Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Work done with heart is never wasted.
No one said it out loud at Monaghan & Stowe’s Northgate office, but it was written in the way people moved.
Every portfolio, every policy draft, was weighed against its impact on women and girls.
The hum in the air wasn’t just productivity, it was intent: the conviction that what happened here would ripple far beyond these glass walls.
Bea kept her head down over the Haven Project file.
Two weeks ago, she’d stepped back into the office, braced for junior partner Maris Chen to hand her opportunity to someone else. Instead, Maris had kept her on. As a part-timer, shadowing Maris on a live, high-profile deal wasn’t just good, it was access of the highest order.
Access meant less time to think about Gage.
Full-time work before classes resumed allowed her to bury herself in spreadsheets and feasibility tables until her eyes buzzed.
Numbers didn’t ask why you hadn’t followed the man you’d been planning to marry to London. They didn’t want to know whether you were eating, or why you still hadn’t taken his necklace off.
The cursor blinked on her screen. She rechecked the allocation chart for the eastern district relocation plan. Then the western. Then again, because the numbers wouldn’t stop shifting in her peripheral vision.
A misplaced decimal in her draft budget made her pause. She was off by a million. She corrected it quickly, cheeks heating as if someone had been watching, then checked the rest of the figures twice over. Her mind felt like it was lagging half a second behind her hands.
And then there was the news.
The headlines popped up on her phone’s feed:
London Ledger | 09:14 – King Global’s London arm inks first post-transition deal ahead of schedule: €120M renewable port expansion.
UR Finance Today | 11:02 – Inside week six: King drives Sovereign Wealth Infrastructure Alignment at record pace.
@URInsider | 12:45 – Sleep is for commoners: King to take meetings in Brussels, Oslo, and Paris before month-end.
She slid the phone face down, next to the blueberry muffin her colleague had placed beside her, and the banana another colleague had popped beside it. And the protein bar Bea had intended to have for breakfast.
“Can you run the cost-per-capita scenarios for each UR island by housing segment?” Maris asked. “You see the patterns the others miss. I need your eyes on it.”
The UR was an archipelago with three main islands.
Eerstland, literally First Island, was home to more densely populated cities like Northgate, St. Ives, Southgate, and Westhelm.
The two main outer islands were Nieuwland, New Island, primarily residential, while Veldil, Field Island, focused on military and agriculture.
“Of course,” Bea replied.
Maris studied her for half a second longer than normal, eyes flicking down to the small pile of food on her desk, like she wanted to comment. Thankfully, she didn’t.
With a nod, she left.
Bea kept working for another hour, until the columns began to swim slightly.
She blinked hard, refocused. Her stomach gave a hollow pull. She ignored it.
The next thing she knew, her pen had rolled off the desk, and she was trying to figure out why the floor was getting so close.
Slow, steady beeping came first. Then the antiseptic smell, sharp in the back of her throat. The ceiling lights above her were so white they hurt her eyes.
Bea turned her head, and the movement made the room tip just enough to be unpleasant.
Georgina was in the chair beside the bed, lipstick perfect, scrolling through her phone.
“Georgie?” Her voice had a rasping quality to it. “Where am I?”
“Northgate Private Hospital.” Georgina slipped her phone into her bag. “You fainted at work.”
Bea blinked. “How did you—”
“Gage called me,” she replied. “You guys are still Tier Four in the system.”
Bea closed her eyes. Oh, no.
He was still her medical contact. He knew.
“Lillian’s closer, but I told her to stay put. I wanted to come so I could tell you in person you’re being stupid.”
That got a weak laugh from Bea. “Your bedside manner needs work, Georgie.”
“I thought about bringing flowers,” Georgina continued, ignoring her. “You’d only forget to water them. Which, incidentally, is exactly what you’ve been doing to yourself.”
“I have been—”
“Eating?” Georgina arched a brow. “Not enough to keep a bird alive. And sleeping? I’m guessing also no.”
Bea stared at the blanket. “Work’s easier. It’s…loud enough to drown things out.”
“That’s not coping, Bea. That’s running until you hit a wall. This isn’t who you are.” Georgina leaned forward, her voice softening. “Gage…you know he wouldn’t want this.”
The lump in Bea’s throat made it hard to answer. “I know.”
A soft knock on the door broke the moment. A man in a white coat stepped in, tablet in hand, the kind of brisk presence that didn’t waste time on unnecessary movements.
