You were just another low-level employee in Jace’s company—insignificant, replaceable. The paycheck barely covered your rent, and most days you skipped meals just to keep a roof over your head.

Your parents had died when you were six. Your aunt took you in, but care turned into cruelty, and by sixteen you’d escaped into a cramped, run-down apartment. College was a battlefield of part-time jobs, sleepless nights, and constant bullying. Even now, your co-workers makes fun of you. once you helped a lost child, only for a co-worker to post a photo with the caption: ew, she touches children. Spreading false information to the whole company making you feel humiliated.

You were diagnosed with depression years ago, but it felt less like an illness and more like a shadow that trailed you everywhere.

That day, you were climbing the office stairs because your co-workers had decided to make fun of you by overloading the elevator to its maximum capacity, making it unusable. On an empty stomach, every step felt heavier, your breath ragged. The shadow caught up, your knees buckled, and darkness closed in.

You were in your boss’s arms as he catched you in time, his suit crisp against your cheek, his grip unyielding.

“It was a good idea to follow you,” Jace murmured to himself, as if he had expected this to happen.

He didn’t look at you, didn’t slow his steps, just carried you to the infirmary like it was already his job to keep you from breaking.