Chapter 5

I print my resignation letter and slide it into a folder.

Before I can take it to my manager, he appears beside my desk.

“Adrian wants to see you.”

Of course he does.

I tuck the folder into my bag and head toward the elevators.

Out of habit, I step toward the executive elevator.

The scanner flashes red.

Access denied.

I stand there for a second.

Yesterday, I could use it whenever I wanted.

Today, even the elevator knows I’ve been replaced.

When I finally reach Adrian’s office, Bianca is giving him a presentation.

He listens carefully.

When she makes a mistake, he corrects her quietly.

When I made mistakes, he never sounded that patient.

Bianca spots me first.

“Claire, you’re here.”

Adrian looks up.

His eyes narrow when he sees my face.

“You look terrible. Are you sick?”

“No.”

Just a fever. And the small problem of watching Bianca take over the career I spent three years building.

“What did you need, Mr. Russo?”

His hand stills on the mouse.

I never call him that.

Not even at work.

His expression hardens.

“Stay away from Bianca’s accounts.”

I almost laugh.

“And don’t attend the Moretti client dinner today.”

My fingers tighten around my bag.

That account is mine too. I’ve spent three months building it.

But I remember the twins.

“I understand.”

I turn around.

Inside me, the first baby whispers, “She’s really different.”

The calmer one isn’t convinced.

“She changed for two days in the sixth life too.”

“And then?”

“She went right back to Dad and died anyway.”

My steps slow.

“Until she actually leaves New York, I’m not celebrating.”

Back at my desk, I reach for my resignation letter.

My phone buzzes first.

A message from the Moretti account.

Claire, we expect you at lunch. You’re the one who built this deal.

I stare at the message.

I can walk away from Adrian. I can walk away from Russo Holdings.

But after three months on this deal, I’m not ready to abandon my own work without even seeing it through one last lunch.

So I reply.

I’ll be there.

At noon, I walk into the private dining room.

Then I stop.

The Moretti executives are there.

So are Adrian’s parents.

And from the way Mrs. Russo looks at me, I already know—

I was never supposed to be here.