Dinner Down to Size (Arc 1)

Author’s Note: This story is written by NiceGent42; you can find the original work on his DeviantArt. This is simply an edited version, commissioned by him, cross-posted to my website!

Chapter One

The lighting in the executive restroom was clinical and unforgiving, exactly how Sabrina Halloway preferred it. She stood on a custom wooden riser she had installed beneath the vanity, allowing her four foot eleven frame to meet the mirror at a commanding height.

She adjusted the lapels of her bespoke charcoal pinstripe blazer. It was a masterpiece of Italian tailoring, costing more than most of her employees earned in a quarter. The shoulder pads were reinforced with internal structured mesh to create a formidable, sharp silhouette that defied her natural daintiness. Beneath the blazer, her silk bold blue blouse draped over a high-end padded bra. It was a sophisticated piece of engineering designed to take her almost non-existent bust and transform it into a generous and firm C-cup. She leaned into the mirror, checking the cleavage. It provided the curves and presence of a fully developed, sexually appealing woman, a necessary distraction to hide the deep insecurities she felt regarding her diminutive frame.

Her makeup was a weapon of its own. She had spent an hour on the contouring, using deep bronzers to carve out high, predatory cheekbones and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass. A bold, Power Red lipstick defined her mouth, lending her an air of maturity. Between the makeup and the artificial curves, she looked every bit the twenty-five-year-old titan of industry others perceived her as.

She stepped off the riser and her feet landed with a sharp, lethal sound. She wore a pair of glossy black Christian Louboutin pumps, the iconic red-lacquered soles flashing with every movement. The five-inch stilettos were a strategic choice; they naturally caused her back to arch and her chest to push forward, dramatically enhancing the curve of her legs and the lift of her rear end at the same time.

"Perfect," she whispered to her reflection.

She exited the restroom and headed toward the executive wing. As she approached the boardroom, the massive glass sliding doors detected her presence. They hissed open with silent, pneumatic precision, retreating as if they were afraid to stand in her way.

Inside, Julian Vance, the CEO, sat at the head of the table. A broad shouldered man standing just over six foot two, who rounded it to the next inch to further boost his image of old-money stability. To his right stood Elena Thorne. Elena was naturally tall for a woman, at five foot ten, and stood as a statuesque contrast to her boss. Today she was dressed in a high-waisted, tight pencil skirt and a silk blouse that emphasized her long, elegant lines. She stood in three-inch heels that put her eye-to-eye with the CEO of Aegis Strategic Logistics.

"Good morning, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice smooth, "I've laid out the preliminary Singapore reports for you."

Sabrina stopped dead. The clicking of her red-soled heels ceased. She turned her head slowly, looking up at her assistant from beneath her blunt-cut bangs.

"It is Director Halloway, Elena. We have discussed this," Sabrina said, her voice dropping into a dangerous register, "The fact that you handle my scheduling does not grant you the privilege of using my given name. You are my assistant manager, not my sorority sister. Correct yourself."

Elena’s emerald eyes flickered before she bowed her head slightly. "Of course. My apologies, Director Halloway."

"See that it doesn't happen again," Sabrina snapped. She turned to the table. "The Singapore congestion is not a variable, Julian. It is an excuse for people who do not know how to lean on a port authority."

Sabrina said this referring to a specific logistics bottleneck the company’s leader had mentioned in an email before the meeting. She tossed a leather-bound folder onto the table in front of her assistant manager, expecting her to open it to take meeting minutes like she had been told to do so many times in the past. As she moved to the front of the room, she hit the first obstacle of her day.

The Jurong Terminal expansion maps were stored in heavy rolls on a shelf nearly seven feet off the ground. Sabrina stopped at the base of the shelving unit. She reached up as far as she could, her back arching and her five-inch heels straining, but her fingertips were still nearly two feet short of the shelf. Even on her tiptoes, she looked like a child reaching for a cookie jar.

She felt Julian’s eyes on her back. The silence in the room stretched. She hated this, the moment where her expensive tailoring and high heels were proven insufficient against the simple reality of a high shelf.

"Elena," Sabrina barked, her voice sharp to cover her embarrassment. She did not turn around. "The physical maps. Now. My arms are not six feet long and I am not paying you to stand there looking like a decorative pillar."

Elena Thorne stepped forward. Not saying a word, just moving to assist her height-challenged supervisor. She moved easily with the effortless grace she had learned from years learning ballet as a child. The dark haired young woman’s tall frame made it easy to reach up to what was needed. Her long, slender arm extended easily, her fingers closing around the heavy map rolls. Elena didn't even have to stand on her toes; she simply plucked the maps from the shelf as if they were feathers.

"Thank you, Elena," Julian murmured.

"She is a giraffe, Julian. She is tall, slow, and occupies too much oxygen," Sabrina dismissed, trying to reclaim the room's attention as she scurried to the map board, "She is here to reach the high shelves and stay out of the way of the actual thinking. The poor woman is of great help, but has several limitations."

As Elena reached up to clip the five-foot-wide map to the high molding of the boardroom wall, her tall presence boosted by her heels, she completely eclipsed the blonde Director of her department. Sabrina shoved her aside with a sharp elbow the moment the map was secure, or at least the shove with her elbow had her employee know it was time to move.

"Careful, Thorne. You are blocking the light. Why don't you go find that vintage scotch Mr. Vance likes? Consider it a warm-up for the Sterling Gala tomorrow."

Julian smiled at Elena with a look of genuine appreciation that Sabrina completely missed. "That would be great, Elena. Thank you." Julian’s smile lingered on Elena for a second longer than necessary before he turned his attention back to the table.

Sabrina, however, remained vibrating with a restless, sharp energy. She turned away from the Jurong maps, her Louboutins clicking with renewed dominance as she returned to her seat. "Moving on," Sabrina said, her voice cutting through the brief moment of professional warmth, "Accounting. I assume you are all listening."

The 360-degree camera in the center of the mahogany table hummed, its green light indicating the live conference feed to the remote offices. A crackling, disembodied voice responded from the ceiling speakers.

"We are clear, Director Halloway. We have the Singapore berth overheads pulled up, but we are concerned about the public relations side of the separate Sterling acquisition. The community outreach for the Sterling projects hasn't been this sensitive in years, and Mr. Sterling himself has been . . . difficult. He is very protective of his reputation, especially given his status as the owner and benefactor of Blackwood Academy."

Julian Vance leaned forward, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the table. "Which brings us to the charity gala tomorrow night. The Singapore project is our operational priority, but the Sterling merger is our reputational one. This gala is a mandatory event. Mr. Sterling is old-school; he values corporate synergy and the kind of rigid discipline he enforces at Blackwood. He has set a specific theme for this event communicated via the memo sent to all executives this morning to ensure his partners are actually paying attention to his directives. If we show up looking like we didn't read his memo, it looks like we won't listen to his shipping mandates, either."

Julian looked directly at Sabrina. "Director, have you reviewed the memo's thematic requirements?"

Sabrina rolled her eyes, her blunt bangs swaying. "Julian, please. I have handled billionaires before. They want results, not a fashion show. I am sure whatever little theme Mr. Sterling has dreamed up is just a way for him to feel in control while we finalize the merger. I don't have time to read memos about dress codes and party favors while I'm fixing the Jurong bottleneck. Elena, for all her shortcomings, is more than capable of handling such details."

"This billionaire wants both," Julian countered, his voice firm, "The memo isn't a suggestion; it’s a test of compliance. Elena, you’ve been handling the gala correspondence. Are we set?"

Elena, who had just set the vintage scotch beside Julian, paused. She looked at Sabrina’s back, her expression a mask of perfect, icy compliance.

"The Director has entrusted the entire execution of the theme to me, Mr. Vance," Elena said, her voice smooth, "She felt that her time was better spent on the logistics papers than on reading Mr. Sterling's specific requirements. I have assured her that I will handle every detail of her wardrobe to match the theme perfectly."

Sabrina waved a dismissive hand, not even looking back at her assistant. "Exactly. That is what I have Thorne for. Elena knows I need to look like I'm in charge. Just make sure my car is ready by six tomorrow, Thorne. And make sure the outfit is pressed; I don't want to see a single wrinkle."

"Of course, Director," Elena replied, her emerald eyes catching the light with a glint of hidden intent, "I will ensure that every detail of your appearance tomorrow night is exactly what Mr. Sterling's memo calls for."

Julian nodded, satisfied. "Good. If the Director is confident in delegating the details, so am I. Meeting adjourned."

As the conference call disconnected with a digital chirp and the board members logged off, Sabrina felt a surge of triumph. She had dominated the meeting and Julian was clearly impressed by her maps. She had successfully offloaded the "minor" work of reading the client's memo to her assistant, never realizing she had just signed off on her own fall.

She did not notice the way Elena’s eyes lingered on the red soles of the Louboutins one last time before the glass doors hissed shut. Elena wasn't just coordinating a theme; she was coordinating the total erasure of the arrogant and abusive "Director Halloway."

Chapter Two

The sun dipped behind the skyscrapers of the city, casting long, needle-like shadows across the open-plan floor of Aegis Strategic Logistics. The glass sliding doors to the executive wing hissed shut as the last of the junior analysts headed for the elevators, leaving the floor in a heavy, expectant silence.

In her cubicle, Elena Thorne stared at her dual monitors. On the left was the original PDF from the Sterling Foundation.

Official Correspondence: The Sterling Foundation Re: Annual Charity Gala – "The Future of Our Youth"

Dress Code: Strict Black Tie. Mandate: Mr. Sterling expects all guests to reflect professional decorum. Any deviation from dignified formal wear will be viewed as a lack of respect for the children we serve.

Elena shifted her gaze to the right monitor. She had drafted a "Special Directorate Directive" that framed the "Child-to-CEO" theme as a secret, high-level test for the acquisition partners. She hit 'Print' just as the heavy oak door of the corner office swung open.

Sabrina Halloway marched out, her red-soled Louboutins snapping against the floor. She was already shrug-loading herself into a silk trench coat. "Thorne, I’m out. If Singapore calls, tell them I’m unavailable until I’ve had a martini."

"Director," Elena said, standing up and towering over her. "I’ve finalized the strategy for the Sterling Gala. Julian and the 'normal' guests, myself included, will be following the standard Black Tie memo. But for leadership, I’ve secured the 'Child-to-CEO' memo on the gala theme."

Sabrina stopped, snatching the paper. "Child-to-CEO? Speak clearly."

"Because you aren't a 'normal' guest, Director," Elena said, her voice a low purr, "The standard Black Tie is for the rank-and-file. But Mr. Sterling wants his potential merger partners to demonstrate the full cycle of growth of those who succeed, or some such nonsense."

