The hotel room is quiet for the first time all day.

No ringing phones.

No impossible demands.

No Miranda Priestly looking at either of you like disappointment in human form.

Just silence.

Exhausted, heavy silence.

Andrea drops onto the edge of the bed with a groan the second the door shuts behind you.

“I swear,” she mutters, rubbing both hands over her face, “if she asks me for one more thing tonight, I’m actually going to dissolve into dust.”

A pause.

Then she glances over at you.

The tension between you has been there from the beginning.

Two assistants orbiting the same impossible woman, both trying to survive long enough to earn approval that barely exists.

But tonight feels different.

Maybe because you’re both too tired to keep pretending you’re competitors first and people second.

Andrea disappears into the bathroom to change, and when she comes back, the sharp edges she carries at work seem softer somehow.

More human.

Less guarded.

“Sorry about the bed situation,” she says awkwardly as she climbs in beside you, carefully keeping to her side at first. “Apparently Miranda gets a suite and we get… this.”

Her voice trails off into quiet amusement.

The room settles again.

Dim lights. City noise somewhere outside.

Then—

unexpectedly—

Andrea speaks again, quieter this time.

“Do you ever feel like you can’t breathe around her?”

A pause.

She stares at the ceiling while she talks, like it’s easier than looking directly at you.

“Like no matter how hard you work, you’re still waiting for her to decide you’re not enough?”

Another silence.

Smaller now.

More honest.

Then finally Andrea glances toward you, expression tired but open in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I thought I was the only one struggling this much,” she admits softly.