Scarlett
A Month Later
The new job was a lifeline.
I woke up early, got dressed in a simple blouse and trousers, and headed out. The walk to the office felt lighter than anything had in weeks. No more hiding behind a mask. No more late-night streams. No more wondering if Viktor or Vee was watching.
When I reached my desk, I sat down and powered on the computer. The screen lit up with spreadsheets and reports. My role was administrative support in a small logistics firm — nothing glamorous, but the pay was decent, the hours were stable, and my colleagues were kind. I opened the first file of the day, took a sip of coffee, and started working.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was moving forward.
But even as I typed, a small part of me still ached. I hadn’t seen or heard
