Still, I sat quietly, pretending not to care. Daniel’s words hung in the air, his casual dismissal of me as “different” and his insistence that he cared for me, not Ginger. His affection was a hollow thing. A fleeting, empty promise that meant nothing in the face of everything else.
The dinner dragged on, the taunts never stopping, the laughter continuing as though I wasn’t even there. The wine I once found comforting now tasted bitter, its warmth turning cold in my stomach. I could feel the eyes of Daniel’s friends on me, but I didn’t flinch. The joke was no longer funny.
And soon, they’d all understand just who they had underestimated.
The door groaned as I entered, my footsteps echoing in the quiet apartment. I found Daniel pacing back and forth, his usual composure replaced with restless energy. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his suit—normally impeccable—looked wrinkled and disordered, a rare sight for someone who prided himself on perfection.
"Tracie," he said urgently as his eyes locked onto me, his voice tight with frustration. "It’s over. The Whitaker Corporation just pulled out of the deal."