ven months. She slapped it quiet before the sound could travel down the hall to Ethan Miller's room. Her small room

to a glass of water, exactly room temperature. He hated it too cold. Then, downstairs to the kitchen. Ethan's breakfast: steel-cut oatmeal, not too thick, with a p

bright blue, were dull. He wore the same expensive but rumpled clothes he'd wo

is lumpy ag

different. It wasn't l

ch, Mr. Miller," she

ash. Olivia Hayes. His ex-fiancée. Always Olivia. Five years, and it was still always Olivia. A phot

ler's private line interrupted

s is back in the States. Divorced Jean-Luc, apparently. She'll b

This was it. The end of her five-year term was near

Miller,"

at Olivia's picture, a strange light in his eyes. Hope? Or

ism degree gathering dust. Her dream of photojournalism on hold, maybe forever. She had

led her part.

own phone. Michael Chen,

m. Thinking about that freelance gig I mentioned? Docu

era in her hand again. It felt like a dream. She had been quietly p

tarted. Mrs. Davis, her high sc

olarship! Full ride to Columbia J

factory worker, his union strong but his paychecks barely enou

fall at the factory. Doctors, surgeries, endless bills. The scho

led. She'd heard about Sarah's

ancée, Olivia Hayes, she... left him. For that European billionaire, Jean-Luc Dubois. Moved

used. What did this

Five years. You live here, as Ethan's executive assistant. Manage his life, his appointments, his... well-being. In return, the

five years. Give up her

photojournalism, the idea of giving voice to the voiceless,

tant. They didn't see the empty eyes, the days he wouldn't get out of bed. Th

ening to institutionalize him. Sarah had stayed up with him for three nights straight, talking, liste

, "Marry

as st

mumbled, already turning away. "And

ief, fragile hope she'd felt shattered. She had gently refused

om stress. She even curated his public image, writing statements, arranging brief, controlled appea

't even notice Sarah was gone. A strange sense of relief washed over her.