I couldn't stop looking at the search results.
Sunday night, alone in my apartment, I sat cross-legged on my Murphy bed with my laptop, scrolling through everything I could find about Adrian Wolfe.
Articles about his business strategies. Photos from charity galas. An interview where he talked about "maintaining work-life balance" while his company worked people seventy hours a week. A puff piece about his relationship with Ava Sinclair—"the power couple redefining corporate romance."
There was a photo of them at some gala, Ava in a silver gown, Adrian's hand possessively on her waist. The caption read: *Adrian Wolfe and longtime girlfriend Ava Sinclair at the Metropolitan Museum benefit. Sources say wedding bells may be in the near future.*
I stared at that photo for a long time.
They looked perfect together. Matched. Like they existed in a different world from the rest of us,a world where money solved every problem and love looked like magazine covers.
My phone buzzed. A text from Nurse Pam.
*Thinking of you and your grandmother. Let me know if you need anything. – P*
I didn't respond.
What I needed was $8,000 to keep my grandmother in the facility. What I needed was a time machine to go back and stop myself from ever booking that restaurant. What I needed was for Adrian Wolfe and Ava Sinclair to stop existing in my orbit.
Instead, I kept scrolling.
*Adrian Wolfe daily routine. Adrian Wolfe office location. Adrian Wolfe executive floor access.*
I didn't know what I was looking for. Maybe I just needed to understand how someone like him operated. How someone could reshape the world with such casual cruelty and never even notice the damage.
Or maybe I was looking for something else.
A pattern. A weakness. Something predictable.
***
Monday morning, the office felt different.
Maybe I was different.
I arrived at 7 AM like always, but instead of going straight to my cubicle, I walked slowly through the floor, paying attention to things I'd stopped noticing years ago. The security cameras in the corners. The key card readers on certain doors. The executive elevator that required special access.
The layout of power.
"Morning, Elena!" Ava's voice startled me.
She was at her desk already,my desk, the office that should have been mine,wearing a high-necked blouse I'd never seen before. Unusual. She usually wore more open collars.
"Morning," I said.
"Big week ahead. The quarterly review presentations start Thursday." She smiled, but there was something tired in her eyes. "Adrian wants me to sit in on all of them. I'm nervous,I've never done executive-level reviews before."
"You'll be fine."
"I hope so." She reached across her desk for a file, and as she did, her sleeve rode up.
I saw them clearly.
Bruises. A ring of them around her wrist,four on top, one underneath. Small, distinct, the size of fingerprints.
Ava noticed me looking and quickly tugged her sleeve down, laughing. "I'm so clumsy. Bumped into a cabinet this weekend."
I said nothing.
"Anyway," she continued, her voice a little too bright, "if you have any tips for the reviews, let me know. I want to make a good impression."
"Sure," I said.
I walked to my cubicle and sat down.
A cabinet doesn't leave marks shaped like fingers. A cabinet doesn't grip you hard enough to bruise bone-deep.
But I said nothing. Because what would I say? *Your boyfriend hurt you*? She'd laugh and call it passion. *Those are finger marks*? She'd say I was jealous.But I said nothing. Because what would I say? *Your boyfriend hurt you*? She'd laugh and call it passion. *Those are finger marks*? She'd say I was jealous.
Maybe I was.
Not of the bruises. Of the fact that even her pain got to be romantic. Even her suffering was part of their story.
I opened my laptop and got to work.
***
Wednesday evening, there was a company dinner.
Quarterly celebration at some upscale restaurant in Midtown,the kind with a private dining room and a prix fixe menu that cost more than my weekly grocery budget. Attendance was mandatory for all senior staff and above.
I was invited only because I was technically still a team lead, even if I'd been passed over for the promotion.
I wore my thrift store blazer and old black slacks and took the subway to the restaurant, arriving exactly on time. Not early,I'd learned that arriving early just meant standing around awkwardly while people pretended not to see you. Not late,that drew attention.
On time. Invisible.
The private dining room was elegant,exposed brick, dim lighting, long tables arranged in a U-shape. Adrian and Ava sat at the head table with the other executives. I was at a side table with Marcus, Jenna, and some people from accounting.
"At least the food's good," Marcus muttered, looking at the menu.
I barely tasted it.
I spent the entire dinner watching the head table. Watching Adrian's hand rest possessively on Ava's lower back. Watching him lean in to whisper something that made her blush. Watching everyone else in the room watch them,the golden couple, the main characters, the love story everyone wanted to be part of.
Mr. Hendricks stood up to give a toast about record profits and team excellence. Everyone applauded. Adrian said a few words about innovation and dedication. More applause.
Ava looked radiant in the candlelight, smiling at everyone, occasionally touching Adrian's arm in that casual way that spoke of intimacy and ownership.
I excused myself and went to find the bathroom.
***
The restaurant had two bathrooms,one near the main dining area and one tucked away down a hallway near the private rooms. I chose the farther one because it was quieter. More private.
I locked myself in a stall and sat there for a moment, just breathing, trying to calm the rage that had been building in my chest all evening.
*She gets bruises and grand gestures. I get ashes and hospital bills.*
*She gets Adrian Wolfe and a corner office. I get a cubicle and a dying grandmother.*
*She gets to be the main character. I get to be—*
The bathroom door opened.
Footsteps. Heels clicking on tile. Then heavier footsteps. Male.
