Mira could feel the stares the moment she stepped into Nexa Interiors.
They followed her down the hallway—lingering, curious, disappointed. She didn't need anyone to say a word. The looks were enough. Her makeup was ruined, and her eyes were swollen and dull from crying. Her entire presence was screaming that something had gone terribly wrong.
Instinctively, she tried to save face. She limped slightly, as if she had been in an accident. As if there were a visible reason for why she looked like this. But it didn't matter.
No one cared. This presentation wasn't just another meeting. Nexa had chased this opportunity for years. And today—of all days—they had finally secured the attention of the Wolfe Holdings.
And she had failed them. Standing before her managing director, the words tumbled out in panic.
"Sir, please… It wasn't my fault," she said, her voice shaking. "I had an emergency. Something happened this morning. I—"
She stopped herself, then continued, desperate. "I can explain. I can show proof. My belongings are in my car. I was forced out. I—"
She kept talking, her sentences overlapping, excuses piling up on each other. She spoke too fast and too much, trying to outrun the damage already done.
Her managing director said nothing. He only looked at her. And that look—cold, disappointed, final—took the last of her strength. Her knees buckled, and she knelt instinctively, not even caring how it looked anymore.
"Sir, please," she whispered. "I'm not well. I'm not okay. Everything happened today." Still, he didn't speak.
Mr. Julian Krew stood nearby, silent. He didn't intervene. He didn't defend her. He couldn't. The weight of the moment pressed down on everyone in the room.
Mira felt empty. Too exhausted to argue. Too ashamed to cry. Too broken to even choose the right words. She stared ahead, replaying everything in her mind. She was rethinking what she should have said or explained better. She thought of how she might have sounded less desperate, less ruined.
But it was already too late. The opportunity had passed. The damage was done.
And all Mira could do now was stand there—exposed and defeated. She was wondering how everything she had worked for unraveled in a single morning.
Mr. Julian finally spoke.
"Mira," he said gently, "it's okay. Please, get up. Sit down."
I shook my head immediately. I didn't want to sit. I didn't want comfort or kindness. Sitting felt like forgiveness—and I didn't believe I deserved any. I had failed too badly for that.
"I don't need to sit, sir," I murmured. "I—"
"Mira," he interrupted, firmer now, but not unkind. "If you want me to speak to you, you will get up and sit."
I hesitated. "You're not a child," he continued. "You're not a puppet. You are my staff. And not only my staff—my best staff."
That stopped me.
"Please," he added quietly. "Sit."
So I did. The moment I lowered myself into the chair, my body protested. Every muscle ached from the morning's chaos. From crying. From standing too long under too much weight. I hadn't realized how exhausted I was until I finally stopped moving.
The office felt strangely calm. Too calm. It smelled like paper, polish, and air conditioning. It smelled nothing like the tension and cruelty I had just escaped from. For the first time that day, I could breathe well, even though fear still sat heavy in my chest.
Mr. Julian studied me for a moment before speaking again. Not with anger. Not with disappointment. With concern.
"Mira," he said slowly, choosing his words, "tell me exactly what happened."
And in that moment, I realized something important. This conversation wasn't over yet. My life wasn't over yet. At least so I thought.
At some point, I stopped holding back. I told him everything—or almost everything.
I spoke about my relationship. I gave him the summary of what had happened that morning. I told him I had been asked to leave my home. I admitted I was emotionally overwhelmed. I added a small lie about my car breaking down. I hoped that it might soften the situation and that it would earn me a chance to keep my job.
I talked and talked. And Mr. Julian listened. That was who he had always been. Even though he was the MD, he listened like a colleague, like someone who genuinely cared. As I spoke, I felt myself relax slightly—not comfortable, but hopeful. Maybe he would give me another chance. Maybe this wasn't the end.
When I finished, he leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath.
"Mira," he said quietly. Then again, "Mira." And a third time, softer still. "My goodness… You've been through a lot."
Something in his tone broke me. I rushed to speak. "Sir, I don't need help," I said quickly. "I only need my job. Nexa Interiors is my home. I don't want to lose this."
He looked at me then—not cold, not angry—but deeply conflicted. "Mira," he said, "you are one of the best people we have here."
I froze.
"I admire your passion," he continued. "The way you breathe life into designs. The way you think. In only a year, you earned the Interior Spotlight Award. That doesn't happen by accident."
I swallowed hard. "You came here as an intern when we weren't even planning to take one," he said. "You insisted. You proved yourself. I remember how impressed I was by your talent."
He paused. "But talent alone isn't enough."
My heart sank.
"For over a year now," he went on, "HR has raised concerns. Consistent lateness. Low energy at work. Withdrawal. Declining productivity. Borrowing money for personal projects."
Each word landed carefully—but heavily.
"I've defended you," he said honestly. "I've protected you more than once. I've put my credibility on the line because I believed in you."
He exhaled slowly. "But this time, I can't."
Another rush of shame filled my lungs and clouded my face. Now I could no longer defend myself.