Sabrina began to read the falsified brief, her blue eyes scanning the corporate jargon about "disruptive aesthetics" and "narrative evolution." She smirked. "Child-to-CEO. It’s a total power play to see if we will follow his insane directives. Julian was insistent on us following this man's insanity, I guess, but I can't imagine him following through himself." Sabrina still used her superior’s first name while she insisted others address her more professionally.

"Exactly," Elena said, "I know how busy you are, and you did ask me to handle things. So I used your measurements to prepare something for you back at my place. My house in the suburbs is actually much closer to the gala venue than your penthouse."

Sabrina paused, considering the commute.

"More importantly, Director," Elena added with a helpful smile, "I’ll be driving us both to the gala and back to my place afterward. You won't need to worry about driving or an Uber. You can fully participate in the charity's champagne toasts and celebrate the merger without having to keep a clear head for the logistics. I'll be your designated driver for the entire evening."

Sabrina felt the rush of being pampered while making a high-stakes move. To her, it sounded like the giraffe was finally earning her paycheck. Ultimate executive perk: a personal driver and a secret wardrobe. "Closer to the venue and I can actually enjoy the bar? That's efficient, Thorne. I like it."

"It’s about making sure you can focus entirely on 'our client' and the networking," Elena promised, her emerald eyes glinting.

Sabrina tapped the paper against her chin. "Fine. I’ll drive to your house at six tomorrow. But Thorne," she jabbed a finger toward Elena’s chest, "This pivot better be flawless. I don't want you screwing things up."

"Oh, ma’am, you always succeed at what you do. I have no doubt tomorrow will be the same," Elena promised.

Sabrina tucked the falsified memo into her designer bag, her mind already racing with images of Julian’s face when she unveiled herself actually following the eccentric millionaire request, showing she was a true team player. "Good. Have your guest room ready, I'm not going to change in your bathroom. I need my space if I have to slum it by getting ready at your place. I expect a high level of service if I’m venturing into the suburbs."

"Everything will be prepared, Sabrina," Elena replied, her voice a model of icy professional grace.

Sabrina turned a glare to the taller woman, “We talked about this. Just because I'm going to use our place to get changed doesn’t mean we are friends.” she said before moving toward the elevator, the sharp clack-clack-clack of her heels echoing through the empty executive wing. Elena watched her go, the green light of the computer monitors reflecting in her eyes like a predator in the tall grass. “My mistake, Director Halloway,” she said to herself. Reaching out and hitting 'Delete' on the file she had just printed. There was no "Child-to-CEO" on any server at Aegis. There was only the lie Sabrina was now carrying home in her purse.

"Tomorrow, the world will meet little Rina," Elena whispered to the empty office. "This giraffe stops reaching things for you."

Chapter Three

The drive to Elena’s home the following evening was a blur of irritation for Sabrina. Her GPS struggled with the winding, tree-lined roads of the suburbs, a far cry from the predictable grid of the city's financial district. When she finally pulled her sleek sedan into Elena’s driveway just past six o'clock, she felt like she had traveled to a different century.

She didn't knock. She simply pushed the door open, as if asking to enter or waiting for the door to be answered was beneath her, Sabrina’s five-inch heels clicking aggressively against the hardwood floor of the foyer. She looked frayed; her normally pristine blonde hair was slightly wind-blown, and her bold red lipstick had faded after a day of shouting at logistics managers. She was also a bit agitated after slamming back one espresso after another.

"Finally," Sabrina groaned, dropping her heavy designer handbag onto the kitchen island with a thud that echoed through the quiet house. "Thorne! Tell me that champagne is open or at least you have something stronger. If I have to look at another throughput chart before I get a drink, I’m going to fire someone."

Elena walked calmly into the kitchen from the hallway, still adjusting a heavy silver earring. She had a sour expression on her face at the fact that her boss had barged into her home, without so much as a single knock.The fact the shorter woman then was yelling about a drink, like she was her servant, didn't help her mood.

In the vaulted ceilinged suburban space, Elena’s tall frame, even currently without footwear, was eye-catching. She was dressed in a floor-length midnight-black silk slim cut fitted gown that pooled slightly at her bare feet. The fabric was heavy and matte, draped with a precision that emphasized the long, athletic line of her torso and the steady, dancer-trained poise of her shoulders. Her raven-black hair pulled back into a mirror-shine chignon updo at the nape of her neck, so tight and perfect it seemed sculpted from obsidian.

Elena had already done her makeup for the event, mostly, going with a shadowed dark look for eyeshadow with a silver highlight, her lashes elongated from mascara, her expression one of annoyance, but no open hospitality. "Sabrina, welcome to my home," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Why don’t you come in and make yourself at home"

Sabrina’s blue eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. The use of her first name again, the lack of a ‘ma'am’ or ‘Director’ hit her from the complete lack of respect. "I don’t appreciate the snark, and you know the proper way to address me, Thorne," she snapped, her voice trembling with the irritation of being ignored and the fact that Elena hadn't even reached for the bottle yet.

Elena didn't flinch. She simply finished securing her earring and finally reached for a crystal flute of a vintage Krug that she had been actually saving for a special occasion; she figured the beginning of the fall of the vertically challenged witch was good as any, knowing her boss was terrible at holding her liquor. Sabrina often ended up getting tipsy off a single glass of wine, from Elena’s experience. "My mistake, Director Halloway. Here, drink. It seems like you’ve had a long day.” Internally, she continued, ‘And tonight’s plans require you to be a bit more . . . pliable.’

Sabrina snatched the glass, taking a long, desperate gulp. The alcohol hit her stomach like a warm wave, its only other contents for the day being coffee. For a moment, her eyes darted over Elena’s gown with a flicker of unbridled jealousy. The giraffe was barefoot, yet she easily towered over Sabrina and was dressed to catch everyone’s eye with the formfitting attire. Elena looked good, really good, and Sabrina hated her for it.

"Good. It's about time I was the one being looked after," Sabrina snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite as she took another gulp of her drink instead of sipping it. "Now, show me this guest room. I want to see the wardrobe. I'm not here to waste time."

"It is upstairs," Elena replied, a small, dark smile touching her lips, "I’ve laid everything out. But remember the strategy; you’re doing more than anyone else to prove that you’re the most dedicated team member.”

Elena turned and led the way up the stairs, her movement fluid and silent, her silk gown whispering against the wood. Sabrina followed, her heavy breathing more audible than her footsteps as they reached the carpeted landing.

They stopped at the door at the end of the hall. Elena paused for a second, her hand on the brass knob, before pushing it open.

"In here, Sabrina. Sorry about the state of it," Elena said, amusing her that simply using her first name could push her buttons. "The room is still set up from when my sister and her niece lived with me a few years ago. I just didn't have the heart to change it. And honestly, with the hours we’ve been working at Aegis, I haven't really had the time."

Sabrina stepped inside and stopped, her nose wrinkling as she took in the dusty rose walls and the white-spindled furniture. The room felt like a claustrophobic explosion of childhood nostalgia. White eyelet lace curtains hung at the windows, but the most jarring detail was directly above the bed's headboard: a series of crayon drawings rendered directly onto the rose-colored paint. A house, a yellow sun, and lopsided stick figures were forever etched into the wall in waxy blue and red, a child's permanent mark on the space.

Sabrina’s gaze lingered on the scribbles over the bed, then shifted to the center of the room, where Elena had placed a triptych of full-length mirrors. They looked sharp and cold against the floral rug. On the white quilted bedspread, right next to the crayon drawings, sat the simple, heavy box containing the strategy wardrobe.

"It’s fine, Thorne; I’m not here for the decor. I’m sure your family enjoyed it," Sabrina said. The alcohol and the coffee were making her pulse jump a little. She took a long, desperate gulp of the Krug, finishing the glass off, as her eyes darted back to the stick figures on the wall.

"Of course," Elena replied, her dark smile not reaching her eyes. She moved behind Sabrina, her tall, barefoot frame looming over the smaller woman in the amber light.

"Whatever. Let’s just get on with it," Sabrina muttered, not really catching what the dark haired woman said.

"Shoes off first," Elena commanded.

Sabrina hesitated, then kicked off the glossy black Louboutins, her bare feet settling onto the plush cream rug. Not only did the five-inch boost make her appear more mature and intimidating, she had heard the sharp footwear described as ‘come-fuck-me-pumps’ before. They made her feel sexy and confident, which was not the case when her eyes barely reached the silver highlight on Elena’s chest.

Elena stepped into the room, coming up right behind her. “Here, let me help. Arms up," Elena said sweetly.

Turning in place, Sabrina craned her neck to look up at the pillar of a girl standing all too close to her. “I’m perfectly able to do this on my own. Back off!” Sabrina snapped, though the bravado was undercut by a slight sway. The Krug was a heavy hitter on an empty stomach, and the plushness of the rug made her feel like she was standing on a cloud rather than solid ground.

Elena did as she was told and backed off, giving the smaller woman space.

Sabrina didn’t so much as start to remove her blazer before reaching into the box and pulling out the dress. It was a floor-length A-line gown with a bodice of smooth, light coral matte silk and a rounded neckline. The skirt was a massive, airy cloud of ombre tulle, starting at a soft coral at the waist and fading into a warm, deep pink toward the floor-length hem. A thick pink satin sash was draped across the middle, designed to be tied into a generous bow.

Sabrina held the layers of tulle up, her face twisting in a sneer. “I am not wearing this,” she stated firmly.

Elena didn't argue. On her way out of the room, she shook her head. reaching down and picking up her boss's shoes, carrying them with her. "I was told to take care of the clothing for the night," Elena said over her shoulder, "If you were more involved, then getting something you didn’t like could have been avoided."

Sabrina narrowed her eyes, sinking onto the edge of the bed as a wave of dizziness hit her. She gripped the white quilt, her head spinning from the champagne. "It also could have been avoided if you were competent, Thorne!"

Elena stopped and straightened her back, standing at her full height. She turned slightly to look at the woman huddled on the child's bed. "I will call Julian Vance right now and let him know that you will be ignoring the memo," she said, her voice flat. She paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "Unless you have decided to not go?"

"Wait," Sabrina bit out, her voice sharp enough to cut through the heavy silence of the room. The mention of Julian Vance was the only thing capable of piercing her champagne haze. If Elena made that call, Sabrina’s career at Aegis would be over before the gala even started. She had an inkling of an idea that her incompetent giraffe might have selected the dress that looked more like something a child would wear to be a flower girl on purpose to get her to back down and not go at all.

Elena stopped at the open doorway, her hand still holding the Louboutins by their stiletto heels, her tall frame nearly filling the entryway. She didn't turn back yet. "Yes, Director?"

"I’m on to you, Thorne. You aren’t going to sabotage my career; I’m not backing out of the charity gala at the last minute. I didn't say I wasn't going," Sabrina sternly said, her fingers clutching the tulle dress a little too tightly. She looked at the coral bodice, hating the softness of the fabric. However, the thought of Julian smugly taking her place was worse. "I just said I don't like it. But if that's what the memo says, I'm not giving Julian the satisfaction of taking my lead."

