After grabbing a few biscuits from her bag to ease the hunger, Bryn stepped out of the office building. Just as she was about to head home, she spotted Francesca standing off to the side.

Bryn was about to walk away, but before she could, Francesca’s voice called out to her.

“Miss Miller, over here! We’ll give you a ride.”

Bryn hesitated, her instincts urging her to decline, but when she caught sight of the familiar black car parked nearby, her words caught in her throat. She swallowed her reluctance and forced a polite smile.

Francesca slid into the front seat with a smooth motion and Bryn’s eyes flickered to Alex. He glanced up from the wheel and for a brief second, a flash of surprise crossed his face when he saw Bryn. It was gone before she could fully register it, replaced by his usual calm demeanor.

The time was already pushing past nine and the thought of a late-night cab ride home from the office, with the long commute to Alex’s place in the suburbs, gave her pause. Yet, after a moment of indecision, Bryn found herself climbing into the backseat, the soft click of the door closing behind her like a door closing on any hope for peace tonight.

The air in the car felt thick with unspoken words and the silence was suffocating. Bryn could almost taste it. The tension coiled tightly between them, wrapping around her chest like a vice. Francesca, however, was never one to tolerate silence for long. She leaned forward slightly, breaking it with an overly sweet tone that grated against the stillness.

“I’m sorry about today. I didn’t know you were friends with Alex,” Francesca said, her voice syrupy with a false apology. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Friends. The word clung to the air like something bitter. Bryn instinctively glanced at Alex, her gaze searching his face for any sign that he might correct Francesca, might clarify the situation. But no—he didn’t even look at her. His eyes remained fixed firmly on the road ahead, his silence louder than any words could be. Friends. That was how Francesca had framed it and Alex hadn’t said a word to refute it.

Her stomach churned with a tight discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the sting of that unspoken truth. Alex wasn’t even going to claim her as anything more than a friend. She felt the silence deepen, suffocating her.

Francesca, however, seemed oblivious to the tension she had created. She launched into an animated recounting of her college days with Alex, her voice dripping with nostalgia as she spoke of their shared history. Each word felt like a sharp knife twisting deeper into Bryn’s chest. She heard about the mornings Alex had brought Francesca breakfast, the way they’d spent hours talking in coffee shops, the late-night study sessions filled with quiet laughter.

It was as if Bryn wasn’t even there.

And yet, she couldn’t ignore how Alex’s gaze flickered toward her when Francesca mentioned the breakfast. It wasn’t a look of affection or acknowledgment—it was a look that seemed to almost beg for Bryn’s reaction, for her to show some sign of jealousy, of hurt. When Bryn didn’t give him the satisfaction, when she kept her gaze fixed out the window, she saw his shoulders visibly relax, as though a weight had been lifted from him. His relief was palpable, almost suffocating in its intensity.

Eventually, they reached Francesca’s destination. She slid out of the car with a final, triumphant smile, leaving Bryn and Alex alone. The silence that settled between them was thick, unbearable. Bryn couldn’t seem to find the words to fill it and neither did Alex.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat, preparing to speak.

“Bryn, look… Francesca, she has a bit of a temper, don’t mind her. She’s just adjusting to being back in the country. And as for me and her, we’re just friends.”

Just friends. Again. Bryn clenched her fists, willing herself not to cry. Her voice came out quiet, strained.

“Sure,” she said, barely above a whisper. She turned her gaze back out the window, unable to say anything more.

The next morning, Bryn was jolted awake by the sharp, insistent ringing of her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Oliver Miller’s guardian? We’re calling from the City Hospital’s nephrology department. We have good news—we’ve found a kidney match for the patient.”

The nurse's voice was calm and professional, but to Bryn's ears, it sounded like music from heaven. Bryn’s heart stopped for a beat. Her brother had a donor! After three long years of waiting, there was finally a chance.

“Hello? Miss, are you still there?”

