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The elevator chimed at thirty-four.

The doors slid open.

Keyboards stopped clicking across the open floor. Assistant designers clutching coffee cups froze mid-step, eyes locked on me.

Amanda held a design pencil, smirking like she'd won the lottery. Katrina stood by the director's office with her files, gaze crawling from my tangled hair down to my dust-streaked pants. Emily actually stepped closer, her snide laugh cutting through the air.

"Look at that. Got herself thrown out. Told you the bitch would get dumped eventually."

Their stares crawled over my skin like insects.

I didn't look at anyone. Bit down hard enough to taste copper. Used that sharp pain to keep my knees from buckling. Bolted to my cubicle.

My fingers shook so badly I could barely grip the mouse.

I pulled up the company portal, typed my name into the employee search with trembling hands, and clicked into the resignation form. Didn't even read the reason field—just smashed in two characters and hit "Submit."

A notification flashed across the screen. "Your resignation has been submitted and is pending approval from your direct supervisor and the CEO's office."

I couldn't stay another second.

I yanked open my drawer. Grabbed my sketchbook, measuring tape, and unfinished pattern sheets. Shoved everything into my canvas bag.

"Ms. Caldwell, you work fast." Brenda strolled over, arms crossed, looking down at me with pure satisfaction. "Sample approvals aren't even finished yet, and you're already packing up? What happened—the CEO not as fun to service as you thought?"

I yanked the bag's zipper closed and met her eyes, voice scraped raw. "Move, Brenda."

She opened her mouth to say more when my desk phone shrilled.

The screen showed an extension from the HR director's office.

"Ruby Caldwell? This is the director of Human Resources." The voice was ice-cold and mechanical, cutting through the silent floor. "We just received an executive override from the top floor. Mr. Moretti's office has locked your resignation. The system is rejecting your notice. Per direct order from the CEO's office, until you receive a written termination letter personally signed by Mr. Moretti, you remain an employee of this company. You need to return to the executive floor immediately—"

I slammed the phone down.

Dead silence.

The whispers died. Brenda's smirk froze solid.

But I didn't stop. Locked. Override. Direct order. Marcelo's chokehold control tactics only made me feel more trapped and humiliated.

I grabbed my bag, shoved the chair aside, and ran for the emergency stairwell while half the department stared.

I flew down the stairs—ten, fifteen flights. My lungs screamed.

When I burst through the revolving doors onto the street, the Manhattan sky hung low and gray, spitting cold rain. Wind cut through my thin clothes. I stood at the curb and pulled out my buzzing phone.

The screen lit up with missed calls and notifications.

Marcelo: Stay where you are. Rocco's downstairs.

Marcelo: Ruby, pick up.

Marcelo: This mess is my fault. Let me explain.

And one from Isabella. Short. Sharp. —Don't ever let me see your face again, you lying bitch.

Rain spattered the screen, blurring the words.