Elena turned then, her expression unreadable in the soft amber light of the nursery. She didn't return the shoes; she simply stood her ground, watching with a clinical detachment. "Then we're wasting time. Put the dress on the bed and get out of the suit. We still have to do your hair and remove your make up." She let out a short, tired breath and glanced at her own reflection in the triptych mirror. The tall woman felt like she was on the cusp of triumph, but it could be blown away by a stray gust of wind. "I still need to finish getting ready myself. I'll leave you to change." She stepped further into the room, but only to pick up the discarded crystal flute from the dresser. "I'll get you another drink while you get started."

She moved toward the door, leaving it wide open, a subtle reminder this was her house and her bitch of a boss only got true privacy if she allowed it.

"And Thorne?" Sabrina called out, her voice ringing with a fresh wave of irritation at the lack of hospitality. "Bring my purse up. I left it on the kitchen island. I need my phone."

Not answering at first, having just stepped into the hallway, Elena with her back still to the room finally answered. "Of course," she said smoothly, her voice trailing off as she descended the stairs.

Downstairs, Elena moved with a small rush, wanting to take care of things . . . The next stage of her plan that had kept evolving over the last few hours. She found the designer handbag exactly where her bitch of a boss had slammed it down. Not bothering to bring it to the stairs, she put down the glass before taking the expensive purse with her to her living room. Opening her coat closet, she tucked it deep inside, sliding it behind a heavy winter coat where it was completely out of sight, adding the expensive footwear from her boss in the same place.

After a quick dash back to the kitchen, she refilled the flute with the vintage Krug. Resisting the urge to down it herself, instead Elena made her way back up the stairs.

When the homeowner re-entered the nursery, she found Sabrina had only managed to remove her pinstripe blazer. The Director was sitting on the edge of the bed, the coral and pink tulle dress pooled beside her. In her hand, Sabrina held one of the pink sequined ballet flats that had been selected for what Elena thought was pure cuteness. The blonde woman was staring at the small, flat shoe, her eyes glazed and mesmerized as she traced the line of the thin fake jeweled strap to its buckle with her thumb.

Not sure what her boss was doing, Elena stood there in the doorway for a few heart beats, observing the scene. "Here," she said, stepping forward to offer the glass. "We have some time before we need to leave for the gala, but not all night."

Sabrina snapped her head up, the trance breaking as she snatched the glass. Her eyes darted around Elena's empty hands. "Where is my purse? I told you it was on the counter."

Elena tilted her head slightly, her expression one of mild, helpful confusion. "Your purse? I didn't see it, Sabrina.” She once more used her first name to irate and distract her from thinking too much about the excuse. “The counter was empty when I went down."

"Don't be a moron, Thorne, I put it right there when I came in," Sabrina said, her voice rising as she took a deep, thirsty gulp of the fresh champagne.

"I'm sure you thought you did," Elena replied calmly, her voice like silk, "But it wasn't there. Are you sure you didn't leave it in the car? Or perhaps you're just feeling the effects of the day. I'm sure we can both look for it before we go, Sabrina.” With a final, lingering look at the blonde woman perched on the edge of the child-sized bed, she stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut. The silence was necessary; there was no desire to hear the inevitable screech of outrage when the bottom of that wardrobe box was finally reached.

Tucked beneath the layers of pink tulle was a pair of white girls panties fit for a ten year old, complete with a pink elastic band. To go with it, a white cotton camisole, intended to be used instead of the bust-enhancing bra that normally changed the appearance of the flat-chested woman into a solid B cup. The thought of that garment brought back the memory of how she learned that little truth: a personal errand to a high-end boutique, a task Sabrina had been "too busy" to handle herself. The clerk had laid out the order for inspection: a collection of “magic bras” molded foam inserts and industrial-strength, padded architecture. Standing in that shop, the truth had become clear: the diminutive woman didn't actually have a feminine silhouette; she simply bought one and buckled it on every morning.

A heavy silver necklace was fastened around a throat that needed no help projecting elegance, the cold metal a perfect anchor for the night ahead. Elena stepped into four-inch stiletto sandals, which provided the familiar increase of height at a towering six-foot-two. It made it harder to find a romantic partner, with how so many men preferred to be taller than their partners. And yet, wearing heels always drew their eye, and the world always looked better to her from a height her boss could never achieve. After a final sweep of blush across the cheekbones, and just the right amount of lip gloss, she was ready.

Twenty minutes of absolute silence from the nursery eventually prompted her return. The door swung open to a scene of total, drunken surrender. Instead of a transformed executive ready for a gala, the figure on the bed was sprawled out in a deep sleep, seemingly trying to take up as much space as her diminutive form could, all while passed out. One hand was still curled around the now emptied glass. No more progress had been made; only the pinstripe blazer had been removed, leaving Sabrina half-armored and vulnerable against the backdrop of watercolor bunnies and waxy crayon drawings. The tiny witch was out cold, her head resting right next to the very dress she had sworn she wouldn't wear.

Chapter Four

Elena stood in the doorway of the nursery, her tall, silken silhouette framed by the hallway light. Watching Sabrina sprawled across the child’s bed, she felt a surge of cold inspiration. The "Director" was gone, replaced by a vulnerable, drunken woman who had handed over all her leverage the moment she closed her eyes. Elena turned, moving silently back to her own bathroom to retrieve a pack of heavy-duty makeup remover wipes.

Returning to the room, she loomed over the bed like a predator over a sleeping bird. She didn't use a gentle touch; she reached down and gripped Sabrina’s shoulder, giving her a firm, punishing shake that sent the empty champagne glass tumbling onto the rug. "Wake up, Sabrina!" Elena’s voice was sharp.

Sabrina’s eyes flew open, blinking rapidly against the amber light of the nursery. For a moment, she looked utterly lost, her head leaden and the room tilting. Then she saw the silhouette of black silk and cold silver hanging over her.

Seeing her boss’s mascara-covered eyes flutter as she awoke, Elena tried to restrain her inclination to smirk. "I can't believe you’re taking a nap instead of getting ready, acting like a child just because you’re throwing a tantrum over a dress," Elena snapped. "You’ve put us twenty minutes behind schedule with this little stunt."

"I . . . I wasn't . . . " Sabrina tried to scramble up, but a mix of things–the champagne, being woken up from a nap that wasn’t long enough to scrub her mind of the weariness of the long work day, along with the lack of a real meal–turned her limbs to jelly. The realization that she had actually passed out when she had only intended to close her eyes for a moment as she thought about how she would say ‘Fuck it!’ to the memo, and what the giraffe got her to wear because of it, sent a wave of hot shame through her. “I only closed my eyes for a minute, Thorne. Back off." Being in Elena’s house didn’t help things, and Sabrina knew there was no getting out of the immature dress code for the evening. Not when doing so could cost her a well paying job, and ruin the efforts she had been making to be seen as the one responsible for the company’s recent success.

"You had your chance to do this yourself," Elena countered. She sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Before Sabrina could find her footing, a cold, wet cloth was pressed hard against her face.

"Stop!" Sabrina tried to jerk away, but Elena’s hand clamped onto her jaw with a strength that was impossible to fight in her current state.

Elena didn't just wipe; she scrubbed. She acknowledged the sheer effort Sabrina put into her mask, starting with the heavy contouring, the dark bronzer and light highlights Sabrina used to artificially sharpen her jawline and create the illusion of high cheekbones. The wipe came away thick with beige and brown streaks of foundation, revealing the soft, pale skin beneath. Next, with a second disposable cloth like the first, went the brow filler that gave Sabrina her permanent look of stern authority, followed by the layers of eyeshadow and heavy mascara that made her eyes look larger and more attractive. The Power Red lipstick was erased entirely. In minutes, the mask Sabrina spent hours constructing was gone, leaving her heart shaped face appearing much softer and more juvenile.

"Look at you," Elena remarked, her voice dropping into a clinical, terrifyingly calm tone.

Sabrina’s pale face turned a shade closer to red as she felt shame from having her makeup forcibly removed. She had always hated how young she looked, and spent a great amount of effort and money to look what she thought of as appealing to men and to the world. It gave her more respect when those she met didn't assume she wasn't even in her twenties yet. Her own mother told her when she gets older she will be thankful for the youthful visage; right now, however, she was a director for a multi million dollar company and she needed every advantage she could.

The thing was, her assistant manager didn't stop at the face. Elena stood up and hauled Sabrina to her feet. Sabrina stumbled, her bare toes sinking into the plush rug. Without her five-inch heels, and from what she saw of the woman in her own heels now, the height difference was devastating; her head barely reached the silver necklace resting against Elena’s chest. Elena loomed over her like a pillar of obsidian.

"I can do it myself! Let go!" Sabrina kicked her feet, her movements clumsy and weak as Elena began unbuttoning her blouse, each of the mother of pearl buttons coming undone in short order.

"You’ve proven you can't be trusted," Elena said, her voice dripping with a fake, motherly concern. She peeled the silk blouse that she didn't even want to think about the cost of off Sabrina's shoulders, and tossed it onto the quilt. Then, with a speed that made Sabrina’s head swim, she reached for the clasp of the pinstripe trousers, sliding them down until the Director stood shivering in her heavy, industrial-strength shapewear.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Sabrina shrieked.

Circling the disoriented woman, Elena moved behind her. “Something I wouldn't need to do if you did what you were supposed to. Maybe I have overstepped.”

”DAMN RIGHT YOU HAVE, THORNE!” Sabrina shook from both anger and shame, trying to cover the cups of her bra; she had no notion the woman already knew the truth of her true shame. She felt the taller woman's breath on her neck as Elena’s fingers found the hooks of the bra. Sabrina didn’t even turn; she just glanced over her shoulder, the indignity being too much to bear.

“I'm truly sorry, Miss Halloway, I’m just doing my best to help. Tonight is important; your success is, by extension, my success.”

Still holding herself, Sabrina nodded; the woman had been a good right hand to her for years. She just liked to cut her down to size from her own jealousy and did not want her to get any big ideas, but it was good to hear that she had resolved to hitch their careers together. ”You have put in a lot of work, Thorne. That is appreciated. I’m just out of sorts. If tonight goes well, with any accolades that come my way, I will make sure others know of your contributions. Now, what's next?” She still didn’t want to turn around, when doing so would risk Elena catching a glimpse of her shame.

“This is next.” Elena was surprised at the offer to give her credit, minor as it was. Her fingers moved to the clasp of the bra. Click.

The tension of the garment snapped. The heavy, foam-filled architecture fell away, slipping through the shocked twenty-something young woman’s fingers. Sabrina instinctively crossed her arms over her actual chest, her face burning with a deep, agonizing humiliation. It was her greatest secret. Without the padding, she was flat; almost non-existent. It always made her feel like less of a woman, and now the girl who won the genetic lottery with her model good looks and height that she saw how others looked at her for, that normally only enraged her, became an even greater case of shame as she felt exposed.