“I’m here!” Bryn’s voice cracked and she struggled to keep it steady. “When can we schedule the surgery?”

“We can arrange it for next week. Please come to the hospital as soon as possible to complete the necessary paperwork.”

A wave of relief and joy surged through Bryn, but she forced herself to focus. She quickly ended the call and rushed to get ready, her heart racing with the promise of hope.

When she arrived at the hospital, the sight of Oliver lying in the bed, pale and weak, hit her like a punch to the stomach. Their father, John Miller, sat quietly at his side, his face ashen, eyes distant and hollow.

Bryn hurried to her brother’s side, taking his hand gently in hers. “Oliver…” she whispered, her voice trembling as the weight of their long wait finally began to lift.

“Oliver, we’ve found a match for your kidney! The surgery is scheduled for next week!”

Oliver’s eyes immediately brightened, his face lighting up with joy. “Really?” He couldn’t contain the excitement in his voice. “Thank you. You’ve worked so hard to get me the kidney. I love you, Bryn.”

His words hit Bryn like a wave and before she knew it, tears were welling up in her eyes once again. She pulled him into a tight hug, her voice thick with emotion as she whispered, “I love you too, buddy. I’ll do anything to make you and Dad happy.”

For a moment, the world outside seemed to blur as she held him, the weight of the moment sinking in. She pulled back slightly, glancing out the window. The winter sunlight poured in, soft and warm, casting a gentle glow over the room, offering a brief respite in the chaos of her emotions.

All of Oliver’s pre-surgery tests had come back normal and with the surgery now set for the following week, Bryn felt a slight easing in her chest, though worry still lingered. As they left the hospital, she pulled out her phone and when she saw the date, it hit her—today was the third anniversary of the day she and Alex had gotten together.

Later that evening, as she prepared dinner, Bryn decided to give the housekeeper the night off. She wanted to do this herself. Within the hour, the table was overflowing with an array of dishes—steaming hot, vibrant with color and rich with aromas that filled the house. Yet, as the clock ticked on and the minutes slipped by, Alex still hadn’t come home.

The food was getting cold. Bryn called him again and this time, the call went through. The noise on the other end was loud — male voices and female laughter, the clinking of glasses.

“Hello?” Bryn kept her voice steady, despite the sinking feeling in her chest.

“Bryn?” Alex’s voice came through, heavy with fatigue and a faint slur, hinting at drunkenness.

“When are you coming home?” she asked, trying to keep the tension out of her voice.

There was a pause, the noise quieting slightly. Alex coughed twice before answering.

“I’m a bit tied up tonight. I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up for me, just go to sleep.”

“Okay…” she said softly, hanging up the phone. She stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, feeling her heart sink further. She knew Alex was lying.

He always coughed before lying.

With a heavy sigh, she silently cleared the table, throwing the dishes away. When she finished cleaning up, she went to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Outside the window, the night had deepened, mirroring the darkness in her heart. She longed to ask him, like she used to, why he wasn’t coming home. But the question felt hollow now. She knew she had no right to ask anymore.

The real reason was painfully simple: how much longer could she keep pretending with Alex? How much longer could she continue with this charade that had been her life for so long?

Curled up in bed, Bryn buried her face in her knees, the tears falling freely now. The entire night passed without Alex coming home. And the next day, Bryn arrived at work, her face marked with the exhaustion of sleepless hours, dark circles under her eyes.

It was then that she found out. Alex had gone to Francesca’s welcome party with Hector the night before.

Sitting down at her desk, Hector greeted Bryn with his usual carefree grin, though he paused when he saw her state.

Before Bryn could respond, Francesca appeared, standing behind Hector with a sharp, cold look in her eyes. She spoke with clipped authority. “What does that mean, Hector?”

Hector, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, quickly retreated, mumbling something about needing to take care of a phone call. Francesca stood there, eyes narrowed, her gaze cutting through the air as she turned her full attention to Bryn.

