It was supposed to be another normal day at Royce Holdings, the kind where the office smelled of coffee and ambition, and I buried myself in reports that no one else cared to understand. But there I was, sitting at my desk, staring at the envelope Clara had handed me with her practiced smile, the Royce Holdings logo pressed in gold like it was supposed to make the words inside hurt less.
I didn't open it at first. Something about the weight of it made me stall, because a letter that heavy never carries good news. When I finally slid my finger through the seal and unfolded the paper, the words termination effective immediately jumped out, as if they weren't pulling a life apart.
I read it twice, then a third time, because my brain refused to register that Ethan had signed it himself. Ethan Royce, my boss, my boyfriend, the man who swore we'd build everything together. What made it worse was the signature. It was clean, precise, the same way he signed contracts worth millions, and that steadiness was what broke me first.
Clara stood awkwardly by my desk, clutching her tablet to her chest like a shield. "Emilia, Mr. Royce said he'd like you to clear out today," she said it softly, and because she couldn't meet my eyes I knew she already pitied me.
"Did he say why?" I asked, even though the letter already said enough.
"It's… restructuring." She shifted her weight, glancing toward the corner office. "He's in a meeting right now, but he said—"
I didn't wait for the rest because I was already on my feet. "He can tell me himself," I said, and before she could stop me, I moved across the floor, past the glass partitions and curious eyes.
Miss Cole, he's busy," Clara said as she followed me.
"So am I," I said, and pushed the door open before she could finish.
Ethan looked up from behind his desk, perfectly composed, jacket off, sleeves rolled, the picture of calm authority. He gestured for Clara to leave, and she did. She closed the door quietly behind her with a soft click, sealing me inside with the man who'd just wrecked my career.
For a moment neither of us spoke. I held up the letter, as my hand trembled, more from disbelief than anger. "You signed this."
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "I did."
"Without telling me? Without even a conversation?"
He sighed as if I were being unreasonable. "Emilia, this isn't personal. The company's restructuring. We had to make some difficult choices."
"Right," I said, forcing a small laugh that sounded nothing like me. "And coincidentally I'm the only analyst being let go? That's strange, considering I just saved your quarterly report last week."
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," he said.
Something inside me twisted. "Harder for who? For you? Because it's already impossible for me."
He stood then, and walked around the desk until he was close enough for me to smell his cologne. The familiarity of it made my throat ache. "You're talented," he said, almost kind. "But talent doesn't always fit where we need it."
"Ethan," I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded. "What's really going on?"
He glanced away, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "It's just business."
"No," I said quickly, stepping closer. "No, it's not. You don't look at me like this over reports. Just tell me what I did."
He hesitated, then his eyes hardened, the way they do when he's closing a deal. "Fine," he said quietly. "You want honesty? We're done. You and I. The relationship, the late nights, all of it. it's over."
For a second I couldn't breathe. "You're breaking up with me," I said slowly, "and firing me at the same time?"
"It's better this way."
"Better for who?"
He didn't answer. I stepped back, shaking my head. "You said you loved me. You told me we we'll build everything together."
His mouth curved in a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I said what I needed to say."
The room tilted slightly, like the floor itself had given up on supporting me. "What do you mean you needed to say?"
He exhaled through his nose. "It was a bet, Emilia. A stupid bet I made with a friend. He said I couldn't make you fall for me. So I... proved him wrong."
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came. "You're joking."
"I wish I were."
A trembling laugh broke out of me. "A bet? After everything? After months of—"
"Stop," he said quietly, but there was no shame in his voice. Only the tired calm of someone already done with the conversation. "It was nothing personal. You just... got attached. It happens."
I wanted to hit him, or maybe shake him until something human appeared behind his eyes. Instead, I whispered, "But I... I love you."
He looked at me, really looked, and for a heartbeat I thought I saw guilt. Then it vanished. "Security will escort you out," he said, reaching for the phone.
"Ethan, please," I said.
The security guards walked in, two men in black suits who looked everywhere but at me. They took a careful step forward, and I realized he wasn't going to say another word.
I tried to steady my voice. "So that's it?"
"That's it."
I folded the letter, slipped it into my bag, and walked past out without looking back, because looking back would've finished me completely.
The elevator ride down was silent except for my breathing. When the doors opened to the lobby, the receptionist who used to smile at me looked away. That hurt more than I expected.
Outside, the city was bright and loud, too alive for the quiet collapse building inside me. I slid into my car in the parking lot, gripping the steering wheel until my fingers went numb, and then I started driving home.
Our apartment was small but warm, the kind that smelled faintly of coffee and Tessa's vanilla candles. Tessa, my roommate and best friend, was away on a business trip, leaving me alone with the quiet. The silence felt strange, like the world hadn't gotten the memo that mine was gone.
I dropped my bag on the couch, took out the letter, and read it again. The paper had wrinkled from my grip, but the words still looked proud of themselves. I placed it on the coffee table, sat on the floor, and pulled my knees to my chest.
For the first hour I tried to think logically, about next steps, job applications, bills. But by the second hour, I stopped pretending and let the tears come, slow at first, then uncontrollable. I cried until my throat burned and my eyes ached, because sometimes the only way to empty the pain is to let it flood everything.
When I finally went quiet, the clock on the wall said almost midnight. I was still on the floor, hair stuck to my face while my hands shook. Somewhere deep in that silence, a thought began to form, small but clear.
If this is what love and loyalty got me, then I'll stop being the one who gets earned.
I didn't know what that meant yet, but I knew one thing for certain: tomorrow I'd start learning. Because maybe the only way to survive people like Ethan Royce is to become the kind of woman they can't use.
And that's how I decided that if I couldn't be their good girl anymore, I'd be my own villain.