Elena didn't look away. Instead, she reached into the wardrobe box and pulled out the thin white cotton camisole, the tiny pink satin bow catching the light. She thrust it forward, tucking it into the smaller woman’s fingers. As Sabrina clutched her chest, it was clear how much of nothing was being covered.

"Children this age don't need bras," Elena said, her eyes locking onto Sabrina's with a cold, superior glint. "And neither do you."

The words felt like a physical blow, hurting Sabrina's feelings more than any corporate insult ever could. She clutched the cheap cotton to her chest, her bottom lip trembling as her vulnerability was laid bare.

"How... how old am I supposed to look for this?" Sabrina asked tentatively, her voice a defeated whisper, taking the garment as a lifeline to try and cover herself.

Elena stepped back, tapping her chin as she surveyed the bare-faced woman. "I was thinking of a childish tween. Maybe thirteen," she mused. She leaned in closer, studying the flat chest and the pale, unpainted skin. "But looking at you now . . . Without the make-up and the padding? Honestly, Sabrina, you are cute. I’m thinking ten fits much better."

Elena didn't wait for a response to her assessment of Sabrina's "age." She reached back into the wardrobe box and pulled out the final piece of the undergarment set, a pair of white cotton panties with a pale pink elastic waistband. They were tiny and unadorned, the kind of thing sold in a multi-pack for a grade schooler. She tossed them onto the white quilt, where they landed starkly against the dark wool of the discarded blazer.

"The waist cincher goes too," Elena commanded, turning her back on the humiliated woman to walk toward the dresser, "I expect the base layer to be done by the time I have the hair ties ready."

Sabrina stood frozen in the center of the room, clutching the loose camisole to her chest. She looked down at the tiny white garment on the bed and her face twisted in a sneer. The bra was one thing; her flat chest was a strategic problem to be solved, but this felt invasive.

"Absolutely not," Sabrina said, her voice regaining a flicker of its usual fire, "I am not wearing those. No one is going to be looking at my underwear! The waist cincher, fine. But an outfit shouldn't change who I am, Thorne. My underwear is personal, and nobody is going to see it. It doesn't affect the 'silhouette.’ Or whatever nonsense that has popped into your odd mind."

Elena stopped. She let out a long, heavy sigh. Her perfect plan was so close to working, yet Sabrina wasn’t actually a child. Elena could only snap at her so much for being difficult or incompetent for the time being, when she didn’t want to upset the delicate balance of the situation.

She turned around, rubbing her temples with one hand, half feigning exhaustion. "And what if you bend over to pick up a dropped fork?" Elena asked, her voice strained, "What if you lean down to greet a child for a photo op? Mr. Sterling is eccentric, Sabrina. He is obsessed with this image of innocence. Are you willing to risk not triggering the man because he catches a flash of black lace or sees the line of a thong? Because I prepared for our . . . for your success, despite his demands."

Elena turned away again, leaning heavily against the dresser. She stared into the mirror, shaking her head and mumbling something low and dejected under her breath.

Sabrina narrowed her eyes, the guilt and the fear of blowing the deal warring with her pride. "Speak up, Thorne! Stop muttering."

Elena turned her head slightly, looking over her shoulder with wide, wounded eyes. "Nothing. Sorry, Miss Halloway," she said softly. "I just really didn't want to fail after you promised to let others know I contributed. I put so much work into the details . . . I just thought we were on the same page about doing whatever it takes."

The guilt trip landed perfectly. Sabrina felt a pang of annoyance, but also a trap. She had vaguely promised credit, though it was mostly to shut Elena up and keep her from being an annoyance; she couldn't afford to have her assistant sulking or, worse, sabotaging the night because she felt unappreciated.

"Fine," Sabrina huffed, rolling her eyes, "If it means that much to you, I'll wear the damn cotton. Just stop moping."

She didn't reach for the waist cincher immediately. Instead, she clutched the white cotton camisole tight against her chest, her arms crossed to hold the flimsy fabric in place. The air in the room felt biting against her exposed skin, and standing there half-naked was agonizing, especially when she made the mistake of glancing at Elena.

The slightly older, and much more mature appearing woman stood tall against the dresser, her arms crossed. The heavy midnight-black silk of Elena's gown plunged at the neckline, showcasing the swell of full, heavy breasts and a deep shadow of cleavage that Sabrina could never achieve without foam and wire. Elena looked like a real and beautiful woman and Sabrina hated her for it no matter how much she consoled herself with her career's success compared to her.

Sabrina looked down at what she was hiding behind the bundle of cotton in her hands. There was no swell. There was barely a mound. Her skin was pale and her nipples were puffy at best, sitting on a flat plane of skin that hardly saw the light of the sun, like a girl who had only just started puberty. The industrial-strength bra had been the only thing keeping that secret, and now the secret was out.

Burning with a mix of envy and deep, physical shame, she jerked the white cotton camisole over her head. It slid down, shapeless and loose, hiding the pathetic reality of her chest but doing nothing to enhance it. It was a relief to be covered, but the fabric felt like a surrender.

With her chest hidden, she turned her back on Elena, her fingers fumbling with the heavy hooks of the cincher. It wasn’t there to make her look like she was skinnier; the whole point was to give her petite frame more of an hourglass shape.

As the compression released, she felt herself expand slightly, losing the artificial curves she had curated for years. She stepped out of the waist trainer, then hooked her thumbs into the sides of her own silk thong, a scrap of expensive Italian lace that she wore for herself that made her feel sexy, telling herself it made her more desirable. She slid it down, kicking it aside.

Elena turned back around just as the lace hit the floor, her eyes sweeping over Sabrina’s naked lower half. She paused, her eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.

"Well," Elena said, a slow, unreadable smile spreading across her lips, "You really did prepare for tonight! You’re completely hairless down there. It’s perfect."

Sabrina felt a flush of defensive heat crawl up her neck. She hated the way she was being looked at, all clinical and amused, but the implication that she had done this for a child's outfit stung her pride. "It’s laser, Thorne," Sabrina informed her, trying to reclaim some shred of adult superiority as she stood there exposed, "It costs two thousand dollars a session. I don't do 'maintenance;' I do permanence. It’s cleaner and, let’s be honest, men prefer it."

Elena nodded slowly, her expression shifting to a mock-impressed approval. "No, I'm . . . impressed. It shows a level of dedication to your image I hadn't accounted for. I'm a bit jealous."

Sabrina relaxed her shoulders slightly, preening under the compliment despite her nakedness. She clung to the idea that her body was an expensive luxury item, not a child's blank slate. "Of course you are," Sabrina muttered, "It feels better."

"It certainly helps us tonight," Elena continued smoothly, picking up the white cotton panties from the bed and handing them to her. “These cotton panties will sit perfectly flat against your skin. No risk of hair being pulled with the cotton underwear instead of what you normally wear."

Sabrina took the underwear. The logic made sense to her vanity; she wasn't putting on children's underwear because she was a child, but because her body was perfect even if she was still struggling with her self image at times. She stepped into them. The soft cotton slid effortlessly over her smooth skin, hugging her narrow hips without a single wrinkle.

Elena turned back to the bed and lifted the dress. It was a massive, airy cloud of ombre tulle, shifting from soft coral at the bodice to a deep, warm pink at the hem. In Elena’s hands, it looked like a costume; on the bed, it had looked like a threat.

Elena stepped closer, holding the bodice open. She looked down at Sabrina, who was standing there in the white cotton camisole and the matching panties, clutching her bare arms against the chill of the room.

"Arms up, little one. Let's get your pretty dress settled. Oops! Sorry, Sabrina," Elena said quickly, shaking her head with a self-deprecating laugh, "I’m just so used to helping my niece get dressed when I babysit. The muscle memory just kicked in."

The apology was worse than the insult. It implied that the visual of Sabrina, standing there hairless, flat-chested, and wearing plain cotton underwear was indistinguishable from a child in Elena’s mind.

Sabrina felt her face burn with a heat that had nothing to do with the champagne. A retort died in her throat. ‘Don't call me that.’ But standing there, stripped of her heels and her shapewear, she felt too small to enforce protocol. The shame of her physical reality silenced her. She simply bit her lip, looked at the floor, and obediently lifted her arms.

"Right. Let's get you in," Elena said, stepping back into her efficient role.

Sabrina stepped into the pool of tulle. The fabric rustled loudly, sounding absurdly childish compared to the sleek whisper of her usual wool and silk power suits. Elena pulled the dress into place, guiding Sabrina’s thin arms through the armholes.

The bodice was made of smooth, matte silk. It slid over Sabrina’s camisole-covered torso with insulting ease.

Elena moved to the back to finish this step in her plan doing her best to hold in her excitement for what she had been able to manipulate the bitch of a woman into. Zzzzzzip.

The sound was quick and seamless. There was no need for Sabrina to suck in her breath; there was no resistance from a curve of a hip or the swell of a breast. The dress simply swallowed her.

Sabrina looked down at herself. The sensation was wrong, terrifyingly wrong. She was used to the reassuring, heavy pressure of her "armor." The wire of the bra digging in, the cincher’s comforting compression. Now, she felt a phantom weightlessness. Her chest was a flat plane of coral silk. She felt hollow.

"It’s . . . it's too flat, Thorne," Sabrina muttered, her voice tight with panic as she touched the front of the bodice. "I look like a board. I have no shape in this. I need my bra. Grab it off the floor for me."

Elena moved around to face her, shaking her head firmly. She reached out and tied the thick pink satin sash into a bow around Sabrina’s waist, pulling it snug to emphasize just how narrow the Director truly was.

"No, absolutely no inserts. You are supposed to look young, not a young girl pretending to be older," Elena corrected her, smoothing the silk over Sabrina's flat chest. "This is a waif silhouette, Sabrina. It’s very European. Very couture. If you had breasts, it would look just wrong. This fits you perfectly. But because you’re so . . . petite . . . you look elegant. Like a porcelain doll."

Sabrina swallowed hard, desperate to believe the lie. She turned slightly toward the mirror, trying to see anything positive instead of "child." The dress flared out from her waist, making her legs disappear entirely, leaving only the flat, boyish torso visible.

"I suppose, it is a bit more . . . " Sabrina murmured, not able to come up with anything except more embarrassment on top of embarrassment

"You could say you look cute, but I would rather say precious or just perfect," Elena said, placing her hands on Sabrina's shoulders and steering her toward the low white stool in front of the triptych mirror. "You aren't forcing the room to look at you; you're inviting them. Now, sit down. We need to fix that hair. It's a mess from your nap, and it's ruining the look."

