Chapter 2

The next day, I went to work at Thorne & Sterling. The resignation letter was still in my bag. I hadn’t handed it in yet. Part of me, the foolish part, still hoped. I tried to maintain a routine, to be professional, stoic. Inside, I was crumbling. The office was buzzing about Isabelle Duval.

I saw them later, Marcus and Isabelle, emerging from his office, laughing. She was beautiful, glamorous, everything I wasn’t. She fit perfectly on his arm. He looked at her with an open adoration he’d never shown me. The pain was sharp, a fresh stab of jealousy. It confirmed my displacement. They walked past my desk. Neither of them looked at me.

A critical deadline loomed for the Brooklyn waterfront project. A project I’d poured months into, despite my ethical concerns. Marcus was supposed to review the final drafts with me. He cancelled. “Bella has an idea for the gallery installation. I need to be there.” His voice over the intercom was dismissive. Frustration and disbelief warred within me. Isabelle, again, taking precedence over the firm’s work.

The client for the Brooklyn project called, angry about the delay. Marcus was unreachable, still with Isabelle. I had to field the call. Mr. Henderson, the developer, was furious. “Where the hell is Thorne? This is a billion-dollar project!” I tried to placate him, making excuses for Marcus. “He’s… in a crucial design meeting, Mr. Henderson.” A lie. “You tell Thorne if he doesn’t get his act together, we’re pulling the plug!” Humiliation washed over me. I was powerless, taking the blame for Marcus’s negligence. Quietly suffering.

Later, Isabelle sauntered over to my desk. She held a ridiculously small, yapping dog. “Ava, is it? Marcus says you’re very… efficient.” Her tone was condescending. “Could you get Fifi a bowl of Evian? And some organic dog biscuits? Marcus keeps them in his private pantry.” I stared at her. Annoyance pricked at me. This was a new level of demeaning. “I’m an architect, Ms. Duval, not a dog walker.” “Oh, don’t be difficult,” she purred. “Marcus wants me to be comfortable.” A power play.

She leaned closer, her expensive perfume cloying. Fifi, the dog, yapped aggressively. Suddenly, the dog lunged, nipping my hand. “Ow!” I pulled back, startled. Tiny teeth marks welled with blood. Isabelle gasped dramatically. “Fifi! Naughty girl! Oh, Ava, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Her concern was fake. The dog, still growling, felt like an extension of her malice. Pain, shock, vulnerability. It was just a nip, but it felt symbolic.

Marcus rushed out of his office, drawn by Isabelle’s theatrical cry. “Bella, what happened?” He went straight to her, his arm around her shoulder. “Oh, Marcus, it was awful! Ava startled Fifi, and the poor thing just got a little scared.” Isabelle’s voice trembled. She held up Fifi. “Ava was being rather uncooperative about a simple request.” Marcus looked at me, his face hardening. “Ava, what’s this about? Isabelle is our guest, our collaborator. The least you can do is be helpful.” No questions about my bleeding hand. No concern for me. Betrayal, sharp and cold. Despair. A profound sense of injustice.

He took Isabelle’s arm. “Come on, Bella. Let’s get Fifi settled. Some people just don’t understand priorities.” He led her back into his office, leaving me standing there, hand throbbing, heart aching. Abandoned. Isolated. The resignation letter in my bag felt heavier.