I froze.
"Adrian, someone could come in." Ava's voice, breathless and laughing.
"Let them." His voice was low, possessive. "I want everyone to know you belong to me."
I heard fabric rustling. A soft gasp. Then kissing,unmistakable, intense.
I sat perfectly still in the stall, hand pressed over my mouth, barely breathing.
The sink counter thumped against the wall. Ava made a soft sound,pleasure or pain, I couldn't tell. More kissing. Adrian's low murmur of something I couldn't make out. Ava's breathless reply: "Yes. God, yes."
They were three feet away from me. Three feet away, and they had no idea I was there.
Because people like them never thought about who might be listening. Who might be watching. Who might be forced to bear witness to their perfect, all-consuming love.
"You looked beautiful tonight," Adrian said.
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true." More kissing. "I'm going to marry you, you know."
Ava laughed, soft and delighted. "Is that a proposal?"
"Not yet. But soon." His voice dropped lower. "When I do it, it'll be perfect. Everything you deserve."
"You already give me everything."
"Not everything. Not yet."
The sounds continued for another minute,fabric adjusting, whispered words I couldn't hear, Ava's soft giggle.
Then footsteps retreating. The door opening and closing.
Silence.
I stayed in the stall for a full minute after they left, staring at the metal door, my hand still pressed over my mouth even though there was no one left to hear me.
Then I stood up, flushed unnecessarily, and walked out.
The bathroom was exactly as it had been before they entered. Except,there, on the marble counter,a smudge of Ava's lipstick. The mirror was slightly fogged.
I stared at my reflection in that fogged glass.
I looked like a ghost. Pale, exhausted, invisible.
Something in me went very, very cold.
***
I returned to the dinner party. Took my seat. Finished my dessert. Smiled when people made jokes. Nodded when Mr. Hendricks talked about next quarter's goals.
When the evening ended, I took the subway home alone.
In my apartment, I opened my laptop and continued my research.
*Adrian Wolfe office hours. Adrian Wolfe executive floor layout. Adrian Wolfe security protocols.*
I wasn't looking for revenge. Not yet.
I was just looking.
***
Thursday afternoon, I had to deliver the updated Hartwell contract to Adrian's office.
Mr. Hendricks had called me into his office at 3 PM, shoved the folder into my hands, and said, "Adrian needs this immediately. Take it up to him."
"Can't you email it?"
"He wants the hard copy. Something about preferring physical signatures." Hendricks was already back to his computer. "Just take it up, Elena. Don't make it complicated."
The executive floor required special key card access. I had to get a temporary pass from security, who looked at me like I was trying to sneak into a restricted area.
"Fifth floor, east wing," the guard said. "Don't wander."
I took the executive elevator up.
The fifth floor was different from ours. Quieter. Thicker carpets, real art on the walls, floor-to-ceiling windows with views of the city. The air even smelled different,expensive cologne and fresh flowers.
Adrian's office was at the end of the hall, double doors with his name on a gold placard.
I knocked lightly.
No answer.
I knocked again, louder this time.
"Come in." His voice, muffled through the door.
I pushed the door open.
They were both there.
Ava was perched on the edge of Adrian's massive desk, blouse half-unbuttoned, hair mussed and falling out of its usual perfect ponytail. Adrian stood between her legs, his tie loosened, jacket discarded on a chair. Both of them flushed and breathing hard.
Papers were scattered across the desk like an afterthought. Ava's shoes were on the floor.
They separated the moment I entered, but not quickly enough.
"Elena." Adrian's voice was cool, unbothered, as if I hadn't just walked in on exactly what it looked like. "What is it?"
I held up the folder. "The Hartwell contract. Mr. Hendricks said it was urgent."
"Leave it on the side table."
I walked across the office, acutely aware of the silence, the smell of Ava's perfume mixed with something else,sweat, sex, the unmistakable evidence of what they'd been doing.
As I set down the folder, Ava slid off the desk, smoothing her skirt. Her blouse gaped open for just a second, and I saw them clearly this time.
Bruises along her collarbone. Old ones yellowing at the edges, fresh ones dark purple. And on her throat, just visible above her collar,small, distinct,a thumbprint.
Ava noticed me looking. She quickly buttoned up, smiling too brightly. "Oh,Elena! We were just... going over some reports. Quarterly reviews. Really intense stuff."
"Right," I said.
Adrian didn't even bother with the pretense. He picked up his phone from the desk, already scrolling through messages, dismissing me without a word.
There was a lipstick mark on his collar. Ava's shade.
"That's all, Elena," Adrian said, not looking up.
I left.
In the hallway, I stood by the elevator, waiting for it to arrive, staring at my reflection in the polished metal doors.
They didn't even hide it. They did it wherever, whenever,in bathrooms during company dinners, in his office during work hours,because no one could stop them.
No one ever would.
The elevator arrived. I stepped inside and pressed the button for my floor.
As the doors closed, I thought about those bruises on Ava's throat. The fingerprints on her collarbone. The marks that were old and new, layered like a map of their relationship.
They called them love bites in those books. Proof of passion. Evidence of desire. Marks that said: *you belong to someone.*
They looked like violence to me.
But Ava was smiling. Ava was fixing her hair and laughing about "intense reports" and buttoning her blouse over the evidence.
So who was I to say otherwise?