Sabrina sat, her knees pressing together instinctively under the mountain of tulle. She looked at her reflection, waiting for the hairbrush, but Elena turned away.

Elena reached down and picked up the pink sequined ballet flats from the rug.

"Oops, almost got ahead of ourselves," Elena chimed, holding up the tiny, flat shoes, "Can't have you walking around barefoot. What would people think?"

She dropped the shoes in front of Sabrina’s feet. There was no offering of a heel, no arch support, just a flat sole that would keep Sabrina firmly grounded at her natural, diminutive height. Sabrina slipped her feet into them. They fit snugly, the pink sequins catching the light, and for a moment, looking down at the pink front of the childish shoes peeking out from the tulle, she felt a wave of vertigo. She looked more like a flower girl than a woman that earned over a hundred thousand dollars a year..

"There," Elena said, straightening up, "Now for the finish." She picked up the hairbrush.

"You're flattening it!" Sabrina protested as Elena aggressively brushed out the expensive, volumized blowout she paid a fortune for. "I need the height, Thorne. I look like a drowned rat without the volume."

"Volume is for women trying to hide thinning hair or a sagging jawline, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice smooth and convincing as she gathered the blonde hair high on one side of her head. "You don't need that. We are going to pull it tight. It acts like a natural face-lift. It shows off that two-thousand-dollar laser skin you were just bragging about. Honestly, I would love to know your skin care routine. I swear, I'm already starting to see the beginning of wrinkles and your skin is just perfect." Elena pulled the hair tight, securing it with a pink bobble. Then she picked up a length of pink satin ribbon.

"Ribbons?" Sabrina asked weakly, watching in the mirror as one side of her head was transformed into a playground style. She was too absorbed by her very wrong reflection to appreciate the compliment.

"It's about cohesion, Director," Elena said, tying the ribbon into a large, floppy bow, "The dress has a satin sash; the hair needs to match. If we used a clip, it would look metallic and harsh. The ribbon softens you. It makes you look . . . well, to repeat a descriptor, it makes things look perfect." Elena finished the second twintail, pulling it just as tight. Sabrina stared at her reflection. Her face without her make up looked cherubic,it wasn’t like she didn’t know that about her appearance but the dress, the hair style compiled things to make her not look like a youthful young woman but all she saw was a child in the mirror. The bows flopped slightly against her head. She looked ridiculous. She looked just like the giraffe said . . . She looked to be ten.

"There," Elena said, resting her hands on Sabrina's shoulders and smiling at the reflection of the little girl in the mirror. "Fresh-faced and approachable. The Board won't know what hit them."

Chapter Five

"We need to leave, Director," Elena said, checking the time on her phone, "The Gala starts in twenty minutes, and traffic will be heavy."

Sabrina stood in the center of the foyer, it taking more than a little coaxing to get her to leave the bedroom where her removed clothes now remained hung up in the closet. She was looking down at her sequined flats, fidgeting uncomfortably, having no idea how child-like her body language appeared. The reflection in the mirror was still burned into her mind. Her heart shaped face, devoid of make-up, looking far too youthful. The pigtails, her real . . . her flat chest under the coral and pink monstrosity of a tulle and silk dress. She felt ridiculous, but more than that, she was ashamed of herself.

"My purse," Sabrina said suddenly, her head snapping up, "I’m not leaving without my phone, Thorne. I need to check emails on the way."

Elena paused at the front door, her hand on the handle. She looked back at Sabrina with a small, indulgent smile, the kind one might give a child stalling before school. "You said you left it on the kitchen island, remember? Go ahead. Go look for my boss's purse."

The permission felt patronizing, but Sabrina didn't have the leverage to snap back. She turned and hurried into the kitchen, the sequins of her flats sliding silently on the hardwood where her heels usually clicked with authority. She reached the island and stopped. The marble countertop was close to empty. There was the empty bottle of Krug, catching the evening light, and beside it, the key fob to her own Lexus sedan, but the heavy designer handbag she knew she had slammed down earlier was gone.

Sabrina blinked, her brow furrowing. She looked around the floor, checked the bar stools, even peered into the sink. Nothing. "I . . . I put it right here," she muttered, panic rising in her chest. She looked at the champagne bottle. ‘Did I?’ The memory was fuzzy, blurred by the alcohol and the abrupt nap. ‘Maybe I left it in the car? Did I just bring my car fob in?’ she thought. The casual gaslighting worked all too well with her feeling so out of sorts.

"Find it?" Elena called, walking into the kitchen behind her boss after waiting a few minutes.

"No," Sabrina admitted, grabbing her keys and walking over to her, looking defeated. "I must have left it in the car. Or the office. God, my head is a mess. I think your cheap champagne went right to my head."

"Don't worry," Elena said soothingly, placing her hand on the middle of Sabrina’s back to guide her to the front door. "I have my phone. I'll handle any communications. You just focus on the strategy.”

They stepped out onto the porch. Sabrina instinctively braced herself for a chill, reaching for a coat that wasn't there, something else she hadn’t brought with her. She was pretty sure she left it in her office closet, since the evening had started out surprisingly warm. A refreshing breeze rolled in, carrying the scent of impending rain, but for now, the air was light. It meant no jacket was needed, no layer to hide the explosion of tulle she was wearing.

In the driveway, Sabrina’s Lexus sat gleaming under the porch lights, a top-of-the-line luxury sedan with tinted windows and a pristine leather interior. It was a far cry from Elena’s practical, dented compact.

Elena held out her hand. "Keys, please. The plan was for me to drive and now that you have pre-partied it would be for the best, Sabrina. You aren't driving."

Sabrina hesitated, looking at the keys in her hand, then at Elena. It was safer this way, of course. She couldn't drive drunk, but handing over the keys to her own car felt like handing over something she had earned to someone so undeserving. She dropped the fob into Elena’s palm.

Elena walked to the driver’s side, moving with an elegant grace in her black gown. Sabrina went to the passenger side, but then stopped. Old habits, or perhaps an unconscious desire to distance herself from the ‘help,’ took over. She opened the back door. She climbed in. It was a mistake she didn’t even know she was making.

The back seat of the sedan was spacious for a normal person. For Sabrina, with the way she looked, it was spacious enough to be her playpen. The massive ombre tulle skirt seemed to expand instantly, filling the leather bench and puffing up around her waist like a cloud. She sat in the middle, sinking slightly into the plush seat. Without her heels, her feet barely touched the floor mats.

Elena slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror. Sabrina looked up and caught Elena’s eyes in the glass. From this angle, sitting low in the back surrounded by pink fabric, Elena was amused at what the scene behind her looked like, a child being chauffeured by her mother. "Comfortable back there?" Elena asked, her eyes crinkling slightly in the mirror.

"Just drive, Thorne," Sabrina snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She turned to look out the window, watching the suburban trees blur past, trying to rehearse her pitch for Mr. Sterling. But every time she shifted, the tulle rustled loudly, a constant reminder that tonight, she wasn't the shark; she felt more like the bait.

The drive was mercifully short, though for Sabrina, every red light felt like an hour spent trapped in a pink cloud. When the Lexus finally turned off the main boulevard and approached the sweeping entrance of The Grand Meridian, the reality of the night hit her.

The hotel was a fortress of limestone and glass, glowing against the night sky. Ahead, the semi-circular porte-cochère was jammed with black limousines and town cars. A red carpet had been rolled out, flanked by velvet ropes and photographers whose flashes popped like strobe lights as men in tuxedos and women in floor-length gowns stepped out.

A cold panic ran through Sabrina, she knew others were going to see her but the scale of the entrance way with photographers had her petrified."Pull over!" Sabrina commanded, leaning forward as much as the seatbelt and the tulle would allow. "Do not go to the valet. I am not getting out on that red carpet like this."

Elena glanced in the rearview mirror, her expression calm. "Director, the self-parking garage is around the corner. It’s a long walk, and some of us are wearing heels made more for looking pretty while sitting then a hike"

"I don't care! Park in the garage, Thorne!" Sabrina insisted, her voice cracking with stress. "I need a minute. I need to check the temperature of the room before I make my entrance."

Elena sighed, but she bypassed the glittering chaos of the main entrance, steering the luxury sedan down the ramp into the dim, concrete quiet of the parking garage. She found a spot in a secluded corner, close to the elevators, and killed the engine. The silence that filled the car was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of ventilation fans in the concrete structure.

"Give me your phone," Sabrina said immediately, holding out her hand over the center console. "I need to call Julian. If I give him a heads-up that I’m here and participating in this insanity for the sake of Edgar Sterling's ego at the cost of my own, he can smooth the way with our eccentric client. I need to know if he is already inside." Sabrina said, having a passing thought, wondering how rich one needed to be to be eccentric instead of crazy.

Elena froze. ‘If Sabrina calls Mr. Vance now, the entire game is over.’ He would tell her there was no memo on Child-to-CEO. It only said this was a black tie event, not wanting people to disrespect the cause by dressing casually and that he had no idea why his Director was dressed like a child.

"I . . . I don't think that's a good idea, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice careful. She didn't reach for her clutch purse.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, I asked for your phone," Sabrina hissed. She unbuckled her seatbelt, the mechanism clicking loudly in the quiet car. "My purse is missing, my head is spinning, and I am dressed like a . . . like a festive lampshade. I am taking control of this situation. Now give me the phone."

Elena turned in her seat to face the back, masking her panic with a look of professional concern. "Miss Halloway, listen to me. You’ve had a lot to drink. You’re flustered. If you call Julian right now, slurring your words and sounding upset, you’re going to look weak. He’s looking for any one even giving a hint of stepping out of line. Do you really want to give him a hysterical phone call from the parking lot?"

Sabrina’s hand wavered. She knew she was tipsy; she could feel the edges of her words softening, and she thought of Julian Vance, with his old-money arrogance and judgmental stare. Oh, she hated it when he just stared at her. Not checking her out, like a healthy man should, but silently judging her like she wasn't enough, him acting like just hearing her was unbearable. "I am not slurring," Sabrina argued, already sounding less certain of herself, "I just need to know if it's safe to go in."

"Let me do it," Elena pressed, leaning into the manipulation. "This is what you pay me for, isn't it? To handle the logistics? I’ll go up to the ballroom. I’ll find Mr Vance. I’ll tell him you’re here, but that you’re taking a moment to compose yourself. I’ll get the lay of the land, see who is wearing what, and I’ll bring you a drink."

Lowering her hand, Sabrina’s eyes narrowed as she weighed the options. She hated relying on Elena, but the thought of calling her boss while sitting in the back seat of a car in a parking garage, looking like a toddler, was terrifying.

"Fine. Get me a glass of wine, something sweet," Sabrina harrumphed, the fight draining out of her. "But be quick. And find out what Sterling is wearing. If the client is wearing something stupid like a school boy’s uniform, I want to know before I walk in."

