I went back to work on Monday.

Nora looked up when I walked into the office. She had that expression — the one where she's trying to figure out if she should ask. I set my bag down. Opened my laptop. Started sorting through emails.

"You okay?" she said finally.

I nodded. "Fine."

She didn't believe me. But she didn't push. She just slid a coffee across the desk and went back to her screen.

I worked through lunch. Stayed late. Came home to an empty apartment and made dinner I didn't eat. Then I sat on the couch with my phone and scrolled through Brady's texts.

"Miss you."

"Thinking about you."

"Can't wait to see you this week 🖤."

I typed back: "Miss you too. Soon 💕."

I hit send. Put the phone down. Stared at the wall.

It was easy. That was the part that surprised me. Pretending. Smiling. Typing the words he wanted to hear. I thought it would feel hard. Like swallowing glass. But it didn't. It just felt like nothing.

On Wednesday, Goldie texted.

"Miss you babe!! We need to catch up soon 💗."

I stared at the message for a full minute. Then I typed: "Coffee tomorrow? 3pm?"

She sent back three heart emojis.

I met her at the place we always went. The corner table by the window. She was already there when I arrived. Smiling. Waving. Wearing a sweater I'd never seen before.

"Elaina!" She stood up and hugged me. Her perfume was different. Something expensive. Something new.

I hugged her back. Sat down. Ordered my usual.

"So," she said, leaning forward. "Tell me everything. How's Brady?"

I smiled. "Good. Busy."

"He's always busy." She rolled her eyes. "Men."

I nodded. Took a sip of coffee. Held the cup with both hands.

She talked for an hour. About work. About some guy who DMed her on Instagram. About a trip she was planning. She laughed a lot. Touched my arm twice. Asked if I was okay three times.

I said I was fine.

I watched her mouth move. Watched her eyes. Watched the way she tilted her head when she lied. Because she was lying. The whole time. Every word.

And I just sat there. Smiling. Nodding. Asking follow-up questions.

When we left, she hugged me again. "Love you," she said.

"Love you too," I said.

I drove home. Parked in my spot. Sat in the car for ten minutes with my hands on the wheel.

Then I went inside. Opened my laptop. Checked the files one more time.

Forty-three matches. All backed up. All labeled.

I closed the laptop. Went to bed.

I didn't cry.

On Saturday morning, I woke up at six. Showered. Dried my hair. Stood in front of my closet for a long time.

I pulled out the black dress. The one I bought two years ago and never wore because Brady said it was too severe. Too much. He liked me in soft colors. Pastels. Things that made me look sweet.

I put on the black dress.

It fit perfectly. Sharp lines. No softness. I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself.

I liked it.

I did my makeup carefully. Not the way Brady liked. The way I liked. Dark eyes. Clean lines. Nothing sweet about it.

Then I sat on the edge of my bed and went through the files one last time. Every video. Every screenshot. Every timestamp.

I checked my phone. Full battery. I'd charged it twice just to be sure.

I opened the notes app. Read through the instructions I'd written for connecting to the venue's AV system. I'd called the estate earlier in the week. Pretended I was coordinating with the event planner. Asked about the setup. The screens. The adapters.

They told me everything.

I put the phone in my bag. Checked that the charging cable was there. The adapter. The backup drive.

Everything I needed.

I stood up. Looked at myself in the mirror one more time.

I didn't look scared. I didn't look angry. I just looked ready.

I picked up my keys. Walked to the car. Got in.

The drive to Connecticut was two hours. I rolled the windows down. Didn't turn on the radio. Just drove in silence with the cold air on my face.

I thought about Brady. About the way he used to hold my hand in public. The way he'd kiss my forehead when he thought no one was looking. The way he said my name when he was half asleep.

I thought about Goldie. About the sleepovers when we were kids. The way she used to braid my hair. The way she cried on my shoulder when her mom got sick. The way she said I was the only person who really knew her.

I thought about all of it. Let myself feel it. The weight of five years and twenty years and every single promise that turned out to be a lie.

Then I let it go.

By the time I pulled up to the Hoffman estate, I felt nothing.

The driveway was already full. Expensive cars lined up in neat rows. Valets in black vests directing traffic. String lights wrapped around the trees.

I parked at the end of the row. Turned off the engine. Sat for a moment.

Then I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Smoothed my hair. Picked up my bag.

I got out of the car.

The front door was open. Music drifted out. Laughter. The sound of glasses clinking.

I walked up the steps. Took a breath.

And I went inside.

