Rejecting Alexander

I stumbled into my apartment, barely making it through the door before my legs gave out. The couch caught me as I collapsed, my entire body convulsing with sobs that felt ripped from somewhere deep and primal. The burn on my arm throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a physical reminder of my humiliation. I couldn't even look at it—couldn't bear to see the angry red mark where Victoria's "accidental" coffee spill had scalded me, or remember Alexander's cold eyes as he called security on me. Me. After three years.

I don't know how long I lay there, curled into myself, when I heard the key in the lock. I didn't even lift my head. What did it matter who saw me like this? What did anything matter anymore?

"Becca?" Michael's voice cut through my haze of pain. "Jesus Christ."

My brother dropped his bag and was kneeling beside me in an instant, his hands hovering over me like he was afraid I might shatter at his touch. Maybe I would.

"What happened?" he demanded, then his eyes fell on my arm. "You're hurt. Don't move."

He disappeared into the bathroom, returning with the first aid kit I kept under the sink. His movements were quick and efficient as he cleaned the burn, his face tight with controlled fury.

"Who did this to you?" His voice was dangerously soft.

"Victoria," I whispered, the name bitter on my tongue. "Alexander's... I don't even know what to call her."

Michael's hands stilled for just a fraction of a second before continuing to apply ointment to my arm.

"I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you," he said finally, not meeting my eyes. "I found something on Alexander's laptop months ago when I was helping him with that tax issue."

I stared at him, a chill creeping up my spine. "What are you talking about?"

Michael finished bandaging my arm before reaching for his own laptop. "There was a folder," he said, his voice flat. "Hidden, but not well enough. It was labeled 'Victoria.'"

He turned the screen toward me, and I felt the world tilt sideways again. There they were—Alexander and the blonde woman from the airport—in dozens of photos. Alexander kissing her on the London Eye. Alexander with his arm around her at what looked like a family gathering. Alexander gazing at her exactly the way I'd seen him look at her at LAX—with unguarded adoration.

"These date back years," Michael said quietly. "Long before you."

I touched the screen with trembling fingers, tracing the outline of their entwined hands. "He never looked at me like that," I whispered. "Not once in three years."

Michael closed the laptop, unable to watch me torture myself further. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two containers of take-out noodles. The smell turned my stomach, but I took the container anyway, needing something to do with my hands.

"There's something else," Michael said after a few moments of silence. "I've been talking to Harrison Brooks."

I blinked, the name vaguely familiar. "The Seattle tech guy?"

"The Seattle tech mogul," Michael corrected. "He's been looking for someone with your exact skill set for a new venture. I sent him some of your work—the stuff Alexander took credit for at the Phillips merger."

I stared at him, too numb to even feel betrayed by this admission. "You what?"

"He wants to meet you. Tonight, actually. Just a video call." Michael's eyes were intent on mine. "This could be your way out, Becca. A clean break. New city, new opportunity."

I shook my head, overwhelmed. "I can't just—"

"You can," Michael insisted. "And you will. Because you deserve better than being someone's stand-in."

Before I could argue further, Michael had set up the call on his laptop. The screen flickered, and suddenly I was looking at Harrison Brooks—younger than I expected, with kind eyes and a serious expression.

"Ms. Chen," he began, his voice warm and professional. "I can't tell you how impressed I've been with your work."

I quickly hit the mute button, wiping at my tears as Harrison continued speaking, unaware that I couldn't respond. How could I possibly consider this now, when my entire world was collapsing around me? And yet, as Harrison Brooks outlined his vision for a new venture in Seattle, I felt something stir beneath my grief—a tiny, fragile spark of possibility.