Several days passed, and Theron disappeared from my field of vision. Tasks were relayed by Ostin—minor checks, routine ones, without traps. I handled them by the end of the workday and left on time.
I did not stay late at the office and didn't genuinely look for encounters with Theron. His absence did not surprise me. Amy had gone to him herself—that was enough. I had always known: he never refuses her. It is visible even from the outside, when they are together. It barely bothered me.
What burned much more was something else. I had played straight into his hand. More cleanly and more precisely than he had expected. And that was the worst thing of all.
I could persuade myself as much as I wanted that I was calm about the way he used me. That the salary compensated for everything.
But every time the money arrived in my account, bitterness rose inside. I thought I had already gotten used to it. But it still surfaced.
Probably, I was not disappointed in the situation.
But in myself.
One morning I was standing in Ostin's office, waiting for an assignment. He looked worried. He was even sweating. A rare sight.
I had not seen Theron for a long time. Given the scale of his problems, it was clear that Ostin was under pressure too.
My previous attempt to help had turned out badly for me. Since then, I had not been pushing forward. I did not offer myself. I simply accepted what I was given.
"In the evening you need to be at one event," Ostin finally exhaled. "An important one. They will hand Theron a contract there. You will check it."
"All right. Place, time? Dress code?" I asked immediately. "And what direction is the agreement?"
"Classic. No office blazers. I'll send the place by message. The contract is for one building. He wants to buy it out. You need to check the documents and the contract itself."
Purchase and sale.
Strange. That sort of thing is usually handed to in-house lawyers. Not to me.
"All right," I confirmed.
And again I caught myself thinking too much.
About trifles. About subtext.
That is exactly how I most often make mistakes.
I left work early, changed at home, and had already received the address. One of the expensive hotels in New York. No surprises.
In the mailbox there was a letter from my sister's school. A reminder: during the holidays she would be returning home. Not pleasant news, but I had no choice.
A thought flashed through my mind to use Derek again. We had not drunk wine together in a long time. It was worth calling on the weekend.
In the common corridor stood our plant. We watered it in turns. Silently. It was our unspoken marker—everything was fine. If I forgot or disappeared, he did it for me. In recent weeks I had almost not approached it. Derek had. Which meant he was holding on.
I went through the wardrobe. Nothing suitable. Only the black dress I had already worn last time, and a red one that was wrong for the weather and wrong for me.
The choice was obvious.
Black.
I packed my case, put a small reference guide into my bag. It needed to be read on the way.
And I went to the hotel.
The flash of cameras and the noise at the entrance did not surprise me. I went in behind the backs of the crowd, gave my name, and passed inside without unnecessary attention.
My coat was taken immediately. I was confused for a second—I did not understand where to go. There were people everywhere. Wealthy. Famous. With glasses, laughter, loud conversations. The noise pressed down. My temples began to ache.
"Mirey."
I turned around. Ostin was waving to me from afar.
I walked between the guests, pressing my bag to myself. It did not suit the dress at all, but I did not care.
"Come on, they are already waiting for you," he said and gently guided me by the shoulders.
We entered the elevator and went up.
"Why do you need a bag?" Ostin smiled, looking me over.
"There are pens and notes in it. I don't keep real estate deals in my head anymore," I answered. Better to set boundaries immediately than to make excuses later.
We got out on the top floor. The restaurant had been fully reserved for the event.
Ostin led me to the table.
Theron and Amy were sitting there. Opposite them—Bel. My former boss.
Next to him, another man. In a black suit. I had not seen him before. Apparently, a new lawyer.
"Meet her," Theron said, but did not look at me. "The person who will be handling this deal."
"Mirey?" Bel was surprised.
"Hello," I said evenly.
"So that's why you made me fire her," he laughed. "Clever. But she is young and inexperienced. Are you sure you want to entrust this sale to her?"
"This is a standard purchase and sale," Theron answered coldly. "Or are you planning to complicate the deal?"
The friendliness vanished.
Theron, Amy, and Bel were looking at each other.
No one was looking at me.
Except the man in black. He was studying me closely. Too closely.
Bel's lawyer stood up, holding a briefcase, and gestured with his hand.
"Please, let's step aside. We'll look at the documents at another table."
I followed him. We moved to a quieter zone—as much as that was possible here.
But Theron's and Bel's table still remained in sight.
