“I don’t remember scheduling a group discussion around Gianna’s performance,” she said flatly. Her gaze lingered on the guy for a second longer, “Or did you finish your deliverables early?”
He looked away immediately, “No.”
“Then go finish them.”
Then they all immediately dispersed. Aileen turned to me then. Her expression softened, just slightly.
“Don’t listen to them,” she said, “They talk when they feel threatened.”
I nodded once, not trusting my voice. She studied me for a second longer, like she wanted to say something else. Then she didn’t.
“Finish what you can for tomorrow,” she said instead, “And go home early if you need to.”
I nodded again. She gave a small, approving tilt of her head, then turned and walked out. I stood there for a moment, my bag hanging from my shoulder, my fingers still tight around the strap.
──━⊰ 𓆙 ⊱━──
The Uber ride felt longer than it should have. My stomach twisted again. I pressed my lips together and turned my head, focusing on the passing buildings instead of the loop in my head that wouldn’t shut up.
I swallowed and picked at the edge of my sleeve, forcing myself to breathe slow. The Rose Garden. I just needed to get there. Just needed something normal. Something that wasn’t him, wasn’t that office, something that didn't make me feel that I wasn’t enough.
The car stopped and I pushed the door open before the driver could even say anything else, “Thank you,” I said quickly, already stepping out.
I walked in and the scent hit me first. Vanilla. Clean linen. A faint trace of perfume that always lingered in the air no matter how many windows Mama D opened.
I stepped further inside, my bag sliding a little off my shoulder as I adjusted it without thinking.
“Hey guys, so listen—fun update,” I started, forcing a light tone that didn’t match how I felt, “Fuckael Capone just dropped me to unpaid, so I need something that actually pays. Fast. I don’t care what it is. Stripping, whatever, just something that—”
My voice broke off mid-sentence the moment I turned the corner into the main sitting room and saw them.
Mama D sat on the couch, but she wasn’t sitting the way she usually did. She leaned slightly to one side, one hand pressed against her ribs like it had been there for a while. Her face—


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