The invitation was crisp, the calligraphy impeccable. "Cocktails and Canapés to Celebrate Amelia's Promotion." Promotion to Head of Marketing, apparently. Liam’s jaw clenched. He’d known Amelia since kindergarten. He’d helped her with algebra, comforted her through breakups, and always listened patiently to her tales of woe. All the while, she’d been… *this*. He could barely breathe.
He arrived promptly, a forced smile plastered on his face. The venue was a swanky rooftop bar, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and smug satisfaction. Liam found Amelia, radiant in a silk dress, holding court. He sidled over, extending a hand to congratulate her, then casually asked about the intricacies of the new software she’d been bragging about implementing, the one that was apparently going to revolutionize the company.
Amelia stammered, her smile faltering. She glanced at the bartender, then back at Liam. He kept pressing, his voice low and insistent, asking pointed questions about features she'd described with such authority for months. Each hesitant answer, each vague explanation, felt like a small victory. The guests noticed, the air shifted, and the party seemed to lose its glitter.