice came out harsher than I intended, clipped and tired, but I didn’t have it in me to soften the edges.
Taaliah sighed, shaking her head like she already knew I was running myself into the ground. She hesitated, then, before I could take another step, she reached forward and wrapped her arms around me in a firm, steady hug.
I froze. Completely. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged me just to hug me—no expectations, no words needed. It caught me off guard, the way her warmth seeped into my bones, how she smelled like vanilla and something floral, something grounding. For a second, just a second, my body went slack, leaning into it.
When she pulled away, I cleared my throat, muttered a quiet “thanks,” and made my way toward the elevators, my heels clicking against the tile. I didn’t look back, but I knew she was still watching me. Probably shaking her head. Probably thinking I needed to slow down before I destroyed myself completely.
She wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t have the luxury of stopping.
The streets were a fucking nightmare. Stop-and-go, nothing but brake lights stretching down the highway like a trail of fire. The constant motion of inching forward just to slam on the brakes again made my headache worse. My pulse pounded in my skull, sharp and rhythmic, a warning siren I couldn’t silence.
I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight. Too much. Everything was too much. The weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating. The shitstorm at work, Eric breathing down my neck about Mateo, the fucking Sinclairs. My hands were shaking. My stomach twisted. My nerves were frayed to hell.
I yanked a cigarette from the pack in my center console, flicked my lighter, and took a long drag. The smoke curled in my lungs, acrid and warm, but it didn’t do shit to calm me down. Nothing ever did. “Move, you fucking morons,” I muttered under my breath, then slammed my palm against the steering wheel when the car in front of me barely inched forward.
The shrill ring of my phone cut through the stale air of my car. I exhaled a cloud of smoke, checking the screen. Edith. Of course. Because the universe just couldn’t give me a break. I forced down the nausea rising in my throat and answered. “Mrs. Sinclair,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. My language was unprofessional, and I’m on my way to—”
“I don’t care for your apologies, Ms. Herrera,” Edith cut in, her voice dripping with condescension. “I just wanted to remind you that you are a disgrace. A failure. And frankly, I’m relieved to be rid of you.”
My fingers curled so tightly around the steering wheel my knuckles ached. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hard enough to draw blood. Breathe. Just breathe. I couldn’t lose it. Not now. Not yet. “I understand, ma’am,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’ll see you when I get there.” I ended the call before I said something that would burn the last bridge I had left.
Before I even had a chance to collect myself, my phone rang again. Vic. Jesus fucking Christ. I shut my eyes for half a second, inhaled another hit of nicotine, and answered.
“What the fuck, Herrera?!” Vic’s voice exploded through the speaker, so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “Do you know what you’ve just done? You might’ve cost us the fucking Sinclairs!”
“I’m on my way there now,” I snapped back, gripping the wheel harder. “I told you I’d handle it.”
“Well, maybe if you had handled it right the first time, we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we?” he shot back, his voice laced with venom. “Do you have any idea how much money is riding on this account? If we lose it, Gerry is going to have your fucking head, and I’m not sticking my neck out for you.”
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw throbbed. “I said I will take care of it, Vic. Get the fuck off my back.” I hung up before he could say another word, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat.
The moment my phone hit the seat, it rang again. I cursed under my breath and glanced at the screen. Eric. I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply before answering. “What?”
“Can you pick up Mateo from the sitter?” His voice was already filled with irritation. No hello, no pleasantries. Just another demand.
I sighed, pressing my fingers against my temple. “I can’t, Eric. I have a business meeting with Sinclair.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Natalia?” he snapped, his voice growing louder. “You’re barely home as it is! You do nothing with Mateo. I’m the only one who—”
“Not now, Eric,” I cut in, my voice sharp, my patience long gone. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Of course, you don’t,” he sneered. “You never do.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, the migraine building like a pressure bomb inside my skull. I tossed my cigarette out the window and reached into my purse, fumbling for my bottle of Percocet. My hands were shaking as I grasped it.
Then I dropped it.
“Fuck!” I hissed, heart racing as the bottle rolled onto the floor. I reached down, keeping one hand on the wheel, stretching to grab it—
And then headlights. Bright. Blinding. Rushing toward me.
My breath caught in my throat. A scream tore out of me. A semi-truck. Barreling straight for me.
And then—nothing.
Darkness.
Silence.
Add comment
Comments