[162 Days Left to Live]
Zephany tugged the cap lower over her eyes and adjusted the oversized glasses on her nose. Her hair was tied in a ssy bun and tucked inside the hood of her plain gray hoodie.
She’d debated for hours whether to use the back entrance but decided that walking in through the front gate might seem less suspicious.
It had been a week since she disappeared from work, a week since her na splashed across news outlets and social dia. Now, as she stood in front of the building, she half-expected a horde of caras and flashing lights waiting to devour her whole.
But there was none.
Not a single reporter.
The guards gave her a quick glance, then went back to their usual conversations. A woman in a pencil skirt brushed past her, muttering about a broken coffee machine, completely uninterested in Zephany’s presence.
She blinked.
Was this... normal?
Her feet moved automatically, slowly stepping through the doors and into the lobby. The familiar hum of fluorescent lights, the tapping of heels against marble tiles, and the distant clacking of keyboards filled the air. It felt as if the chaos outside had only been a dream.
She was just about to exhale a sigh of relief when a voice bood behind her.
"Zephany!"
She nearly dropped her bag.
Turning around, her eyes t the sharp gaze of Mr. Davidson. Her boss.
Tall and broad-shouldered with streaks of gray at his temples, Mr. Davidson had the kind of face that seed permanently set in irritation. Today was no different. His brows were drawn together as he looked at her, lips pressed into a firm line.
"Co to my office."
Zephany nodded quickly, not trusting herself to speak. She trailed behind him down the hall, passing curious glances from co-workers. So tried to pretend they weren’t watching, but their eyes followed her.
Her legs felt heavy with each step. She had prepared herself for backlash, perhaps even termination. Still, her heart pounded as they reached the glass door with the gold letters etched: "Faren Davidson, Editor-in-Chief."
Once inside, Mr. Davidson closed the door and, without warning, his expression softened.
"Sit," he said, gesturing toward the chair opposite his desk, his voice suddenly gentler.
Zephany blinked, unsure of what just happened. Had she stepped into an alternate reality?
She sat slowly, perching on the edge of the seat. Her hands gripped her bag tightly.
Mr. Davidson leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"You look well."
She shivered. That smile. It wasn’t warm. It was calculating.
Her instincts scread. Sothing was up.
And just like that, Mr. Davidson snapped back to his usual self. His smile dropped, replaced by his usual gruff tone.
"You’re a journalist, Zephany. But instead of writing reports, you’re the one being written about."
Zephany looked down, fingers knotting together on her lap.
"Not just that," he continued, voice rising slightly. "You vanished. Turned off your phone. Didn’t show up for a week. We had dia poking around here, asking questions. This is not a daycare."
He leaned forward.
"You caused trouble for the company. Now tell , how do you think we should solve it?"
Zephany winced. His words cut deep. Because he was right.
She had turned off her phone deliberately. The calls had beco unbearable. Unknown numbers kept flooding in, and blocking them barely helped. Reporters, curious strangers, even people claiming to be her relatives. She had snapped one night, turned everything off, and slept for the first ti in days.
But around two in the morning, unable to stay disconnected any longer, she powered it back on.
Hundreds of ssages.
Dozens of missed calls.
And none from Reynold.
Her brother—the one person she thought would reach out, even just once.
She had tried to call him. But it didn’t go through. Straight to voicemail.
Was he also being hounded by the dia? Or did he turn off his phone deliberately to avoid her?
A small ache ford in her chest.
She was still lost in thought when Mr. Davidson spoke again.
"What about an exclusive interview?"
Her eyes widened.
"What?" she blurted.
Mr. Davidson’s tone was matter-of-fact. "Think about it. The public is curious. You’re married to Kendrick, and you work here. That alone makes headlines. If you give us an exclusive, it’ll boost our company. No need for other dia to dig around. We take control of the story."
Zephany stared at him, mouth slightly open.
An interview?
The very thing she hated now—attention. She had barely gotten used to walking down the street without fearing soone would take her photo. And now he wanted her to tell her story, to the world?
"Sir, I don’t think I..." Her voice trailed off.
He raised an eyebrow. "You want to keep your job?"
She flinched, thinking about how Cassius had roped her into that contract marriage, using her desperation for a job as the perfect cover.
"Damn it! This job is more trouble than it’s worth," she cursed internally.
Mr. Davidson sighed and leaned back again. "Look, I know you didn’t ask for this. But it’s already here. The marriage, the dia. You’re not invisible anymore, Zephany. Whether you like it or not, people are going to be interested in you. It’s better we shape the narrative ourselves."
She bit her lower lip.
Life really knew how to throw curveballs.
First a secret marriage, now a spotlight she never wanted.
She looked down, taking a deep breath.
"Can I think about it?"
He studied her for a mont, then nodded.
"You’ve got until the end of today. I expect a decision by then."
She stood up, murmuring a quiet thank you, and walked out of his office.
The hallway felt longer now. Colder.
Back at her desk, Pia had already settled in, typing furiously on her keyboard. As soon as she saw Zephany, her eyes lit up.
"Zeph! You survived!"
Zephany gave her a tired smile.
"Barely."
Pia stood up and opened her arms. "Co here. I haven’t hugged my favorite disaster in a week."
Zephany allowed herself to be pulled in.
"You really vanished on us," Pia mumbled into her shoulder.
"Sorry."
"Don’t be. I’d have gone crazy too if everyone suddenly decided to stalk just because I got married to a hot popular guy."
Zephany groaned. "Not helping."
Pia pulled back, eyes twinkling. "Okay, okay. But seriously, you okay?"
Zephany hesitated. "I will be."
Pia nodded. "Good.
But the weight of Mr. Davidson’s words still lingered.
An interview.
She wasn’t ready.
But when would she ever be?
And why did Reynold stay silent all this ti?
That question echoed louder than anything else.
She sat back in her chair, opened her laptop, and placed her fingers over the keys.
Ti to work. Or at least pretend to, while her mind was still a thousand miles away.
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