Chapter 3

The rough concrete of the alley scraped against my back. I had stumbled away from Hayes & Sterling, the echoes of their accusations ringing in my ears, and found refuge in the shadows between two buildings. The city's indifference was a cold blanket. Rain began to fall, a slow, miserable drizzle that soaked through my thin jacket.

My body ached from where the guards had manhandled me, but the pain in my soul was far worse. I was beaten. Utterly and completely. I had swallowed my pride, begged for help for my brother, and in return, I was publicly humiliated and branded a thief.

Daniel's face, cold and unforgiving, was burned into my mind. The man who had shaped my career had just shattered the last remnants of my hope.

I sat there in the rain for what felt like hours, a hollow shell. The fight had drained out of me, replaced by a deep, chilling despair. I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to make myself smaller, to disappear. For a moment, a dark thought flickered through my mind-a desire to just let go, to let the cold and the rain wash everything away.

But then, Michael' s face appeared in my thoughts. His gentle eyes, his quiet dependence on me. He was the reason I had to fight. He was the reason I couldn't give up.

A new feeling began to smolder in the pit of my stomach, pushing out the cold despair. It was anger. A pure, white-hot rage. They had taken everything from me. My job, my reputation, my home. They had threatened my brother' s well-being. They would not take my spirit.

Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet. My clothes were soaked, my hair was plastered to my face, but my spine was straight. The shivering had stopped. In that grimy, rain-slicked alley, a decision was forged. I was done being a victim. I was done appealing to a man who had no conscience. I was done with Daniel Hayes.

I walked out of the alley and back into the city lights. I knew where he would be.

I found him at "The Architect's Bar," a sleek, upscale lounge where he often held court after a successful day. He was sitting alone at a corner table, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring into the amber liquid. He looked up as I approached, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"What do you want now, Sarah?" he asked, his voice rough.

I didn't say a word. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the one thing I had left from my old life, the one thing I had managed to grab before being thrown out. It was a custom-made silver drafting pen, a gift from him on my first anniversary with the firm. Engraved on its side were the words: "To a future visionary."

I placed it on the table between us. The metal made a soft, final sound against the dark wood.

"We're done," I said. My voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute finality. "You and me. This mentorship. Whatever this was. It's over."

He stared at the pen, then back at me. His jaw tightened. "After what you tried to pull today? You think you're the one ending things?"

"I'm not talking about the job," I said, my gaze unwavering. "I'm talking about everything. I am erasing you from my life. You don't exist anymore."

I turned to leave.

"Sarah, wait," he called out, his voice sharp. He stood up, a storm brewing in his eyes. There was a possessive fury there, the anger of a creator whose creation was defying him. He couldn't stand that I was the one walking away.

"You don't get to..."

Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a picture of Emily, smiling. He glanced at it. That small distraction was all it took. The fire in his eyes faltered, his resolve wavering as Emily's influence reasserted itself. He was caught between his anger at me and his commitment to her.

I didn't wait for him to choose. I walked out of the bar without looking back, leaving the pen, the memories, and the man who had betrayed me behind. The rain had stopped. The air felt clean, and for the first time in a long time, I could breathe. The past was a weight I had finally decided to set down.