Bel laughed, raised his glass, drank. Amy turned her glass in her fingers. Today she was sitting closer to Theron than usual. Almost pressed against him.
I sharply shook my head.
You're looking in the wrong direction.
You're thinking about the wrong thing.
"Focus, Mirey," I scolded myself.
He laid out the documents. I began the review.
A small building almost in the center. The price appropriate—with extra zeros.
Inside—photo studios, artists' workshops, tenants without loud names.
"Contracts?" Contracts.
"At the moment, all are completed. We're waiting for the last tenant to move out," he replied.
He did not interfere. I went on.
At first glance everything was clean. Logical. Neat.
And I knew Bel. He was not the kind to make an enemy of Theron over one building. Although I did not know the new lawyer. Which meant nothing could be ruled out.
About twenty minutes later I finished with the documents and moved on to the contract.
"Did Bel fire you?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes," I answered briefly. Without any desire to develop the topic.
"And after that you work for Vescari?" There was surprise in his voice.
I raised my gaze.
Amy was looking at me.
Theron was lazily talking to Bel. He was not tense.
And she was looking. Intently. For a long time.
I did not look away. I simply pretended to look aside, listening to my interlocutor.
"Yes. Absurd, but true," I said and lowered my eyes back to the contract.
In all the time we had crossed paths, she had never once paid attention to me. Even then, in the parking lot—only a fleeting glance.
And now… she was watching. Almost openly.
"Overall, everything is in order," I said after a while. "But Ostin will check once more before signing."
I raised my head.
Amy was still looking.
We headed back to the table. As we approached, she immediately looked away.
Strange.
Although next to Theron, strangeness is always strange.
"At first glance everything is fine," I said. "We need confirmations that there are no more active contracts and that no companies are registered to these studios. Otherwise, when selling the building, complications may arise, if you do not plan to lease it."
He did not even look at me.
I waited for Theron's reaction.
"He will pass everything to Ostin in the near future," Bel intervened. "I can assure you, everything is clean there. For the sum at which you want to buy out the object, I am not so stupid as to spoil something."
"I hope so," Theron smirked.
"May I go?" I finally asked.
The noise, the faces, that ostentatious glitter—all of it pressed down.
"You can have a drink and dinner. Everything is at our disposal," he said.
A hint. Or a rare form of politeness. I could not catch it.
I immediately stepped away from the table and headed for the restroom. I did what I had come for, washed my hands, and typed a message to Ostin.
8:40
"My work is finished? Can I go home?" — Mirey
The reply came instantly.
8:40
"Don't rush. Try to socialize with people. Theron's instruction." — Ostin
So, stay.
I put the phone away. At that moment the door opened. Amy entered.
I took my bag and went toward the exit.
She stepped forward and blocked the way.
I shifted to the right—she did too. I raised my head. I was looking at her now with confusion.
"Don't even think about it," she said thinly. Venomously.
"Sorry?" I asked, clearing my throat.
"Theron is mine. And don't even think about it," now her voice was lower. Angrier.
The image of a fragile, neat girl shattered instantly.
"I think you are mistaken," I said.
She stepped toward me. I stepped back.
Her body no longer seemed porcelain. A completely different woman.
"I will crush you if you stand in my way. Do you understand me?"
This was not a warning.
This was a threat.
"You're confusing something," I replied. "Between us there are working, mutually beneficial relations. You have nothing to worry about."
I stepped toward her. She recoiled.
I did not want to clash with yet another "princess." Another gangster woman. A match for him.
I straightened, lifted my chin. I was shorter, but threats had long stopped affecting me.
There was no choice. I shoved her aside with my shoulder to get out of the restroom.
The noisy hall. Theron. And now Amy as well.
Almost Liana, only more significant to him. My head began to ache. I rubbed my temples.
"Mirey!"
Travis's cheerful voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Hi," I forced a smile.
There was the object for socializing. The very thing for which I was being kept here.
"Do you mind if I treat you to a glass of wine?" he smiled. "You don't even have to listen to me."
He clearly remembered my previous comment.
"I won't refuse," I said.
Alcohol was timely now. Although experience suggested that at such events it rarely ended well.
We headed toward the bar, but Ostin intercepted us.
"The car has already arrived for you," he said, smiling awkwardly.
"Oh come on, let us at least have a glass," Travis protested. "She can go after."
"Unfortunately, Theron's instruction," Ostin did not stop smiling falsely. "She has other plans."