"Understood," Elena said, "Stay here. Stay out of sight. I’ll be back in ten minutes."

Elena stepped out, the click of her heels echoing on the concrete. She locked the car, leaving Sabrina trapped in the dark, a prisoner of her own vehicle, and headed toward the elevator bank.

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, and the echo of Elena’s heels faded, leaving Sabrina not just alone in the back seat of her own car, but in the dark with the doors locked. The silence pressed in on her immediately, only the sound of fans echoing around.

Without the engine running, the garage felt cavernous, the concrete walls swallowing sound and reflecting it back in dull waves. Sabrina shifted, the tulle rustling loudly in the enclosed space, making her freeze again, suddenly hyperaware of how much room the fabric took up. The skirt had pooled around her hips, puffed up against the leather seats, climbed into her lap like it had a mind of its own. She swallowed and forced herself to sit still, not wanting to hear it rustle about.

‘Ten minutes,’ she thought to herself. ‘It’s just ten minutes.’ She checked the time on the dash display, then frowned; with the car off, it wasn’t showing a thing. Without her phone, she felt oddly amputated, cut off from the steady stream of reassurance that usually tethered her to the world. No emails to skim. No calendar alerts. No messages she could send to remind people she was still in control.

She crossed her arms over her chest again, then immediately uncrossed them when she didn't feel her enhanced bust, the silk of the top of the dress brushing her bare shoulders. The fabric was light, almost insubstantial, but it felt loud, conspicuous, like it was announcing her presence even here, hidden in the dark.

Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. From this angle, and in the dark, she barely recognized herself. The lack of make-up made her features softer than she liked to see, her cheeks fuller without contouring, her eyes larger, more open. ‘Like a freaking doe eyed little girl…’ The twintails framed her face in a way that made her look far too young. She knew, intellectually, that she was a twenty-something executive sitting in a luxury sedan in a private garage, but the image in the glass told a different story, one that made her stomach tighten.

She looked away sharply. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she thought. ‘I am letting this get to me.’ But her reassurance rang hollow. She tried to rehearse her pitch again, the talking points she had gone over a dozen times in her head over the past week, but the words slid around instead of locking into place. Every time she adjusted her posture, the dress reminded her of itself. Every time she took a breath, she felt the tightness of the bodice, the way it flattened her chest instead of shaping it.

Her gaze drifted to the front seat. The driver’s seat was still adjusted to Elena’s height, pulled back enough that Sabrina’s knees, when she leaned, bumped the back of it. She frowned at that, irritation flaring briefly. It was such a small thing, but it underscored the larger one she was trying not to think about.

She was not in control of this moment.

Her purse was missing. Her phone was gone. Her assistant had physically removed her from her home while taking her keys, driven her here, and now left her alone in a parking garage dressed in something she would never choose. It felt like she was waiting for permission to enter an event she was supposed to be steering.

She reached down, smoothing the tulle automatically, the motion slow and almost absentminded. The fabric obeyed for a second, then sprang back, stubborn and buoyant. She let out a quiet huff of breath, half laugh, half frustration. ‘Get a grip, Sabrina,’ she scolded herself. ‘You’ve handled worse than this.’

Had she?

Sabrina thought of Julian Vance’s eyes, the way he looked at people like he was measuring their worth against some invisible standard. She thought of Edgar Sterling, of his money, his expectations, his ego. She thought of walking into that ballroom alone, of cameras and flashes and whispers.

She imagined stepping out of the elevator like this. The image made her stomach flip. Her fingers curled into the skirt, gripping the tulle tighter than she meant to. She forced herself to relax her hand, flattening the fabric again, breathing slowly like she’d been taught during media training. “Elena will fix it,” she told herself out loud, the thought both comforting and deeply unsettling. ‘She always does; the stupid giraffe is good at her job.’ The realization settled heavier than the dress.

Meanwhile, Elena made her journey. The walk to the garage elevator from the car was short, though it was only the first leg of the trek ahead of her. Elena pressed the elevator button, adjusting the strap of her clutch as she waited in the damp, echoey chamber of the garage, not looking back at the car. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to see her boss through the tinted window in a lightless car. When the doors slid open, she stepped into the scuffed metal box and pressed the button for the ground floor.

The doors opened to the humid night air of the street level. As she had warned Sabrina, it was not a direct connection. Elena stepped out onto the sidewalk, the garage looming behind her as a separate concrete block. The Grand Meridian was a block away, glowing like a beacon.

Hoping for the best, Elena began the walk. Her four-inch stilettos clicked a rhythmic, confident cadence against the pavement. She didn't hurry, despite the distance. She treated the sidewalk like a runway, ignoring the humidity that threatened to frizz her hair. By the time she reached the massive revolving doors of the hotel, she hadn't broken a sweat, thanks to her regular work outs and dance classes. She pushed through the glass, and the world transformed. The humid street air was instantly cut off, replaced by the blast of climate control scented with fresh lilies and expensive perfume.

Elena stepped into the Grand Foyer. It was a sensory overload of crystal chandeliers, polished marble, and high-society chatter. She moved through the periphery of the crowd, her height giving her a vantage point over the sea of tuxedos and gowns. She wasn't intimidated by the wealth in the room; she was hunting.

She spotted who she needed near the center of the room, standing by a massive ice sculpture. Julian Vance looked imposing, not to mention handsome in a classic tuxedo, his posture rigid and his expression one of bored superiority. Beside him stood Edgar Sterling, the man she blamed for her plan, so it even had a chance of working. Sterling was shorter, wiry, and possessed the intense, unblinking stare of a man who ran his life like a military drill, his steel-gray crew cut severe under the chandeliers.

Elena took a breath, softened her eyes, and approached. "Mr. Sterling, Mr. Vance," Elena said, her voice pitching perfectly to cut through the din without sounding shrill. She offered a hand to each, nodding respectfully to her boss. "I’m Elena Thorne. Director Halloway’s assistant manager."

"Ah, yes, Ms. Thorne," Julian said, his voice deep and dripping with authority. They had worked together enough for him to know the introduction wasn't for him. He barely shook her hand, his steely blue eyes immediately scanning the space behind her. "Where is Sabrina? I expected her to be leading the charge tonight. Punctuality is not a suggestion, and we are already behind schedule." Not seeing his fierce director, his gaze returned to the young woman in front of him. He was tempted to invite her up to his room at the hotel for a night cap after the event, but he wasn't going to abuse his position of power over his employee. With how she looked, however, it was difficult to not think about such a fantasy.

Elena let her shoulders slump slightly. It was no masterpiece of micro-acting; she wasn’t some master manipulator, though it occurred to her how much a skill like that would come in handy tonight. And in general. She looked genuinely pained. "I’m afraid I have some bad news. Director Halloway has come down with a sudden, terrible flu. She tried to power through it earlier today, but by this evening, she was in no condition to be seen publicly. She sends her deepest regrets and will be out until she recovers."

Julian’s jaw tightened, a flash of irritation crossing his face. "That is unfortunate," he murmured, swirling his scotch. "At least it is not typical; I don’t think she’s ever used a sick day. I hope she feels better soon, but we were counting on her input with things tonight."

"I am here to take notes and represent the department in her stead," Elena assured him, keeping her tone deferential. Then, she shifted her weight, biting her lip and looking awkwardly toward the main entrance. "However . . . I do have a small personal complication I hope you both can overlook."

"Oh?" Sterling asked, his voice sharp with interest as things seemed to be escalating in the wrong direction for his planned charity event. He turned his full, obsessive attention to her. "We overcome complications, Ms. Thorne."

"Since I had to step in at the last minute for the Director, I was caught in a bind with childcare," Elena explained, lowering her voice as if sharing a shameful secret. "My sister had an emergency, and I got saddled with babysitting my niece for the week. I couldn't say no to family, and I couldn't miss the gala . . ." She gestured vaguely back toward the entrance she had just walked through. "I brought her with me. She’s waiting in the car in the parking garage down the block. I promise she won't be a bother, but if you see a child wandering near me . . . that’s little Rina. She’s ten, about to start fourth grade. And she can be a bit . . . precocious."

Sterling’s severe expression vanished, replaced by a nod of approval. The eccentric benefactor had always preached about traditional family values and the importance of discipline in youth. "Nonsense, Elena! You shouldn't leave a child in a parking garage. Bring her inside! It’s a celebration, after all. I’m sure we can find some non-alcoholic punch for her."

Julian sighed, clearly annoyed but unwilling to contradict the client. "If Mr. Sterling insists. Just keep her out from underfoot, please. And thank you for your dedication amidst everything tonight."

"You’re very kind, sir," Elena said, smiling with relief, "I’ll go get her. She’s an awkward little thing; bright as can be, but has a habit of telling tall tales. I think she believes she is ready to be an adult despite her age and lack of maturity."

She excused herself, turning away to hide the triumph in her eyes. She headed for the bar, ordering an apple juice with three cherries and a festive straw, along with a glass of champagne for herself.

With the drinks in hand, she navigated the lobby, pushed back through the revolving doors, and began the long walk back to the garage. The humid air hit her again, but she didn't care. The trap was now fully set.

Taking the elevator back down to the gloom of the parking deck and walking to the Lexus in the corner, she unlocked the car and opened the back door. Sabrina was huddled in the middle of the seat, her knees drawn up slightly under the tulle, looking like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Here," Elena said, handing her the sugar drink with the bright red fruit floating inside.

Sabrina took the offered drink, looking at the maraschino cherries with a frown. "A Shirley Temple? Really, Thorne?"

"It’s apple juice. I thought it appropriate. It will help hydrate you, and you should really sober up before having another adult beverage," Elena said casually. She leaned against the open door frame, taking a sip of her champagne.

"Well?" Sabrina demanded, taking a sip. "What’s the verdict? Are Julian or Mr Sterling wearing a costume?"

Elena looked down at her boss, savoring the moment. "Bad news, Sabrina. The memo is dead. Sterling caved. Everyone is in tuxedos and gowns. No one else was willing to play along and it looks like only you were brave enough."

Sabrina choked on her drink, coughing as the sugary liquid hit the back of her throat. "What? Are you kidding me?" She looked down at her dress, horror dawning on her face. "You mean I’m the only one dressed like . . . like this?"

"Afraid so," Elena said, "Mr Vance is inside wearing a tuxedo, talking with Sterling. They look immaculate."

"Then take me home," Sabrina demanded, scrambling to unbuckle her seatbelt, "I am not going in there. I’ll look insane! Drive me home right now, Elena!"

"I can't," Elena said calmly, "I just spoke to Julian and Sterling. They know I’m here. I have to network for the department, or we lose our standing. And you can't drive."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Sabrina cried, tears of frustration pricking her eyes, "Sit in the car all night?"

"No," Elena said, setting her glass down on the roof of the car, "I fixed it. I told Julian that Director Halloway is sick and couldn't make it."

