I spent the rest of that night in the diner.
The waitress kept refilling my coffee,I'd only ordered one cup, but she didn't charge me for the refills. Maybe she could tell I had nowhere to go. Maybe she'd seen enough desperate people at 4 AM to recognize another one.
At 6:30 AM, she came over with a plate of toast. "On the house, hon. You look like you need it."
I wanted to refuse,I didn't want charity, didn't want pity,but my stomach overruled my pride. I ate the toast in silence while she wiped down tables and didn't ask questions.
At 7 AM, I left the diner and walked to the nearest Salvation Army. They opened at 8. I waited on the steps in my pajamas,old t-shirt, sweatpants, no jacket even though the morning was cold,until a tired-looking volunteer unlocked the door.
"I need clothes," I said. "I lost everything in a fire."
She didn't ask for proof. Just took me to a room full of donated items and let me pick through them.
I found a pair of jeans that almost fit. A plain black sweater with a small hole near the hem. Sneakers that were half a size too big. Underwear still in a package, donated but never opened. A jacket that smelled like mothballs but was warm.
"Thank you," I said.
"Do you have somewhere to stay?" the volunteer asked. "We have resources—"
"I'm fine," I lied. "I have somewhere."
I didn't have somewhere.
I changed in their bathroom, stuffed my pajamas in a plastic bag they gave me, and left.
On the street, I pulled out my phone. I had eleven missed calls,Marcus, Jenna, even Ava. A dozen text messages asking if I was okay, if I'd heard about the fire, if I needed anything.
I deleted them all without reading past the first line.
Then I looked up motels in Queens. The cheapest one I could find was $45 a night. I had $3.47 in my bank account.
My paycheck would hit tomorrow,Friday,but after rent (which was still somehow due even though my apartment had burned down), hospital bills, and subway pass, I'd have maybe $200 left. Four nights in a motel. Maybe five if I didn't eat.
I walked to the bank and withdrew the $3.47 in cash. Then I walked to the motel,a run-down place off the highway with neon signs and hourly rates advertised on a board out front.
The man at the desk barely looked at me. "How long?"
"One night. I'll pay for more tomorrow when my check clears."
"Cash up front."
"I'll have it tomorrow—"
"Cash up front," he repeated.
I stood there, holding my $3.47, and felt the weight of how completely I'd failed.
"Please," I said quietly. "I lost everything in a fire last night. I just need one night, and tomorrow I can—"
He sighed. "You got ID?"
I showed him my driver's license.
He looked at it, then at me,standing there in donated clothes, no luggage, nothing but a plastic bag with my pajamas,and something in his expression softened slightly.
"One night. You pay for the rest tomorrow or you're out. Room 7."
He handed me a key.
"I don't have the money now—"
"I know. I'm giving you tonight. But tomorrow you pay or you're gone. Understand?"
I nodded, too tired to ask why he was being kind. "Thank you."
Room 7 smelled like cigarette smoke and mildew. The bed had a suspicious stain on the comforter. The TV was bolted to the wall. But it was a door that locked and a place to sleep.
I set down my plastic bag, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at nothing.
Then I set my alarm for 6 AM and lay down fully clothed on top of the stained comforter.
I had to go to work tomorrow.
I had to go to work and pretend everything was fine and finish the quarterly reports and smile at people who'd ask if I was okay and not scream.
Because if I lost my job, I lost everything.
I was already at nothing.
I couldn't afford to go lower.
***
Friday morning, I woke up at 6 AM in a motel room that wasn't mine, wearing donated clothes that didn't fit, with $3.47 to my name.
I took a shower in the rust-stained tub, got dressed in yesterday's Salvation Army outfit, and took the subway to Apex.
I arrived at 7:15 AM. The office was mostly empty. I went straight to my cubicle, logged into my computer, and pulled up my bank account.
Paycheck: deposited. $2,847.
Rent: auto-deducted. $1,200.
Hospital: payment plan auto-deducted. $850.
Subway pass: $127.
Remaining: $670.
I stared at the number. With the motel at $45 a night, that was fourteen nights. Two weeks. And then what?
I closed the banking tab and opened my work email. Forty-seven unread messages. Half of them were people asking about the fire, offering condolences, saying I should take time off if I needed it.
I deleted them all.
"Elena."
I looked up.
Mr. Hendricks was standing at my cubicle, looking uncomfortable. "My office. Now."
My stomach dropped.
This was it. He was going to fire me. Victoria had complained, or Adrian had decided I was too much of a liability, or they'd found some excuse—
"Sit down," Hendricks said once we were in his office with the door closed.
I sat.
"I heard about the fire. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
"Do you have somewhere to stay?"
"Yes."
He looked skeptical but didn't push. "HR wanted me to let you know that Apex has an emergency assistance fund for employees who experience hardship. You could be eligible for up to $2,000 to help with temporary housing, replacing essentials—"
"I don't need it," I said.
"Elena—"
"I'm fine, Mr. Hendricks. I appreciate the offer, but I don't need assistance."
