Elena's POV
I know something's wrong the second I walk into Steven Palmer's office.
My boss sits behind his massive desk, face blank as stone. Two security guards stand on either side of the door like sentries. My stomach drops.
Elena, sit down, Steven says. His voice is cold. Professional. Nothing like the friendly tone he used last week when he promised me a promotion.
I don't sit. What's going on?
Steven opens a folder. Slides it across the polished wood toward me. We've discovered irregularities in your accounts.
Irregularities? My voice cracks. I step closer, heart hammering. What are you talking about?
Two million dollars missing from client portfolios. Falsified reports. All traced back to you. He taps the folder. Your signature. Your access codes. Your computer.
The room tilts. That's impossible. I didn't
The evidence is clear. Steven stands, and I finally see what's in his eyes. Not anger. Satisfaction. He's enjoying this. You're fired, effective immediately. Security will escort you out.
Steven, please! Panic claws up my throat. I've worked here for three years. You know me. I would never
I thought I knew you. He nods to the guards. Gentlemen.
Rough hands grab my arms. I try to pull away, but their grip is iron.
This is a mistake! I shout as they drag me backward. Through Steven's office door. Into the main floor where fifty coworkers stare with wide eyes and open mouths.
Phones appear. Camera flashes pop like tiny explosions.
They're filming me.
Sarah from Accounting whispers to Mark from IT. Jessica actually smiles, the same Jessica who asked to borrow money last month. I helped her. And now she's watching my destruction like it's entertainment.
Elena Martinez is a thief, someone mutters.
I heard she stole millions.
Always seemed too perfect.
The lies spread like wildfire. My face burns. Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of these vultures.
Security shoves me through the lobby. The glass doors swing open.
And there they are.
Reporters. At least a dozen, with cameras and microphones. They surge forward like a wave.
Ms. Martinez, did you steal the money?
How long have you been embezzling?
Any comment on the charges?
I'm innocent! I scream, but my voice disappears under their shouting.
A camera shoves into my face. I push it away. More flashes. More questions. The security guards release me on the sidewalk and disappear back inside, leaving me alone in the chaos.
Someone tipped them off. This was planned.
I run. Down the block, around the corner, until my lungs scream and my heels click frantically against concrete. Finally, I collapse against a brick wall in an alley, gasping.
My phone buzzes.
Fifteen text messages. Twenty emails. All from people I thought were friends.
Is it true?
Did you really steal money?
Don't contact me anymore.
I scroll through them, each one a knife to the chest. Three years of relationships, destroyed in minutes.
The phone rings. Derek's name flashes on the screen.
Derek. My fiancé. The man who proposed six months ago with my grandmother's ring. The man who promised to love me no matter what.
Relief floods through me. He'll believe me. He'll help me fix this.
I answer. Derek, thank God. Listen, something terrible
Elena. His voice stops me cold. It's the tone he uses with difficult clients. Detached. Professional. We need to talk.
My relief evaporates. About what?
Not over the phone. Meet me at the apartment. Now.
Derek, I just got fired. They're saying I stole money, but it's not true. I need you to
The apartment, Elena. Thirty minutes.
He hangs up.
I stare at my phone. At the black screen reflecting my shocked face.
That wasn't concern in his voice. It wasn't love or worry or even confusion.
It was dismissal.
No. No, I'm imagining things. I'm panicking. Derek loves me. We're getting married in four months. I've already ordered the flowers. His mother helped me pick the venue.
He'll understand. He has to.
I flag down a taxi with shaking hands. Give the driver my address—our address. The apartment Derek and I have shared for two years.
The city blurs past the window. I try calling my best friend Belle, but it goes to voicemail. I try my college roommate. Voicemail. My cousin. Blocked.
Already blocked.
The taxi stops. I pay with my credit card, praying it works. It does. For now.
I take the elevator to the sixth floor. Walk down the familiar hallway. My hands tremble as I unlock the door.
Derek? I call out. Derek, where
I freeze.
Cardboard boxes line the entryway. My boxes. Filled with my clothes, my books, my pictures. Everything I own, packed away like garbage.
Derek appears from the bedroom. He's wearing his work suit. Hair perfectly styled. He won't meet my eyes.
What is this? My voice barely works.
He picks up something from the hall table. My grandmother's ring. The one he proposed with. The only thing I have left of her.
He holds it out to me.
I can't marry a criminal, Derek says.
The world stops spinning.
What?
My boss told me to distance myself from you. For my career. He says it like he's discussing the weather. Casual. Easy. The evidence is clear, Elena. You stole that money. I can't be associated with someone like that.
Someone like, Rage ignites in my chest. Derek, I'm innocent! I was framed! You know me. You know I would never
Do I? He finally looks at me. His eyes are cold. Stranger's eyes. You're not the woman I thought you were.
He drops the ring into my palm. The metal is cold against my skin.
You have until tonight to get your things out, Derek continues. Julia's moving in tomorrow.
Julia? My mind struggles to catch up. Julia from your office? You're already—
Goodbye, Elena.
He walks past me. Out the door. Leaving me standing in the apartment we shared, surrounded by boxes of my dismantled life.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process what just happened.
My phone buzzes. I look down numbly.
Email from my bank: ACCOUNT OVERDRAWN
Another email. From my landlord: EVICTION NOTICE - RENT UNPAID
A third email. News alert: Financial Analyst Elena Martinez Arrested for Fraud
Arrested? I wasn't arrested. But my photo is everywhere. My name. My face. The lies spreading faster than I can stop them.
In six hours, I've lost my job. My fiancé. My home. My reputation.
My entire life.
Gone.
I slide down the wall, clutching my grandmother's ring. The only thing I have left.
My phone buzzes again.
Bank notification: Account Balance: $47.23
Forty-seven dollars. That's all I have in the world.
I start laughing. Then crying. Then I can't tell the difference anymore.
What do I do now?
Where do I go?
The apartment door opens. My roommate, Derek's friend Marcus, appears with another guy. They're carrying boxes.
You need to leave, Marcus says. Not apologetic. Not kind. Just factual. I already paid this month's rent. You owe three months. Since you can't pay, you can't stay.
I didn't know about the rent, I whisper. Derek said he was
Not my problem. Marcus sets down his box. Out by tonight, or I call the cops.
He closes the door.
I sit on the floor of the hallway, my whole world in boxes around me, and realize the horrible truth.
I am completely, utterly alone.