Amy left the Davis house that morning with a weight pressing on her chest. Each step down the marble staircase felt heavier than the last, echoes of her parents' cold words still lingering. Even Mirable's soft, "supportive" smile that morning—the one that had seemed comforting—now felt like a warning she couldn't decipher.
By the time she reached the office, her nerves were taut. She smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse and took a deep breath, forcing herself to step into the lobby with a calm she didn't feel. The elevator ride felt interminable, each floor a reminder that she had to face Ethan and his ever-watchful eyes.
"Good morning, Amy," Ethan said, appearing like he had stepped from the polished walls themselves. His crisp suit was impeccable, his gaze sharp, cutting. He didn't smile. "I'll pick you up tonight. We're going to the auction. Try to be ready. I don't want any surprises."
Amy blinked, startled. An auction? She wasn't used to these high-society events, and the thought made her stomach twist. "I… I'll be ready," she murmured, forcing a smile. Her pulse raced with equal parts excitement and nerves. She hoped for a flicker of warmth, a compliment, maybe even a hint of pride. But his gaze never softened.
He simply turned and walked away. Amy's hands shook slightly as she settled at her desk, the office suddenly feeling colder, the walls pressing closer than usual.
By mid-morning, her anxiety had only grown. Mirable appeared in the hallway, speaking to a colleague Amy didn't recognize. The ease of her stepsister's presence made Amy uneasy. She seemed to glide effortlessly, every movement precise and calculated. Amy felt small, watched, exposed under her gaze.
Mirable's voice floated across the cubicles, low and casual. "You're handling everything well, Amy. But… sometimes people don't notice what's right in front of them. They only see what they want to control. Don't let it define you."
Amy forced a nod, but the words twisted inside her. Was she imagining it, or was Mirable planting seeds of doubt that would blossom into embarrassment later?
Ethan approached her desk, as usual, perfectly composed yet carrying an invisible weight of judgment. "Amy, I went through the files last night," he said, tone smooth but sharp. "Some of these numbers don't add up. Were you… distracted?"
Her chest tightened. Could he really think she had been careless? Or was this another subtle test, a reminder of her inadequacy? Amy's mind raced, trying to find the right explanation, the right words to defend herself without sounding weak.
By lunch, Amy's focus had all but vanished. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unable to type. The office felt smaller, suffocating, each glance, each whispered word, pressing down on her from all sides.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Ethan: Be ready at seven. I'll be outside.
Amy's stomach twisted again. The auction. A public arena where appearances mattered, where one misstep could be fatal. She tried to imagine herself there: poised, perfect, admired. But a flicker of unease crept in—a whisper of warning she could not shake. Mirable's presence had always been subtle, but tonight, Amy thought, it would be everywhere.
By the time she left the office, a storm churned in her chest—nerves, anger, fear, and restless anticipation. She had no idea how Mirable's schemes would reach her tonight, or how Ethan's judgment might wound her in front of a crowd she didn't understand.
All she knew was that the threads were being woven tighter with each glance, each word, each unspoken intention. And somewhere deep inside, a small, fragile part of her sensed that the coming night would be pivotal.