Taking charity from Apex felt like admitting defeat. Like acknowledging that I was a victim, that I needed help, that I couldn't handle this myself.
I couldn't afford to be seen as weak. Not now.
"Alright," Hendricks said slowly. "But if you change your mind, the option is there." He paused. "There's another matter. The incident in the cafeteria yesterday."
I said nothing.
"Victoria Ashford's behavior was completely unacceptable. We've notified building security that she's no longer permitted on premises without explicit authorization from Mr. Wolfe. And we've filed a formal complaint about the assault on Ms. Sinclair."
Assault on Ms. Sinclair. They were protecting Ava. Of course they were.
"However," Hendricks continued, "there's been some concern about your involvement in these incidents. Calling Mr. Wolfe directly during the first confrontation, being present during the second—"
"Are you saying I shouldn't have called him?" My voice was flat.
"I'm saying that in the future, it's better to let security handle these situations rather than involving executive leadership directly." He shifted in his seat. "Mr. Wolfe has made it clear that he doesn't want to be contacted about personal matters unless absolutely necessary."
So that was it. Adrian was annoyed that I'd bothered him. And now I was being reprimanded for trying to prevent an assault.
"Understood," I said.
"Good. Now, about your workload,given everything you're dealing with, we can reassign some of your projects temporarily—"
"No," I said. "I'll handle it."
"Elena, there's no shame in—"
"I'll handle it," I repeated. "Is that all?"
Hendricks looked at me for a long moment, something like concern in his eyes. Then he sighed. "That's all. But Elena... if you need anything, please ask."
I stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Hendricks."
I walked back to my cubicle, sat down, and got back to work.
***
At 10 AM, Ava appeared.
She was wearing a cream-colored turtleneck sweater,another high-necked garment,and she looked like she hadn't slept. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her usual perfect makeup slightly smudged.
"Elena." She hovered at the edge of my cubicle. "Can we talk?"
"I'm working."
"Please. Just five minutes."
I looked at her. At the exhaustion in her face, the genuine distress, the way her hands were twisting together nervously.
"Five minutes," I said.
She sat in the chair next to my desk, the one no one ever used. "I heard about the fire. Marcus told me. Elena, I'm so sorry. Do you have somewhere to stay? Do you need help with—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You lost everything—"
"I said I'm fine, Ava."
She flinched. "Okay. I just... I wanted you to know that if you need anything, I'm here. Money, a place to stay, anything—"
"I don't need your help."
The words came out harsher than I intended. Ava's face crumpled slightly.
"I know you're going through a lot," she said quietly. "And I know that Victoria... what she did yesterday was because of me. The food, and then the fire—"
"The fire was faulty wiring," I said automatically.
"Elena." Ava leaned forward, her voice dropping. "We both know it wasn't."
I stared at my computer screen.
"I told Adrian about it," Ava continued. "About Victoria dumping your food, about the fire. He's taking action. He's going to—"
"Stop." I looked at her. "Please stop trying to help me."
"But—"
"Every time you try to help me, things get worse." The words were spilling out now, and I couldn't stop them. "You got me coffee and Victoria saw it as us being friends. I tried to protect you and Victoria burned down my apartment. So please, Ava, just... stop."
She sat back, hurt clear on her face. "I didn't know—"
"Of course you didn't know. You never know." I turned back to my computer. "Your five minutes are up."
"Elena—"
"Please leave."
She left.
I sat there staring at my screen, my hands shaking slightly, trying to ignore the guilt twisting in my stomach.
Ava hadn't done anything wrong. She was trying to be kind, trying to help, trying to be a good person.
But her kindness cost me things I couldn't afford to lose.
***
I worked through lunch,there was no way I was going back to the cafeteria, and I didn't have money for food anyway. At 2 PM, my stomach was cramping again. By 4 PM, I was light-headed.
Marcus stopped by at 5:30. "Hey. A few of us are going for drinks after work. You should come."
"I can't."
"Elena, you need to take a break. After everything—"
"I can't afford it, Marcus." I said it quietly, but the words hung in the air between us.
His expression shifted. "I'll buy. Seriously, it's not—"
"I don't want charity."
"It's not charity, it's friends getting drinks—"
"I'm not your friend." The words came out cold, final. "I'm your coworker. That's it. So please stop pretending otherwise."
Marcus stared at me. "What the hell, Elena?"
"Just leave me alone."
He left, shaking his head.
I was burning every bridge I had. I knew that. But bridges required maintenance, and I had nothing left to give.
At 6 PM, I packed up and took the subway to the motel.
I paid for another night with some of my paycheck,$45 in cash, handed over to the disinterested desk clerk. Then I went to room 7, sat on the stained bed, and stared at the wall.
I needed to figure out what to do. Where to live. How to survive. But every time I tried to think about the future, my mind just went blank.
I pulled out my phone and looked at Grandma's number.
I should call her. Tell her about the fire. Ask if I could visit this weekend.
But I couldn't make myself dial.