“Miss Cruz,” he said, glancing between her and Georgina. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Bea said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
“That’s good. You’ve had a small fainting episode brought on by moderate anemia.
Your bloodwork shows you’re iron deficient, and your intake’s been…
inadequate.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but not unkind.
“You need rest, regular meals, and hydration. We’ll start you on an iron supplement now.
I want you to avoid any long days until your follow-up next week. You’ll be discharged in the morning.”
Georgina’s arms were already crossed like she was taking mental notes to enforce every instruction personally.
The doctor glanced at his tablet again. “I’ve already spoken to your medical contact. Mr. King called to get the update earlier.”
She closed her eyes in shame, heart burning.
When the doctor left, Georgina pulled out her phone. “Right. We’re not doing this again.” Her thumbs moved fast over the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Making plans with Lils,” she replied, typing speedily. “What’s your favorite form of protein?”
“Sushi,” Bea joked weakly.
“I heard steak and spinach,” Georgina said.
The laugh was a single exhale through her nose. “You’re ridiculous.”
Bea’s head fell back on the pillow. Pressure was building in the place between her eyebrows.
She’d noticed before how a stretch of sidewalk was perfectly serviceable until it rained. Then what seemed smooth and even was exposed, water slipping into dips the pavement pretended it didn’t have, pooling in places that weren’t supposed to exist.
That was her.
The weather was revealing the puddles. She wasn’t fine. She wasn’t even close. And now the storm had made it everyone’s problem.
She wouldn’t have listed self-torture as a pastime, yet here she was, staring at her online portal for the fifteenth time today.
TIER 4: MEDICAL INCIDENT
Name: B. CRUZ
Location: Northgate Private Hospital
Flag: Moderate anemia. Temporary loss of consciousness.
Vitals stabilized. Monitor closely.
She’d received a text from him, too. One that had sent her pulse through the roof.
GAGE: I received an alert. Eat, Bea.
The first package arrived when she got home from the hospital. Then another the next day. And the next.
Every bag had two neatly packaged meals that she knew would be delicious and straight out of a high-end nutrition program. Portioned exactly for her height, weight, and cultural preferences.
Every box went straight into the freezer. She couldn’t bear to throw them out, but she couldn’t eat them, either.
More than once, she thought about messaging him. She even typed it out. Thank you for the food. I’m okay now. I hope you’re well, too.
Her thumb hovered over Send. Then she pictured the reply. Worse, she imagined him saying nothing.
She backspaced slowly. Watched each letter disappear.
Then pressed Delete.
Social Proximity Tiers 3 and 4 didn’t lapse on their own. Someone had to initiate the severance, and the other had to confirm. The UR always made things clean. Brutal, but clean. It wanted the digital signature that said: We’re done.
Gage hadn’t initiated it. And he was still, in his quiet way, taking responsibility for her. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Because she wasn’t his anymore…and he wasn’t hers.
She sat down at her laptop.
Tier 4 Relationship: KING, G. / CRUZ, B.
Active.
Her mouse hovered over the button.
Initiate Severance Request.
A warning popped up:
This will notify the other party. The request will remain pending for 7 days. If not confirmed, the case will be reviewed by Tribunal.
Her heart twisted. But her hand didn’t shake.
She clicked Submit.
The messages came in back-to-back, like they’d coordinated.
LILLIAN: A gentle reminder 12pm is lunch time.
GEORGINA: I will come and feed you myself. Don’t test me.
Bea sighed. Obedience was easier than fielding follow-up calls. She typed a quick reply—Eating now—locked her screen, rode the elevator down, and stepped outside into the thick midday air.
She wandered to a café a block away. It was near enough that the walk was bearable in the weather, yet far enough to avoid running into half the M&S team.
She’d walked by and admired it often enough for the aesthetic: pastel chairs, blush-pink walls, coffee flavors that sounded more like diary entries.
The fact it had the best pastries within a hundred meters of the office sealed the deal.
She’d just started scanning for a free seat when she spotted Selene Griffin, dressed in sunny yellow linen and poise, tucked near the door with an espresso cup balanced between long fingers. The smile she gave Bea was instant. Almost as though she’d been hoping to see her.
“Bea. What a lovely surprise.”
“Mrs. Griffin.”
Rafael’s mother. Which was a much more complicated title than it should have been.
“Selene,” she insisted, just as she had when they’d chatted at the Harvest Summit a year ago. She motioned to the empty chair across from her. “Please join me.”