“Miss Miller,” she said, her voice carrying a veiled edge, each word carefully chosen. “You should know your place.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Francesca’s eyes bore into Bryn, making it clear that this wasn’t just a casual remark.

“I’m saying this as your superior,” she continued, her tone becoming colder. “You’ve been working here long enough to understand how things are. Alex is… off-limits. You’d do well to remember that.”

Lately, Bryn had been extremely busy. With her brother’s surgery approaching, she’d been working hard to wrap up her projects so she could take some time off to be with her family.

A major project that Bryn had been overseeing from the start had hit a snag. It had been running smoothly up until now, but suddenly, the client wanted to cancel the partnership—something she hadn’t anticipated, let alone prepared for.

Francesca, the newly appointed director, was technically in charge of such high-profile projects, but for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, the client specifically demanded that Bryn take the reins. The decision was out of her hands; she had no choice but to step up.

After multiple tense meetings, the client pushed for a completely new design. To appease them, Bryn reluctantly agreed to start fresh. She put everything she had into the new proposal, hoping to win them over. But when she showed up with the revised design, eager for approval, she was met with scorn. The client accused her of plagiarism, even questioning her integrity in front of everyone.

It wasn’t until the client presented a proposal eerily similar to her own that Bryn realized the ugly truth. Francesca’s design wasn’t just similar—it was a carbon copy of hers.

Now, standing in the general manager’s office, Bryn was face-to-face with Francesca, both of them tense, ready for the confrontation. The general manager sat beside them, his face pale with unease. The room crackled with tension.

Plagiarism was a serious accusation in the design world, a stain that could ruin reputations and careers. The two proposals were so alike that it was impossible to determine who was at fault without triggering a corporate disaster. On one side stood Francesca, the rising star, freshly promoted to director and on the other was Bryn, with her connections to the CEO. Neither of them could be blamed outright without causing a major ripple in the company.

But Bryn wasn’t about to back down. She knew, without a doubt, that the design was her own creation. The late nights spent perfecting every detail were still fresh in her mind. And the way Francesca had deliberately kept her out of the office on that critical day was all the proof she needed.

Before Bryn could voice her frustration, Francesca’s voice cut through the silence, laced with mocking sweetness. “If you’re struggling to come up with a design, there’s no need to resort to copying. Why would you do something like that?”

Bryn’s pulse quickened, but she held her ground. “Do you have any proof that I copied, Miss Clements? Both proposals are nearly identical. Shouldn’t I be allowed to suspect that you copied mine?”

The air in the room was thick with anticipation as everyone braced for the fallout. The scene had escalated beyond anything they’d expected and the tension was palpable. In an instant, Alex entered the office, his presence commanding the room. The staff quickly scattered, returning to their seats with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Alex’s gaze swept the room, landing on Bryn. She stood tall, unshaken, but her heart was in turmoil. Slowly, he spoke, his tone smooth, almost too smooth.

“Miss Clements is an overseas talent. Highly skilled, both professionally and in business. I’m sure this plagiarism thing is just a coincidence.”

His words were light, as though brushing aside the matter, but to Bryn, they felt like a slap. What he was really saying was that Francesca didn’t need to copy her work—she was good enough on her own.

But anyone with half a brain knew that two identical proposals weren’t a mere coincidence. If Francesca hadn’t plagiarized, then the only other explanation was that Bryn had been accused of doing so—and that accusation hung in the air like a suffocating cloud.

Bryn, standing there under the weight of the room’s scrutiny, felt the heat rise in her chest, as though the very air was pressing in on her. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. All the words she’d been longing to say to Francesca, all the bitterness and hurt that had been building up inside of her, were trapped in her throat, refusing to come out. She could care less if everyone else didn’t believe her. But what truly stung, what cut deeper than any insult, was that Alex—who knew how hard she’d worked on this project, who knew her dedication—wouldn’t stand up for her. His silence was louder than any accusation.