What would I say? *Hi Grandma, I lost everything, I'm living in a motel that smells like cigarettes, and I'm three months behind on your bills, but how are you?*
Instead, I opened a private browser and typed: *Adrian Wolfe daily routine.*
The same articles as before. The same information. Same photos of him entering Apex at 6:30 AM, same details about his schedule, same everything.
But this time, I wasn't just reading.
This time, I was studying.
I clicked through to the next article. *Adrian Wolfe and Ava Sinclair: A Love Story.*
Photos of them at galas, at charity events, at restaurants. Always touching,his hand on her back, her hand on his arm, their heads close together like they shared secrets the rest of the world couldn't hear.
The article called them "couple goals." It quoted relationship experts saying they were "redefining modern romance." It showed photos of Ava's engagement ring,yes, engagement ring, he'd proposed three months ago at some private island resort,and talked about their upcoming wedding.
I stared at that ring. Massive diamond, probably cost more than I'd earn in ten years. Symbol of his devotion. Proof of his love.
I thought about Victoria Ashford, who'd been promised to Adrian since she was sixteen and lost him to this relationship.
I thought about my apartment, burned to ash because I'd tried to stop her from hurting Ava.
I thought about the food dumped over Ava's head,my food, my only meal,and how Ava had gotten comfort and concern and sympathy while I got hunger and homelessness.
I thought about the bruises I'd seen on Ava's throat, her wrists, her collarbone. The marks that were supposed to be passion but looked like ownership.
And I thought about Grandma in her facility, declining every day because I couldn't pay for the treatment that might save her, while Adrian Wolfe spent more on an engagement ring than it would cost to keep her alive for years.
I closed the browser and set my phone down.
Then I lay back on the stained bed in my donated clothes and stared at the water-damaged ceiling of room 7.
I had nothing left to lose.
That should have scared me.
Instead, it felt like freedom.
***
Saturday morning, I walked to the nearest thrift store and bought three more outfits with money I didn't have. A pair of black pants. Two blouses. A cardigan. Nothing matched, nothing fit perfectly, but it was enough to look professional. Enough to keep going to work and pretending I wasn't falling apart.
Then I walked to the public library and sat at one of the computers for three hours.
I wasn't reading articles anymore.
I was taking notes.
*Adrian Wolfe: arrives at Apex Industries 6:30 AM every weekday. Driver drops him at the front entrance. Security detail: two guards. Executive elevator access required. Fifth floor, east wing. Office has a private bathroom. Leaves office approximately 7 PM unless meetings run late. Dinner reservations frequent at Lucia's, Eleven Madison Park, Le Bernardin. Always with Ava Sinclair.*
*Ava Sinclair: arrives at Apex 8:00 AM. Parks in underground garage,spot B7. No security detail. Office on fifth floor, adjacent to Adrian Wolfe's. Lunch typically in company cafeteria or local cafes. Yoga class Tuesdays and Thursdays, 6 PM, studio on 45th Street.*
*Victoria Ashford: heir to Ashford real estate fortune. Known locations: family penthouse on Park Avenue, family estate in Connecticut. No regular schedule. High-profile at charity galas, museum boards, society functions. Has been banned from Apex Industries building but maintains connections with building security through family foundation donations.*
I filled three notebook pages with details.
Not because I had a plan.
But because information felt like the only thing I could control.
When the library closed at 5 PM, I walked back to the motel. Paid another $45 for another night. Lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
My phone buzzed. A text from Nurse Pam.
*Hi Elena, haven't heard from you in a while. Your grandmother is asking about you. Are you able to visit soon? Also, we need to discuss the payment situation. Please call when you can.*
I turned off my phone.
***
Sunday, I did nothing.
I lay in room 7 and listened to the sounds of the motel,doors slamming, people arguing, cars pulling in and out. I thought about getting up, going somewhere, doing something.
But there was nowhere to go.
So I just lay there and waited for Monday.
***
Monday morning, I went back to work.
Same routine. Same cubicle. Same spreadsheets.
Ava avoided me now. Marcus didn't stop by. Jenna gave me pitying looks from across the office but didn't approach.
I was a ghost. Present but not really there.
At noon, I went to the cafeteria for lunch. Free food. My only meal.
I loaded my tray with chicken, rice, vegetables, bread. Sat alone at a table by the window. Ate slowly, making it last, knowing it was all I'd have until tomorrow.
Across the cafeteria, I saw them.
Adrian and Ava, sitting together at a private table in the corner. He was feeding her something from his plate,playful, intimate,and she was laughing. Her hand was on his arm. His eyes never left her face.
They looked happy.
They looked in love.
They looked like they existed in a completely different world from the one where I sat alone with my free cafeteria lunch, living in a motel, with nothing.
I watched them for a long time.
And I thought: *What would happen if they didn't exist?*
The thought appeared fully formed, like it had been waiting there all along.
*What would happen if Adrian Wolfe and Ava Sinclair just... stopped?*
I finished my lunch, threw away my tray, and went back to work.
But the thought stayed with me.