"The last time I stepped in for you," he continued,
"HR made it clear—if there was another major issue, I wouldn't be able to intervene again. And today…" He shook his head. "Today puts me in an impossible position."
I felt the truth before he finished speaking.
"Mira," he said, his voice low. "Nexa Interiors needs people who are fully present—emotionally, mentally, and professionally. We can't keep carrying excess weight, no matter how gifted the person is."
He looked genuinely pained. "I know you're hurting," he added. "And I wish I could give you the help you need right now. But if I try to protect you again, I risk everything—including my integrity."
Silence filled the room. "I can't do that," he said finally. "I'm sorry." And at that moment, I understood. This wasn't punishment. This was the consequence. And it hurt just as much.
Interior design wasn't only my career. It was my life. The ground I walked on. The floor I worshipped. My everything. Nexa Interiors had always been my dream.
After graduating, I stayed jobless for a long time. One day, while driving along to my home from grocery shopping, I noticed it. The building people never stopped talking about. It was Nexa Interiors and Designs. I didn't even realize it had been that close to me all along. So I took a risk. I walked in. I applied. I was rejected.
They didn't need me. But I refused to walk away. I was asked to work as an intern—unpaid. For one whole year, I showed up every single day without collecting a dime. My plan was simple: let my skill speak for me. Let my work argue my case.
And it worked. That place became my home. So now—after everything I had sacrificed—I'm watching it all slip through my fingers. This is all because of a relationship that had already taken so much from me.
I couldn't stay standing. I dropped to my knees. The thought of leaving Nexa made me physically sick. Tears spilled before I could stop them.
"Sir," I begged, my voice shaking, "please… just give me one last chance. I promise you—this time, I won't fail."
I swallowed hard. "The distraction… the thing that affected my productivity—it's gone. That relationship is over. Please. Just one more chance to prove myself. To prove that I'm worth it. To prove that I'm the best thing Nexa has."
Mr. Julian shook his head slowly. Not in anger—but in helplessness. I saw it then. I was beyond saving.
"Mira," he said, I wish you God's blessing. I truly wish you the best. But right now… I can't help you."
Desperation took over.
"No, sir," I said, shaking my head. "Think about it. I'm your best shot. Your strongest player. I'm the best thing here."
That was when he raised his voice. "And you think I don't know that?" he snapped.
I froze.
"You ruined my day," he continued, pain cracking through his anger. "You ruined the presentation. What you prepared was stronger than everything else we had today. It was stronger than anyone else's work."
His voice dropped, sharp and heavy. "But you didn't show up."
I could feel my breath leave me when he said that.
"You made a no-show today. Do you even understand what that cost me? Do you have any idea what you cost this company?"
He paused, breathing hard.
"You are immensely gifted," he said. "But you stayed in a relationship that drained you dry. You let a man run you into the ground. And now look at you—talent without consistency, brilliance without commitment."
The words cut deep.
"I want to help you," he said honestly. "But I can't. I can't lose clients. I can't lose partners because I'm defending one staff member; everyone is telling me to let go."
His voice softened again—almost breaking. "This is what hurts the most," he added. "Because I value you. I love you. I want you here." Then he shook his head. "But I can't."
He looked at me one last time. "Please, Mira. Leave my office."
I had never seen Mr. Julian raise his voice—not at me, not at anyone. But that day, I saw the pain in his eyes. I felt it in my bones.
And I knew then—this situation was beyond saving.
"I'm so sorry, sir," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry if I've come across as careless… if I didn't show the level of commitment you expected from me." My voice broke. "Take my salary. Take my bonuses. Take my car—take everything if you must. But please… not this job."
I shook my head violently. "I can't live without being an interior designer. I can't."
By then, I was no longer standing. I was on my knees. Crying. Begging. Wailing—completely undone. I didn't even try to stop the tears anymore. I let them fall freely, soaking my clothes, my pride, and my dignity.
And that was when a wave of understanding crashed over me. Pieces began to connect in ways I hadn't seen before. Marcus. Selene. Everything—the lies, the careless moments, and the betrayals. All these suddenly painted a picture far uglier than I had realized.
I felt exposed, vulnerable, and… strangely, a flicker of clarity broke through the fog of pain. This wasn't the end. This story wasn't finished. I still had a move left—not to beg, not to plead—but to make sure they would pay for what they had taken from me.
"Miss Mira."
The sound of my name snapped me back to reality.
I jerked upright. "Y—Yes, sir?"
Mr. Julian looked at me carefully. "Where are your thoughts?" he asked gently. "You seem far away." "You no longer work for Nexa Interiors," he continued. "So instead of creating a scene here, please… leave."
I tried to speak, but he raised his hand slightly.
"If you don't, I'll have no choice but to call security." He sighed. "I have your number. I may check on you later. But right now—this isn't the place for this. You shouldn't be here anymore."
Something inside me went quiet. I didn't argue. I didn't cry louder. I didn't beg again. I had lost too much in one day. And suddenly—I was exhausted. Tired of pleading. Tired of explaining. Tired of fighting for spaces that I no longer wanted.
My voice failed me. And for the first time that day… I said nothing.