Sabrina blinked. "You . . . you covered for me?"

"I did. I would hate it if you got in trouble because you were the only one willing to follow directions when our CEO himself stressed how important it was," Elena lied smoothly, "But I had to explain why I was walking back out to the car. So I told them I brought my niece."

Sabrina stared at her. "Your niece?"

"Think about it," Elena said, gesturing to Sabrina’s whole look. Her twintails, the tulle dress, the sequined flats. "Without your heels, your makeup, or your bra . . . you don't look like you, Sabrina. You look like a child. If you come in as 'Little Rina, my niece' you can be a fly on the wall. You can hear what Mr Vance and Sterling say about you when they think you aren't there."

Sabrina hesitated.

It was insane. It was humiliating. But the idea of disappearing into a role of being invisible rather than being the "idiot in the costume" was strangely tempting. And the paranoia about Julian was eating her alive. She looked at the elevator doors across the dark garage, then back at her reflection in the window.

"I . . . I don't know, Thorne," Sabrina muttered.

"It's the only way to save the night," Elena said, extending a hand to help her out of the car, "Come on, Rina. Let's get you to the party. We can get your story straight on the way."

Chapter Six

Sabrina stared at Elena’s outstretched hand, but she didn't take it. Instead, she recoiled into the leather seat, looking from the manicured fingers up to her assistant’s face with a mix of confusion and outrage.

"Rina?" Sabrina spat, ignoring the hand to glare up at the taller woman. "Thorne, you know how I feel about you using my name without my proper title, let alone creating an absurd nickname. But what should I expect from a giraffe with half a brain?"

Elena didn't flinch at the insult. She didn't even bother to argue the logic. She simply reached past Sabrina’s defensive posture, her fingers closing around Sabrina’s thin wrist like a shackle. "We don't have time for this," Elena said, her voice dropping the professional facade for a moment of pure urgency. Then she yanked.

Sabrina gasped, flailing slightly as she was physically hauled out of the deep leather seat. The mountain of tulle rustled aggressively as she stumbled out, her sequined flats hitting the concrete hard.

"People are expecting me with my niece back at the gala," Elena said, not letting go of the wrist as she steadied the smaller woman, "That niece being you, for the plan to work."

Sabrina tried and failed to wrench her arm free, yanking a few more times before the grip on her loosened enough for her to find her freedom. Glaring up at the dark haired woman, she rubbed her wrist where Elena’s fingers had dug in. "Don't you dare manhandle me, Thorne! I am capable of exiting a vehicle on my own!"

"Then stand up straight," Elena countered immediately, her voice shifting into a tone that was terrifyingly nurturing as she automatically reached out to adjust the strap of Sabrina’s dress. "Shoulders back. We have a walk ahead of us."

Sabrina slapped the hand away that had assaulted her, her eyes flashing. "Watch your tone! I am not a child, and I am certainly not your child. You are pushing your luck with this today, and are walking on thin ice."

Elena blinked, pulling her hand back as if burned. A look of genuine realization crossed her face, followed by a sheepish, almost apologetic smile. "My apologies, Director. Honestly, it was just . . . muscle memory. I’ve spent so much time corralling my niece, that seeing someone in that dress . . . If you had darker hair, you could be her sister.. My babysitting practice had me acting on auto pilot.” She gestured pointedly to Sabrina’s spine. "And to be fair," Elena added, "you were slouching.”

Sabrina stiffened, instantly straightening her back to her full, albeit short, height. "I was not slouching," she lied, lifting her chin, "I was adjusting to the lack of arch support. Now let’s get moving."

Elena locked the Lexus, the beep echoing off the concrete walls, and they began the trek toward the elevator. The ride up to the street level was silent, the mirrored box reflecting a tall, elegant woman in black silk standing beside a sulking, brightly colored figure.

The moment the elevator doors opened onto the sidewalk, the humidity hit Sabrina like a wet towel. It was heavy and cloying. Beside her, Elena seemed immune to the weather, her stride long and cool.

"We need to finalize the backstory before we hit the door," Elena said, looking straight ahead, her pace forcing Sabrina to take two steps for every one of hers. "You are my niece, Rina. You are ten years old. You are starting fourth grade at a public school in the small city of Apopka."

"Ten-year-olds are usually in fifth grade," Sabrina muttered, breathless from the exertion of the walk.

"Rina, you struggle with a few subjects. You were held back," Elena improvised without skipping a beat, "It adds a layer of vulnerability. Sterling loves an underdog; he is just going to eat you up with how cute you are."

Sabrina grit her teeth. "Dont say that. I’m not telling the people I failed math, Thorne!"

"You don't have to volunteer anything," Elena said smoothly, "You will simply be answering questions, and it doesn’t have to be math; you could have failed English or Science. Now, remember. If someone says 'Sabrina' or 'Director,' you stay silent. You are Rina. Unless you want someone to recognize you?"

Sabrina scowled at the pavement. "Fine. Rina. I got it," she said out loud with a sullen voice before speaking to herself under her breath. “But I don't have to like it.

"And you need to call me something appropriate," Elena continued, "Ms. Thorne is too formal for my niece and my first name isn’t appropriate. Elena is too adult for you."

"I'll just not call you anything," Sabrina grumbled, kicking a loose pebble with her pink shoe.

"Don’t act like that. I promised Mr. Vance and Sterling you would be a good girl tonight. You will need to address me if you want something," Elena said, slowing down just as the glowing entrance of The Grand Meridian came into view. She turned to look down at the diminutive woman. A slow, shark-like smile spread over her lips. "You should call me Aunt Elly. Or better yet . . . Auntie."

Sabrina stopped dead on the sidewalk. The blood drained from her face. "Absolutely not."

"It sells the lie, Sabrina," Elena whispered, her tone hardening, "My actual niece calls me both Auntie and Aunt Elly, so you will too. It’s natural. If you call me 'Elena' in front of Sterling, the illusion breaks. Do you want to be the Director in a tutu, or do you want to be the invisible niece?"

Sabrina opened her mouth to argue. Acknowledging her assistant, her subordinate, as a familial superior was a pill she physically couldn't swallow. But the valet stand was twenty feet away. People were watching.

"Fine," Sabrina hissed, the word tasting like bile, "Auntie."

"Good girl," Elena cooed as they reached the entrance. The Grand Meridian’s revolving doors were spinning slowly. Elena stepped into a compartment effortlessly, moving with the rotation.

Sabrina stepped into the next pie-slice wedge behind her. As the door swept her into the interior, the blast of climate control hit her, cold, crisp, and scented with lilies. Through the glass, she saw the lobby. It was packed. It was bright..

Elena stepped out on the other side, turning to wait. Sabrina shook her head in a way that caused the silly pigtail hair style to wave about as she looked at the crowd, recognizing so many of the faces and not just wanting but needing them to not in turn recognize her. She couldn't do it. She couldn't step out onto that marble floor. The fear of being seen for who she was welded her feet to the mat. She missed her exit.

"Little Rina, get out," Elena hissed under her breath.

But the door kept turning. Sabrina was swept past the opening, her hands pressing against the glass, her eyes wide with anxiety. She traveled the full circle, back toward the humid street, then back around toward the lobby.

To a nearby couple in evening wear waiting to exit, it didn't look like a panic attack. It looked like a child playing.

"Where are her parents?" a woman in a silver gown muttered, looking annoyed.

The humiliation burned hotter than the shame. On the second rotation, just as Sabrina was about to be swept past the lobby again, a hand shot out.

Elena reached into the moving compartment, clamped her hand around Sabrina’s wrist, and yanked her out onto the marble floor.

"Quit playing, Rina," Elena said loudly enough for the nearby guests to hear, her voice a perfect mix of scolding and weary affection. "I told you, no running in the lobby."

"I wasn't . . . " Sabrina started, but Elena squeezed her hand. Hard.

"Hold my hand," Elena commanded, dropping her voice to a half whisper as she interlaced their fingers, "You're drawing attention."

Sabrina tried to pull away, instinctively recoiling from the physical contact, but Elena didn't let go. Her grip was firm and unyielding. It wasn't a comforting hold; it was a leash.

"Rina, there are a lot of people here. I don’t want you wandering off," Elena said simply. Leaning closer, she added, "Don't blow this."

Sabrina slumped, letting her hand go limp in Elena's warm, strong grip. She allowed herself to be towed further into the room, having to move at a rapid pace to keep up and not be pulled along.

As they moved passed a massive, gilded mirror near the concierge desk. Sabrina made the mistake of looking. The reflection stopped the breath in her throat. Elena looked magnificent, a tower of black silk and pale skin. Beside her, clutching her hand, was a child. The height difference was staggering. Without her heels, Sabrina barely came up to Elena’s ribcage. The dress looked criminally juvenile under the crystal chandeliers.

Sabrina looked away, a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her. She felt, for the first time in her life, truly vulnerable.

"Shoulders back, Rina," Elena murmured, towing her toward the ballroom entrance. "Here we go. Please smile; good girls smile."

They checked in at the podium. The staff barely glanced at Sabrina, directing all their deferential "Yes, Ma'ams" to Elena. Then, they stepped through the double doors and into the event proper.

Sabrina’s heart hammered against her ribs as she saw them immediately. Julian Vance and Edgar Sterling were standing near the entrance. Sabrina braced herself. ‘He’s going to know,’ she thought, terror gripping her.

Elena approached the two, tugging Sabrina forward into the light.

"Gentlemen," Elena said smoothly, "I’m back. And I found the runaway."

Julian Vance turned. He looked down. His steely blue eyes locked onto Sabrina’s face.

Sabrina held her breath, waiting for the sneer, the recognition. But it didn't come.

Julian looked at her with zero recognition. His eyes swept over her face, her hair, her dress, and found absolutely nothing of his bulldog of a director. To him, the powerful Director Halloway simply did not exist in this small, pink creature. Initially, there was a flicker of mild annoyance, the look a man gives when a child enters an adult space. But then, realizing this was the "niece" Elena had mentioned, his expression softened. The hard lines around his eyes relaxed. He offered her a genuine, warm smile, a smile Sabrina had never seen him direct at her.

"Well, hello there," Julian said, his voice slightly higher than usual, gentle and kind. "You must be Rina. Your aunt didn't prepare us for how adorable you are, a missed opportunity for her to brag about you."

What he was saying hurt. It hurt worse than being caught. Being recognized would have been a disaster, but this? This was erasure; he saw her almost every day, yet she was somehow believable as a girl while being a woman.

"Say hello to Mr. Vance, Rina," Elena prompted, giving Sabrina’s hand a sharp squeeze.

"H-hello," Sabrina squeaked, not wanting to talk to her boss at all or draw his attention to her; she was also nervous her voice would give her away.