The Hoffman estate looked like something out of a magazine. String lights wrapped around every tree. Valets in black vests directing a parade of expensive cars. The kind of party where everyone dressed like they had something to prove.

I walked up the front steps with my bag on my shoulder and my phone fully charged in my pocket.

The door was open. Music drifted out. Laughter. The clink of champagne glasses. I stepped inside.

The foyer was massive. Marble floors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. People everywhere. Couples in cocktail attire. Groups clustered near the bar. Wait staff weaving through with trays of hors d'oeuvres.

I scanned the room.

Then I saw him.

Brady was standing near the far wall. Dark suit. That watch on his wrist catching the light. He was mid-sentence, laughing at something someone said. Then his eyes landed on me.

The laugh died. His face went white.

I watched it happen. Watched the color drain. Watched his mouth open slightly. Watched him freeze.

Goldie was beside him. White dress. Hair in soft curls. A diamond ring on her left hand that caught every light in the room. She turned to see what Brady was staring at.

Her smile collapsed. Just for a second. Then she pulled it back together. But I saw it. The crack.

Whispers started immediately. Heads turning. Voices dropping to murmurs.

Brady crossed the room. Fast. Smooth. Executive confidence back in place like he'd flipped a switch. He reached me before I'd taken three steps inside.

"Elaina." His voice was low. Urgent. He put his hand on my elbow and steered me toward the corner. Away from the crowd. "What are you doing here?"

I looked at him. "I was invited."

"No, you—" He stopped. Took a breath. Lowered his voice even more. "Listen. I know how this looks. But it's not what you think."

I didn't say anything.

"Goldie is helping me out," he said. His eyes were locked on mine. Sincere. Desperate. "My parents have been on me for years to settle down. You know that. This—" He gestured vaguely toward the party. "—this is just for them. It's optics. It doesn't mean anything."

I tilted my head. "Optics."

"Yes." He stepped closer. "I was going to tell you everything. I swear. I just needed to get through tonight. Get them off my back. Then we could go back to normal. You and me. Like always."

Goldie appeared beside him. Her eyes were wet. Her voice shook. "Elaina, please. You have to believe us. I would *never*—" She reached for my hand. "You're my *sister*. You know I love you. This is just—it's a misunderstanding. A stupid plan that got out of hand."

I looked at her hand on mine. At the ring. At her face.

"I know," I said.

Brady exhaled. Relief flooded his features. "Thank God. Okay. Let's just—let's go somewhere quiet and talk. We can—"

I pulled my hand back. "I know what this is."

I turned and walked away from both of them. Toward the center of the room.

Behind me, I heard Goldie's voice rise slightly. "Elaina, wait—"

I didn't wait.

I stopped near the bar. Set my bag down on an empty table. Took a breath.

The whispers were louder now. An older woman in pearls leaned toward her husband and said something I couldn't hear. A man in a navy suit shook his head. A younger couple near the door exchanged glances.

Then someone touched my arm.

I turned. An older woman. Soft gray hair. Kind eyes. One of the Hoffman family friends.

"Sweetheart," she said gently. "I don't know what's going on, but maybe this isn't the time. You're making a scene."

Another voice. A man this time. "Brady's a good kid. I'm sure there's an explanation."

A third. A neighbor. "Honey, you're embarrassing yourself."

I looked around. More faces. More murmurs. Goldie was across the room now, talking to a small group. Her voice carried just enough. "I'm so worried about her. This isn't like her at all."

Brady stood behind her. His arm around her shoulder. Protective. Concerned.

The whispers built. *Jealous. Unstable. Dramatic.*

I stood in the center of it all and didn't move.

Then I saw them.

Raymond Chu walked through the door. Two other executives behind him. He loosened his tie and scanned the crowd. His eyes found Brady. Then me. His expression didn't change.

Across the room, Saul Hoffman took his seat at the family table. Margo beside him, smoothing her dress. Both of them watching.

Arturo and Laney Perry settled into their chairs near the window. Arturo's hands folded on the table. Laney already looking toward Goldie with quiet pride.

Everyone who mattered was here.

I picked up my bag. Walked toward the AV setup near the far wall.

A young man in a vest stepped forward. "Ma'am, that's for the—"

"I know," I said. I pulled my phone from my bag. "I'm coordinating with the event planner. Just need to test the connection."

He hesitated. Then stepped aside.

I connected the cable. Opened the folder on my phone. Forty-three files. All labeled. All backed up.

I selected the first one.

The screen behind me flickered to life.