Roselle Easton
"Good morning, Keely. The pink dress in the back section of the prom collection—please ask a staff member to bring it to my apartment. I have a meeting at noon, so I won't be able to come to the lounge today. Bye, take care."
I ended the call and immediately dialed number.
"Hey, Rachel. Mrs. Haston is coming in for her nails, and she's bringing a friend. She's sensitive to gel, so please don't use it for her. Also, come over to my apartment this evening—we need to restock the spa."
This was how I usually started my mornings. Busy. Rushed. Controlled. Calls, reminders, schedules—everything neatly arranged so nothing could fall apart.
But today felt different.
Cole hadn't called.
Not yesterday. Not this morning either.
He was probably busy, I told myself. I'd call him later—not now. I was already running late. Still, the silence sat heavy in my chest. It felt like a lifetime ago since we'd talked properly, since he'd checked in just because.
I massaged my temple and tried calling him again.
No answer.
I checked the time and sighed, grabbing my bag from the couch. Tomorrow was Aubrey's birthday, and there was still so much to do. Decorations, confirmations, final checks. I didn't even know where to start, but I had promised I'd be there.
I picked up my phone and called Sonia, one of my homegirls,asking her to cover a few things at the venue,before I headed out. I needed to check on my boyfriend first. Or at least try.
Shaking off the thoughts, I headed to the lab.
The moment I stepped inside, the familiar sterile scent of ethanol and metal wrapped around me. Pipettes, samples, and data sheets waited on the bench—patient, predictable. Unlike Cole.
I slipped into my lab coat and gloves, scanning the samples. The assay we'd started last week was acting strange again, inconsistent results throwing off the data. I lined up the pipettes carefully, double-checking measurements. One mistake could ruin hours of work.
Science never ignored you. It never made excuses. It either worked—or it didn't.
Work grounded me, even when my mind wandered back to Cole. To the unanswered calls. To the way my gut twisted with every passing hour.
By the time I left the lab, my phone was still silent.
His office building loomed ahead—tall, sleek, familiar. I'd been here before, but today my feet felt heavy, like they were glued to the pavement. I hesitated, then texted him.
I'm outside.
Five minutes later, he walked out.
He looked tense. Not angry at me—just closed off, distracted.
"Hey, babe," he said, leaning in to kiss me.
I pushed him back slightly. "I'm angry with you, Cole."
He heard me. Said nothing.
"Why are you so quiet?" I asked softly, brushing his hair back. "You're so handsome."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Why don't you call me anymore?" I asked.
"It's my parents," he said after a pause. "They wanted to—" He stopped. "It's fine now. I handled it."
He was lying. I knew it. But I didn't push.
"Let's go for lunch," he said, taking my keys. "Get in the car, Rose."
At the restaurant, something was off. He barely spoke. He didn't flirt with the waitress—which was unusual for him.
I know how that sounds. Cole flirted with anything in a skirt, even right in front of me. Disrespectful? Maybe. But I'd never complained.
Aubrey once said I'd grown out of love. Maybe. Or maybe I'd just stopped letting myself be manipulated.
I still liked him. I still loved him.
But men would always be men.
Then his phone lit up on the table.
A name I didn't recognize.
Perfect.
I stared at it, forcing myself to look away. Guys will always be guys, I reminded myself.
Cole cleared his throat. "I need to take this. I have a few things to handle in the office."
Before I could respond, he was gone.
He didn't come back.
Instead, a text buzzed on my phone: I'll call you later.
I sat there alone, anger and embarrassment burning through me.
Later wasn't good enough.
I left the restaurant and drove straight to the venue.
The hall was already transformed. Pink and gold lights glowed softly, decorations perfectly arranged. Tables set. Balloons floating effortlessly. The event planner moved confidently, clipboard in hand.
Aubrey wasn't there.
Everything was done.
"Miss Easton, everything is ready," the planner said politely. "Aubrey already approved everything."
I nodded, forcing a smile. There was nothing left for me to do.
So I left.
I drove back to my apartment, the city lights blurring past, frustration sitting heavy in my chest.
Aubrey was already there when I walked in.
"So?" she asked brightly. "Did the plan work?"
"The plan?" I asked.
"You dressing up, going to his office, seducing him," she teased.
I laughed bitterly. "He left me hanging."
Her smile vanished. "He did what?"
"At lunch," I said. "Just walked out."
"That's disrespectful," she said sharply.
I sank onto the couch. My phone buzzed again.
We'll talk later. I promise.
I locked the phone without replying.
"I need to freshen up," I said quietly. "And I have to get to the spa. It needs restocking."
Aubrey grabbed her bag. "I'm coming. I need my nails redone."
The spa was calm when we arrived. Soft lighting. Familiar scents. I moved automatically, restocking shelves, replacing products, organizing towels. Control returned with every completed task.
Aubrey settled into a chair, holding up nail designs. "Birthday nails. Pink. Shimmer. Perfect."
I worked in silence, shaping, polishing, focusing. This—I could handle.
"You don't have to pretend it didn't hurt," Aubrey said gently.
"I know," I replied. "But tonight isn't about him."
When I finished, her nails were flawless.
"Perfect," she smiled.
For the first time all day, something felt right.
My phone buzzed again on the counter.
I didn't pick it up