(Juliette's POV)

"What is this?" Dominic asked again, staring at the calendar. I capped the marker and set it down on the counter.

"Just marking off days," I said. "Trying to figure out our anniversary date. Don't worry about it. There's a gift I already picked out for you, in the closet. Don't forget to open it."

His face softened right away, that easy warmth sliding back into his eyes.

"I think about that gift every day," he said. "Can't wait to see what it is."

I nodded once. Didn't say anything else.

He reached behind his back and pulled out a paper bag, the kind with a ribbon handle, the logo of my favorite dessert shop stamped on the side.

"Macarons," he said. "The French kind you like. Had to wait forty minutes in line, but figured it was worth it."

I took the box. Opened it. Took one out and bit into it. Same as always-crisp shell, soft filling, sweet without being too much.

Only I couldn't taste the sweet part anymore. It was just sugar now. Nothing behind it.

He leaned against the counter, watching me eat, and then said, almost like an afterthought, "Oh, by the way. That velvet dress you liked at the boutique. Wine red one. Turns out another customer put a hold on it before us. Store's mistake. I'll find you the same one somewhere else."

I kept chewing. Swallowed.

Something in me sank, quiet, without a sound. He's lying to me. He wants to use my things to sweet-talk another woman. That's what my gut tells me.

"That's fine," I said. "Doesn't matter."

Monday morning, I walked into the Ashford Group offices and Lily was already waiting by the elevator, her face pale.

"Juliette," she said, voice low. "You need to see this. Right now."

"What happened?"

"The Whitmore campaign. Dominic pulled the ambassador. Signed off on it himself. Nobody told us."

I didn't wait for the rest. I went straight up to the top floor, pushed his office door open without knocking.

"You cut the ambassador," I said. "Two months of work. I built that whole deal myself. You didn't even call me."

Dominic looked up from his desk, calm, and slid a folder across to me.

"Read this first."

I opened it. Negative press. Personal scandal. Recent, ugly.

"Continuing with her puts the brand at risk," he said. "I had to move fast."

"Fine," I said. "Who's replacing her?"

He paused.

"Bianca Frost."

I stared at him.

"Marketing ran the numbers," he said. "Her image fits the product line. It's not personal, Juliette."

"You've already met her, actually. She's the girl from the boutique yesterday." He handed me another folder.

I flipped through the folder, my hands steady even though nothing else in me was.

"Two months," I said. "Every clause I negotiated myself. Every late night. And it's just going to have her name on it."

"The numbers don't lie."

"If I told you she's the wrong choice," I said, "would you change it?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes dropped, just for a second, then came back up.

That second was the answer.

I laughed, short and flat.

"Fine then," I said. "Let it be."

I turned and walked out.

(Author's POV)

Dominic went after her, but the elevator doors slid shut before he reached them.

He stood in the hallway, jaw tight, when Bianca stepped around the corner and slid her arms around his waist from behind.

He turned, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Go on back down," he said, low. "Not here. People will talk."

She nodded, sweet and obedient, and walked off.

The second she turned the corner, her mouth curved into a smile.

Juliette's time is almost up, she thought.

(Juliette's POV)

Back in my office, I shut the door and sat down at my desk. Opened the bottom drawer. Pulled out a plain sketchbook.

Jewelry designs. For the competition next month. Lines not finished yet, but the shape of it was there, the whole idea sitting just under the surface.

I picked up a pencil and kept going. Put everything I couldn't say into the lines on the page.

The door opened. Dominic walked in holding a jewelry box.

"You mentioned this set once," he said. "In a magazine. Took me a while to track it down."

I slid the sketchbook into the drawer and closed it.

"I know today was rough," he said. "This is me saying sorry."

"Go handle your work," I said. "I've got things to do."

He stood there a second, off balance. I used to light up over things like this. Even a small smile. Now there was nothing on my face. Nothing for him to read.

After he left, I opened the box, looked at it for a few seconds, then picked up my phone and called a luxury resale shop.

"I need someone to come appraise and pick up an item today," I said. "Whatever it sells for, send it directly to the Hartwell Community Fund. All of it."

I hung up. A minute later, an email came through. Company welcome dinner, tonight, eight o'clock, The Ellsworth. Celebrating the new brand ambassador. Bianca Frost.

I looked at it for a moment. Clicked "attending."

That night, I walked into the ballroom at The Ellsworth. Across the room, I saw her right away.

Bianca. In the wine red velvet dress. The one that was supposedly sold to someone else. Standing in the center of a crowd, champagne glass in hand, soaking up compliments.

"Boyfriend got it for me," she said, laughing. "Not cheap either. And last night he waited an hour in line just to get me macarons from that little shop downtown. My favorite."

I stood at the edge of the crowd. Heard every word.

Something inside me cracked open, sudden and sharp. That box of macarons. That morning I thought still carried some leftover warmth. It was never for me. He just bought an extra box while he was already in line for her.

My chest went hot, then cold, like something dropped into boiling oil and yanked back out too fast.

Bianca turned, found my face in the crowd. Her eyes lit up, waiting. Waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to fall apart in front of everyone.

I looked at her. Then I laughed.