He gently but insistently led me toward the elevator.
"What other plans?" I asked under my breath.
"You're going home. And you'd better not resist," he said, nervously pressing the elevator button.
I turned around.
Theron was helping Amy to sit down. He did not look in my direction once.
"Does he have bipolar disorder or something?" I asked rhetorically.
"I don't know," Ostin sighed. "I don't think about tasks like that. I carry them out."
The elevator opened. He escorted me inside.
"A driver will meet you downstairs. Straight home."
"Yeah, yeah," I replied lazily.
"Seriously, Mirey," Ostin insisted, holding the elevator doors.
"I will go home," I exhaled. "That's what I wanted from the beginning."
It sounded like I was a child no one trusted.
Ostin released the doors, and they immediately closed.
Downstairs the driver was already waiting. With such an expression as if I really might try to escape. Their oddities and twitchy behavior were starting to get on my nerves. A little more, and I would start going crazy along with them.
On the way home I wrote to Derek. He did not refuse.
We sat the whole evening: wine, some strange comedy show that neither of us really watched. I told him in broad strokes what had happened. And about Amy too.
"Strange," Derek said. "She looks so gentle and soft."
"Yes, I was stunned at first too," I smirked. "But, as they say, every creature has its pair. Apparently, that's why they suit each other so perfectly."
"Wow, Mirey is smiling," he noted, turning his gaze to me.
"Well, it's absurd and funny," I shrugged. "Two beautiful, popular people, and in reality: one former mafioso, the other almost the same, just in female form."
"Maybe she's just staking her claim on him?"
"Who knows with them," I took a sip. "The rich have their own quirks."
"Does it hurt you?" Derek finally asked.
"What exactly?" Contracts, not taking my eyes off the television.
"That he's with her."
"No," I answered immediately. And it was true.
I had never harbored illusions and never wanted to be a couple with him. Sex was all it had ever been.
"Then what hurt?" Derek continued, as if he saw right through me.
I froze with the glass in my hand.
"That I played by his rules, even when I resisted," I finally said. "As if nothing had changed. As if I hadn't become different. And those words were still true."
"You will always only be used."
"I understood his game and wanted to play it my way," I added quietly. "But I never managed to."
I drained the wine in one gulp, trying to drown the bitterness rising somewhere in my throat.
"Then the question is," Derek moved closer. "Did you have the desire to go up to the roof because of this?"
I shook my head.
"Then something has changed after all," he poured more wine and returned to his place. "You've become stronger. You just haven't realized it yet."
I looked at the screen and tried to figure it out.
Had I really become stronger, or had I simply learned to pretend better—for myself as well.
The rest of the evening passed almost in silence. We finished the bottle, Derek went back to his place.
And I, no longer sorting out either thoughts or sensations, fell asleep almost immediately.
The only shield I had was indifference. That was what I used. Always.
At work everything became predictable. Tasks from Ostin, their execution, no surprises. Nothing extra.
I did not think about Theron. And, honestly, I was even glad that I did not receive assignments directly from him. That mode suited me. Quiet, even, without jumps or sharp turns. I could have worked like that indefinitely.
The first days I still woke up with the feeling that he was entering the apartment. Then came the realization—it wasn't him. Just a residual habit. The body remembered faster than the head let go.
A week passed from that evening.
At lunch I opened the news. Without a purpose. A habit of killing time. Nothing special, until my gaze caught on a photo. Him and Amy.
The headline was predictably venomous:
"Are the rumors true that Amy, the Korean doll, rejected him? Has the tie returned to its rightful place—and should this be considered a refusal? At the same time, verified sources claim that preparations for a wedding are underway. What is really happening between the two most beautiful people in America?"
I closed the phone and returned to the documents. Without comments.
On the way home I noticed that the city had already changed clothes. Christmas decorations, lights, first snow.
I lifted my face upward and allowed myself a few seconds of calm. It was almost honest. Almost real. I knew it was short-lived. I just didn't yet know—how much so.
At home I opened a bottle of wine, reheated pizza. A book, silence, an evening without plans. The perfect format. The main thing was not to fall asleep hugging the book, like a couple of days ago.
The phone vibrated.
9:09
"Come to the address. We need to talk about Theron."
The address was a photo studio.
The number was unknown. I checked the address. The very building Theron was planning to buy.
It was logical to assume that it was Bel's lawyer.
Less logical—how he got my number.