The invitation was crisp, the calligraphy impeccable. "Cocktails and Canapés to Celebrate Amelia's Promotion!" The little card felt heavy in Leo's hand. He'd known Amelia for ten years, since their college days. He'd seen her struggle, scraping by on student loans, working dead-end jobs. All the while, she’d talked about her “high-powered finance career” at some prestigious firm. He had always believed her. Now, standing on the polished marble floor of her opulent penthouse, the champagne flute in his hand felt like lead. He watched her, a vision in designer clothes, effortlessly charming the other guests. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He’d seen her ‘office’—a cramped, shared space above a bakery.
He caught her eye across the room. She smiled, a dazzling, public smile. He forced a response back, his lips feeling stiff.
Later, cornered by her, he heard her explain the ‘complicated’ world of finance that made her career ‘hard to explain’. The air grew thick around him. He took a long gulp of his drink, the bubbles burning.
He excused himself, leaving Amelia to her party. The elevator doors slid shut, separating him from the laughter and the lies. Outside, the city felt less bright, more shadowed, than before.