Page 120 of The Encore’s Crown

I look over her shoulder. Suri is wiping down a counter, eyes lowered, expression innocent.

“I understand,” I say.

Celeste studies me, perhaps waiting for an argument. When none comes, she sighs.

“Document the incident before you leave.”

I deserve Suri hating me. I kissed the man she wanted right in front of her, then closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to watch it hurt. I used Ryder because I wanted to feel something, and the person I managed to make feel the most was standing three feet away. That doesn’t mean I deserve to lose my job. But guilt is an effective gag. I finish the shift without confronting her.

I’ve somehow made myself more miserable. Impressive, really. I should add it to my résumé.

Over the next few weeks, life becomes gray. I don’t collapse in the rain or throw myself beneath a bus. I simply move through each day with less of myself present. I work. I post. I sell products to women who want to become different women for a night.

Suri keeps finding small ways to make every shift harder. A tester disappears from my station and turns up in my locker. A client is told I promised her a free gift I never mentioned. Someone changes the stock count after I close, and I’m asked to explain the discrepancy the next morning. Nothing big enough to prove but not small enough to ignore.

Melina remains polite when we’re scheduled together. Janae occasionally whispers warnings before Celeste catches me doing something Suri arranged. Neither of them invites me anywhere.

Ryder eventually stops calling.

His last message says:

I don’t know what game you’re playing but leave me out of it.

For once, he said something intelligent. I don’t answer. Kiri and Radhika disappear from the gossip cycle within days, replaced by an actor’s divorce and a singer who allegedly threw a chair at her manager. There’s no confirmation they’re together. No denial either. I don’t unblock him or search his name. I only see him accidentally. A tagged post from the band. A fan edit slipping into my explore page. Half his face beneath the veil while the comments praise his hands, his body, his talent. I scroll past so quickly I think I sprained my thumb.

At night, I sleep badly. During the day, I become better at looking rested. By the fourth Friday since Japan, even Tata notices. I’m sitting at my vanity before family dinner, blending bronzer beneath my cheekbone, when I hear Kasia arrive downstairs. Mama calls her name. Kacper begins shouting something about a dinosaur. A door closes, then footsteps climb the stairs.

I expect Kasia. Tata appears instead. He knocks once against the open doorframe.

“Busy?”

“As always when performing miracles. Don't tell Father Marek.”

He smiles and steps inside. Before I can ask what he wants, he closes the door. That gets my attention. Tata never closes bedroom doors unless someone is changing clothes or Mama is furious enough that the entire house needs containment. He sits on the edge of my bed. I turn back to the mirror and pick up my blush.

“How's work?” he asks.

“It’s makeup. I’m good at makeup.”

"You like it?"

I glance at him through the mirror. He’s wearing the dark sweater Mama bought him last Christmas, sleeves pushed to his forearms. The lines around his eyes look deeper than I remember. Maybe I’m only noticing because he’s watching me so carefully.

“It’s temporary,” I say. “The money’s decent. The manager is annoying, but that’s legally required.”

“People are nice?”

“Some.”

He nods like I’ve given him a full report.

“And your internet work things?”

“Growing. Slowly.”

“That is good.”

“Yeah.”