Elena's POV
Someone pounded on my door, yanking me from unconsciousness. I peeled myself from the bed sheets, every muscle screaming after back-to-back nights at the office left me completely drained.
Moving toward the entrance while still half-asleep, I finally had a day off and couldn't wait to rest. When I opened the door, a uniformed security officer stood waiting outside.
"Miss Elena?" He spoke without emotion, stating facts.
Still groggy, I rubbed my face. "Yeah? What's going on?"
"Officer Ken. Mr. Dalton sent me. You need to leave this apartment right away."
His words made no sense. Mr. Dalton—Mark—my boyfriend.
I let out a shaky laugh. "Is this some kind of prank? Because it's not funny."
"No prank, ma'am." A document appeared in his hand, thrust toward my face. Official orders bearing Mark Dalton's signature. Everything inside me went cold.
"Wait… this can't be happening," I managed, my throat tight. "Mark's my boyfriend. Everything's fine between us. He wouldn't do something like this..."
"Your position at Thompson Crest Enterprise has been terminated, according to him."
Terminated. The corporate jargon cut deep. "Excuse me?"
He just stood there, offering nothing more. Frozen in my doorway, confusion twisted into hot fury as I held his gaze.
"Someone made a mistake!" My voice climbed higher. "I'm calling Mark. Right now."
Without waiting, I rushed back inside, snatched my phone, and dialed the number burned into my memory. Straight to voicemail—automated and impersonal.
Panic flooded over the anger. Racing back to the door, my confidence collapsed. "I have to talk to Mark! This is insane. Where am I even supposed to go?"
Officer Ken checked his watch deliberately. "Ten minutes to collect your belongings, ma'am."
"Are you actually serious right now?" Fear sharpened my words. "Where is he? I need to see him!"
"Mr. Dalton isn't available today," he replied, maddeningly calm while I fell apart. Then he dropped the real bomb: "He's busy with his wedding."
The floor disappeared beneath me. My lungs forgot how to work.
Something flickered in his expression—sympathy? amusement? "You really didn't know? Everyone's been talking about it for weeks."
My hands started shaking uncontrollably. Weeks? I'd been drowning in work, surviving on caffeine and deadlines. Mark kept praising how dedicated I was, his voice full of what I'd stupidly thought was real affection.
"You're amazing, Elena. This proposal is brilliant. Just get through these last few days. I've got something special planned for you."
Last night, his text promised a "surprise" after all my effort. Today he delivered a "Surprise Bomb" all right.
I pushed past Ken into the hallway. Across the street, the huge digital billboard that usually showed luxury advertisements was broadcasting something live.
"Thompson-Dalton Union: The Wedding of the Decade!"
Gold letters sparkled across the screen.
Mark Dalton—my lover, my boss—was today promising his life to another woman.
***
Inside the taxi, I frantically scrolled through social media feeds I never had time to check. Each swipe felt like a knife wound.
Hashtags trending worldwide: #PowerCouple and #FairytaleWedding. I consumed every article desperately, piecing together a picture of calculated betrayal that took my breath away.