Chapter 31 up
“Ma’am, you have ten minutes.”
The voice was flat, professional, indifferent.
Selina tightened her grip on the phone. “Ten minutes for what?”
The property manager didn’t bother hiding his impatience. “To vacate the apartment. The account covering the lease was terminated this morning.”
“That’s impossible,” Selina snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “There must be a mistake. Call accounting again.”
“We already did.” He glanced at his watch. “Twice.”
Selina laughed—short, brittle. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
The man finally met her eyes. There was no recognition there. No fear. No respect.
“Right now?” he said evenly. “You’re someone whose access card stopped working.”
The line went dead.
Selina stared at her phone as if it had betrayed her personally.
Around her, the penthouse looked unfamiliar—too quiet, too empty. The floor-to-ceiling windows still offered the same breathtaking view of the city, but the illusion of permanence had cracked. The designer couch she had never sat on properly. The art she’d chosen because it impressed people, not because she liked it. The closet full of clothes that screamed power, relevance, belonging.
None of it mattered now.
“Ten minutes,” she whispered to herself, her reflection staring back from the mirrored wall. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Perfect posture.
A perfect lie.
She moved fast at first, yanking open drawers, tossing jewelry into a handbag without care. Her hands shook, bracelets clinking together like nervous teeth.
Call someone. Anyone.
She scrolled through her contacts.
Minister L—no answer.
Chairman R—sent to voicemail.
Sophia—declined.
Marcus—blocked.
Each unanswered call tightened the knot in her chest.
“Pick up,” she hissed at the screen, dialing another number. “Just pick up.”
Straight to voicemail.
Selina slammed the phone onto the marble counter. The sound echoed, loud in the hollow space.
“This isn’t happening,” she said aloud, pacing. “This doesn’t just… disappear.”
But it had.
The connections that once leaned toward her now recoiled. The invitations that once arrived weekly had stopped. Her name—once spoken with admiration—now lingered in conversations like a warning.
She caught sight of herself again, this time reflected in the black glass of the window. The city lights glittered below, distant and uncaring.
For the first time in years, no one was watching her.
The knock on the door came sharp and final.
“Time’s up.”
The lobby felt colder than it should have.
Selina stood near the revolving doors with two overstuffed bags at her feet. People passed her without a second glance—businessmen, tourists, a couple laughing quietly. No one recognized her. No one whispered.
She pulled her coat tighter, though the chill wasn’t from the air.
A valet walked past her, hesitated, then asked politely, “Do you need a cab, ma’am?”
Ma’am.
Not Ms. Selina. Not the Selina. Just a stranger with expensive luggage and nowhere to go.
“Yes,” she said stiffly. “To the Armand Residence.”
The valet paused. “I’m sorry. That address is no longer registered for guest access.”
Selina’s breath caught. “What?”
“I was informed earlier today,” he said apologetically. “Your name was removed.”
Removed.
The word echoed in her head as if it had been branded there.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s not possible. Axel wouldn’t—”
The valet’s polite expression didn’t change. “Would you like another destination?”
Selina looked around, panic clawing its way up her spine.
Another destination.
She had built her life like a ladder—each rung a person, a favor, a connection. She had never thought about the ground beneath it.
“Just… anywhere,” she said finally.
The cab pulled away, leaving the glass tower behind.
Selina watched it shrink in the rearview mirror until it vanished entirely.
The hotel room smelled faintly of detergent and old carpet.
Selina sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed against her knees, staring at the blank wall across from her. The room was small. Functional. Anonymous.
No concierge greeted her by name. No assistant hovered nearby. No notifications buzzed on her phone.
Silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.
She opened her handbag and spilled its contents onto the bed. Jewelry glinted under the harsh overhead light—diamond earrings, gold bracelets, a watch Axel had once fastened around her wrist and called an investment.
She picked it up now, turning it slowly.
An investment.
Her lips curled. “Funny,” she murmured. “So was I.”
She dialed Axel’s number.
Once.
Twice.
On the third ring, the call ended.
Blocked.
Selina stared at the screen, her chest tightening until breathing felt like work.
“You used me,” she whispered. “After everything I did for you.”
The room didn’t answer.
Her gaze drifted to the mirror above the desk. The woman staring back looked… unfamiliar. Still beautiful, yes—but strained. The sharp confidence dulled by exhaustion. The certainty fractured.
She stood and approached the mirror slowly, as if the reflection might disappear if she moved too fast.
Without the audience, without the power, who was she?
Selina reached up and wiped her lipstick off with the back of her hand. The color smeared, uneven and raw.
“I built myself,” she said to the reflection. “No one gave me anything.”
The reflection didn’t argue.
She laughed suddenly—a hollow sound that startled even her.
“And yet,” she continued softly, “I can’t remember who I was before I needed to be seen.”
Her phone buzzed once.
Hope flared—sharp, desperate.
She grabbed it.
A news alert.
WIBISANA GROUP STRENGTHENS MARKET POSITION DESPITE RECENT RUMORS
Selina’s fingers trembled.
Vanesa.
The name burned.
She threw the phone onto the bed, then screamed—short, sharp, furious. She pressed her palms to her face, nails digging into her skin as if pain might anchor her.
“She won,” Selina whispered. “She didn’t even have to fight.”
Vanesa hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t schemed. Hadn’t clawed.
She had simply stood.
And the world had moved around her.
Selina slid down until she was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, knees drawn to her chest. The carpet scratched against her skin, grounding in an uncomfortable way.
For the first time, there was no one left to blame convincingly.
Not Axel.
Not Adrian Wibisana.
Not Vanesa.
Just herself.
Her breath shuddered as a thought surfaced—quiet, terrifying.
What if this is all I am without power?
The question lingered, unanswered.
Outside, a siren wailed and faded. Life went on, indifferent to her collapse.
Selina stared at the wall, eyes dry, mind racing.
Change would require humility.
And humility had never been her language.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I won’t disappear,” she whispered—not a promise of growth, but of survival. “I refuse to.”