17.

The car ride back to the mansion felt endless. It was like I was trapped in a bubble, floating, but not really living. Every minute dragged on as if the world had come to a halt, but I kept moving—one foot in front of the other, just like I had been doing for the past few days.

When we finally arrived at the mansion, I barely even registered the grandeur of the place. The sprawling, lavish estate had lost its allure. I walked inside with no sense of purpose, no desire to be anywhere. The place felt colder than usual, suffocating.

I made my way upstairs to my room, hoping that sleep would take me away from everything. I undressed mechanically, my movements stiff and robotic, as if my body was doing things it had done a thousand times before, but my mind wasn’t really there.

The bed felt too soft, but it didn’t matter. I lay down, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of my own breathing, trying to will myself to sleep. But my mind wouldn’t quiet down. Every thought, every fear, every lie just spiraled around, until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I sat up, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for the bottle of pills on the nightstand. A few of them would do the trick. I didn’t need to think about it. I didn’t want to. I popped a couple in my mouth and swallowed them without hesitation, hoping they would dull the sharp pain in my chest, the constant weight pressing down on me.

I lay back down, my eyes closing this time, and finally, blessedly, sleep took me.

The next morning, the first thing I felt was the heaviness in my limbs, the dull throb in my head from the pills. But I didn’t care. I rolled out of bed, forcing myself through the motions. My body was on autopilot—brushing my teeth, getting dressed, pulling on an outfit that had no meaning to me. It didn’t matter what I wore, who I was. I just had to get through the day.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I barely recognized the person staring back at me. The woman in the reflection wasn’t me. She was a stranger, someone who had lost all sense of herself, someone who was simply existing.

When I was dressed, I left the room, moving through the mansion with no direction, no destination. I reached the foyer and saw the maid standing by the entrance, looking unsure, hesitant.

I didn’t even look at Daniel. Not this time. I didn’t care about him, about his demands or his coldness. I didn’t care about the contract anymore. I was done pretending.

I walked up to the maid and asked in a flat voice, "Which driver or car should I choose?"

The maid hesitated, glancing nervously between me and the direction where Daniel usually stood. But I didn’t care. I wanted to get out of there, away from him, away from everything. She finally answered, though it seemed like she wasn’t sure whether I was asking her or commanding her.

I nodded without any real thought, barely acknowledging her. Then, without another word, I walked out of the mansion, ignoring the fact that Daniel was likely still nearby. His presence had become a mere shadow, something that no longer mattered.

I climbed into the car, settling into the seat without a word, and I gave the driver the address to my company, Vera Stones. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that mansion. So I buried myself in work, hoping that for just a little while, I could pretend to be something else, someone else—anything but the empty shell I had become.

The car ride to my company was as dull as everything else, the world outside blurring as I stared blankly out the window. When I finally arrived, I stepped out of the car, moving toward the building like a robot, doing what I had to do, because there was nothing else left to do.

I walked into the office, the familiar scent of coffee and fresh paper filling the air, but it didn’t comfort me. Everything felt distant, like I was moving through life but not really living. My body went through the motions, but my mind was somewhere else—too far away to catch up.

Cecily was waiting for me in my office. She looked at me with concern in her eyes, like she was waiting for me to talk, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain. I raised my hand to stop her before she could say anything.

“I’m fine, Cecily. Just busy,” I said, my voice sounding tired even to me.

She looked unsure, like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. With a deep sigh, she stepped back. “Alright. If you need me, I’ll be around.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at her as she left. I knew she cared, but right now, I couldn’t share what I was feeling. I couldn’t even understand it myself.

The hours in the office passed slowly. I spent the day doing what I always did—working. Designing, making plans, meeting with brand ambassadors. I answered their questions, nodded when necessary, and gave my input, but it was all automatic. There was no passion behind my words, no excitement in my voice. It was just another day, another task to get through. Work was the only thing that kept me from thinking too much.

Every now and then, my mind would wander to Daniel, to Evelyn, to the child that was coming into their lives. The thought of it made my stomach twist, but I forced myself to focus. I couldn’t afford to feel anything right now. Not with everything going on.

The soft hum of conversation in the office was barely audible as I walked into the meeting room. The usual buzz of phones and chatter felt distant to me, like I was listening to a world that wasn’t mine. I tried to focus, tried to remember why I was here, but it was hard. The weight on my chest kept growing with every step.

Cecily was already there, talking to one of the brand ambassadors about the new collection. She smiled at me when I walked in, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I gave a quick, tired smile in return, not trusting my voice to speak more than that. I pulled up a chair and sat down at the table, feeling the eyes of the others on me, waiting for me to speak, to do something.

"Vera," Cecily said gently, noticing how distant I seemed, "we were discussing the new campaign. What do you think about the color scheme for the upcoming collection?"

I blinked, trying to focus. The words felt heavy on my tongue, like I had to force them out. "It looks good," I said, my voice lacking the usual energy. "Maybe we can add a few more vibrant tones. Something that catches attention. But keep the classic elements in there." I could feel their eyes on me, expecting more, but that was all I had to offer.

The brand ambassador nodded, taking notes on her tablet. "That sounds great, Vera. And what about the launch date? Should we aim for the same time as last year, or do you want something earlier?"

I felt the question tug at my thoughts, but my response was slow. “Earlier. Let’s aim for earlier. We want to be ahead of the competition.”

It was a simple enough answer, but it felt hollow. My mind wasn’t really there. I was only half listening. I could tell Cecily noticed my distant tone, but she didn’t press. Instead, she moved on to the next point, talking about the promotional strategies for the launch.

The meeting dragged on. They talked about ambassadors, social media campaigns, the marketing budget. All things I usually cared about, but today, they felt like nothing. Like empty words. I nodded at the right moments, answered questions with the bare minimum, and went through the motions. But inside, I was somewhere else. Somewhere far away from here.

At one point, Cecily glanced at me, concern written on her face. “Vera, we also need your input on the press release. It’s important for the launch.”

I stared at her blankly for a moment, the words not quite registering. “Just make it simple. Stick to the basics. We don’t need anything too fancy.”

Cecily didn’t say anything, but I could feel her disappointment in the air. She looked away, probably knowing I wasn’t really there. I wasn’t really present in this meeting or in anything anymore. Everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers, like I was just going through the motions, waiting for something to change.

Finally, the meeting wrapped up, and I could leave. Cecily walked me out, but we didn’t say anything to each other. I could tell she was concerned, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain. I just needed to get through this day, and the next, and the next.

When the elevator doors closed behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It was a small relief, but it wasn’t enough to erase the emptiness I felt.

Cecily stopped by again during lunch, but I waved her off, telling her I wasn’t hungry. She didn’t push. She just left the food on my desk and walked away, her footsteps soft and distant. I didn’t eat. I couldn’t bring myself to.

The day went on like that—work, designs, meetings. I was going through the motions, but it all felt hollow. It was as if everything I was doing didn’t matter, that I didn’t matter.

When the workday was finally over, I shut down my computer and gathered my things. I left the office without a word. My steps were heavy, each one a reminder that I was just going through the motions, not really living.

When I got home, I went straight to my room. I locked the door and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The world outside felt so far away, and I felt even farther from it.

I couldn’t find my place in it anymore. I didn’t know who I was anymore, just someone lost, waiting for something to change. But deep down, I knew nothing would.