Julian chuckled softly, then looked back up at Elena. His gaze lingered on her face, then drifted down to where she was protectively holding the "child's" hand. He wasn't looking at her like a member of his staff anymore. He was looking at her with a deepening appreciation, a sentimental warmth seeing her in a different light now that he got a glimpse of this side of her.

"You handle her very well, Ms. Thorne," Julian said, his tone appreciative, "It’s a good look on you. Maternal."

Elena blushed slightly, a modest smile on her face, with a demure tilt of her head. "Family is important, Mr. Vance. We do what we must."

"Indeed," Edgar Sterling chimed in, stepping forward. The shorter man peered down at Sabrina with intense interest. "And this is the little scholar! Starting fourth grade, I hear?"

Sabrina nodded mutely, afraid to speak and break the spell all while she ground her teeth at the absurdity of her being in elementary school.

"I have a strict rule about children at these events," Sterling said. He reached into his tuxedo pocket. "Usually, they are a distraction. But when Elena told me you were coming, I had one of the servers scour the kitchen."

He pulled out a single, snack-size Kit Kat bar.

"I asked for something simpler than those fancy canapés," Sterling said. He didn't hand it to Sabrina, though. He turned to Elena, respecting the hierarchy. "Is it alright if she has this, Elena? I know it's late."

Elena looked at the candy, then down at Sabrina, pursing her lips in mock thought. "Well . . . She has had a lot of sugar today, Mr. Sterling."

Sabrina stared at the chocolate, feeling a bizarre, childish desire for it just because it was being withheld.

"But," Elena continued, taking the Kit Kat from the man’s hand, "Since you went to such trouble, sir . . . " She slipped the candy into her own clutch, snapping it shut. "I'll hold onto it," Elena said, smiling down at Sabrina with terrifying benevolence. "She can have it later. If she behaves."

"Well, look who we have here," a familiar, matronly voice chimed in, cutting through the ambient chatter of the ballroom.

Sabrina froze. She knew that voice. It belonged to Martha Higgins, the Director of Accounting. Martha was sixty-one, pudgy, and possessed the kind of unshakeable confidence that came from being with the company from its inception and knowing exactly where every penny in the company was buried. She was also the only person at Aegis who consistently ignored Sabrina’s demands for speed, usually responding with a maddeningly patient smile.

Martha waddled over, a glass of Chardonnay that was half gone already in hand, her eyes lighting up as they landed on the tall woman in black and the small figure in pink standing beside her. "Elena, dear!" Martha cooed, beaming. "I didn't know you had a little one of your own! You’ve been keeping her a secret from us all this time? She is adorable!"

Sabrina felt her stomach drop through the floor. The idea of being mistaken for Elena’s daughter was physically revolting; she could admit the giraffe was physically superior, but mentally it was a demotion of biology as well as status. She opened her mouth to snap a correction, but Elena beat her to it.

Elena laughed, a light, tinkling sound that sounded painfully fake to Sabrina’s ears. She covered her mouth with a manicured hand, covering her own mild embarrassment. "Oh, Martha, you flatter me, really, but please do the math!" Elena said, smiling brightly. "I am far too young to have a ten-year-old. I haven't been in the workforce that long. I would have been a young teenager when I had her if that was the case "

Martha blinked, then let out a hearty, self-deprecating laugh as she gave a half shrug. "Oh, goodness, of course! My eyes aren't what they used to be, and with the way you two were holding hands, I just assumed. It’s the maternal energy, I suppose."

"This is my niece, Rina," Elena explained, resting a hand on the top of Sabrina’s head, her fingers sliding down through one of the pigtails. "I'm just the favorite auntie on duty tonight."

"Rude," Sabrina grunted, looking at her shoes to hide the burning humiliation on her face.

"Oh, aren't you precious!" Martha beamed, undeterred by the comment. She leaned down, getting uncomfortably close. "And look at that pout! My granddaughter, Sarah, twelve, just a bit older than Rina here, gives me that exact same look when I tell her to put the iPad away."

Before Sabrina could dodge, Martha reached out and pinched her cheek with a firm, grandmotherly grip. "She knows she’s cute, doesn't she?" Martha said, giving the cheek a little wobble.

Sabrina recoiled, slapping the hand away instinctively. "Don't touch me!"

The outburst was sharp, but coming from a tiny figure in a pink tulle dress, it didn't land with the authority of a Director. It sounded petulant.

Martha didn’t act offended; she just laughed again, looking up at Elena with a knowing expression. "You have to be careful with the pretty ones, Elena. They try to use those big eyes and that attitude to get their way. Children need love, of course, but they need a firm hand, or they turn into spoiled little brats. Sarah is a terror if you let her be."

Sabrina seethed, she wanted to tell the old cow exactly where she could shove her "firm hand," but the smell of the Chardonnay wafted toward her, reminding her desperately of her thirst. The bite of the Kit Kat denial was still fresh, and her throat begged for something alcoholic to get her through this waking nightmare.

Just then, a waiter glided past with a silver tray laden with crystal flutes of champagne, desire took over. Sabrina didn't think; she just reacted. She reached out, her hand grasping for the slender stem of a glass, desperate for the bubbles, for the alcohol, for anything to numb the reality of being pinched by the head of the lowly accountants.

The waiter, a young man who looked like he feared for his job, pulled the tray up sharply, high out of her reach.

"Whoa there, sweetheart," he said, giving her a stern, reproving look, "That’s not for you."

Sabrina’s hand closed around empty air. She stood on her tiptoes, face flushing red. "I just want a drink!"

"I am so sorry," Elena said quickly, stepping in to smooth things over. She looked at the waiter with an apologetic smile, aware of the leadership at her company and the wealthy client seeing what happened or what almost happened. "She’s thirsty. Do you have any Sprite? And please . . . Could you put it in a plastic cup? Or a tumbler? I don't trust her with the crystal. She’s a bit clumsy."

"Of course, Ma'am," the waiter said, looking at Sabrina with pity, "I'll be right back with a kiddie cup."

"I am not clumsy!" Sabrina hissed as the waiter walked away.

"You almost knocked over a tray of champagne, Rina," Elena corrected her, her voice low, "Those are adult drinks. Hush now, please."

When the waiter returned, he wasn't carrying a flute. He handed Elena a short, thick plastic tumbler filled with ice and Sprite, a bright red straw sticking out of the top.

"Here you go," Elena said, handing the cup to Sabrina.

She stared at the plastic cup. It was cold and sweating in her hand. Sabrina took a sip from the straw, the sugary carbonation hitting her tongue. It wasn't champagne, but she drank it greedily, hating herself with every swallow.

“See? Martha said to Elena as she tilted her head in Sabrina’s direction

"Now," Edgar Sterling said, turning back to the group and clapping his hands together, clearly bored with the domestic interlude. "Enough about refreshments. Julian, I know you have your hands in a lot of pots. My merger is just the newest addition. Tell me about another project. I like to hear how my partners overcome hurdles. It shows character."

Julian nodded, swirling his scotch. "Well, we have the Singapore logistics project. It’s a massive undertaking. We’ve hit a significant bottleneck with the local distribution channels."

Ears perking up, Sabrina turned her attention to her boss, knowing she had already told him that wasn’t the root of the issue. "It’s not the distribution channels," Sabrina blurted out.

The circle went silent. Julian, Sterling, Martha, and Elena all looked down at her.

Sabrina felt a surge of adrenaline. This was her wheelhouse. This was what she was good at. She stepped forward, the tulle rustling. "The bottleneck isn't the distribution," Sabrina said, her voice gaining a momentary flash of its usual authority. "It’s the port authority. They’re holding the permits to artificially inflate the storage fees. You don't need to reroute; you need to lean on the trade commissioner. He folds if you threaten to move the hub to Malaysia." She looked up at them, expecting the nod of approval, the recognition of her brilliance.

Instead, Sterling threw his head back and laughed.

"My goodness!" Sterling chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "What an imagination! 'Lean on the trade commissioner.' She sounds like she’s reciting a spy movie!"

"She must listen to your phone calls, Elena," Julian said, shaking his head with an amused smirk. "Parroting what she hears the adults say. It’s cute, in a way."

"It's not cute, it's the solution!" Sabrina insisted, stomping her foot. "I'm telling you . . . "

"Okay, Rina, that’s enough," Elena interrupted, placing a hand on Sabrina’s head to silence her. She looked at Julian. "She was playing in my home office earlier. Reading my files, pretending she was a business woman, the usual."

Julian sighed, looking from the pouting "child" to Elena. "You know, it’s funny. Hearing that kind of aggression from a child is almost charming. Hearing it from Director Halloway just gives me a migraine." He took a sip of his drink, his eyes warm on Elena. "It is so refreshing to stand here with someone who has . . . grace, Elena. Halloway is effective, I’ll give her that, but she’s a buzzsaw. She has no off switch. You have a much more . . . balanced energy. It makes me wonder if we've been looking at the wrong leadership dynamic for the client-facing side of things."

Sabrina felt like she had been punched in the gut all while the CEO threatened her job, practically offering up to someone so much less capable. He was praising Elena for her ideas while insulting her to her face, all because she was wearing ribbons in her hair.

Sterling nodded in agreement, then glanced down at Sabrina, who was fuming silently around her straw.

"Speaking of business," Sterling said, his voice lowering. "We need to discuss the financials of the Blackwood integration. It’s sensitive stuff. Little pitchers have big ears, as they say." He gestured vaguely with his glass toward the corner of the room. "Perhaps the child should go sit down? This isn't a conversation for children. I don't believe in the adage that children should be seen and not heard; bright children like little Rina here are our future, but there’s also a time and place for everything."

"Excellent idea," Elena said. She looked around the room and pointed to a corner near the heavy velvet drapes. There was a large, high-backed armchair upholstered in crushed red velvet, set apart from the main clusters of guests. "Rina, honey," Elena said, pointing, "Go sit in that chair. Drink your Sprite. I will come and get you when we are done talking business. You can come get me if you need to use the potty."

"But-" Sabrina started to argue, her eyes darting between the closed circle of executives and the distant chair. Panic flared in her chest. The velvet chair was too far away. If she sat there, she wouldn't be able to hear a word of the Blackwood financials. The entire point of this degrading charade, the only reason she had agreed to the pigtails and the bullshit Auntie shit was to gather intel to enhance her job. If she was exiled to the corner, she was just a clown in a costume for nothing.

She planted her feet, trying to hold her ground. "Auntie, please, I promise I'll be quiet. I want to listen. I can help!"

"Oh, nonsense, Elena," Martha interrupted, waving a hand dismissively before Sabrina could finish her plea. "Don't send the poor thing to sit alone in the corner like a punishment. She’ll be bored to tears by herself." Martha stepped forward, her smile wide and terrifyingly grandmotherly. "I’ll watch her," Martha offered, beaming at the executives. "My team has already run the numbers for Blackwood multiple times. You don't need me for the strategy talk, and frankly, my feet are killing me. I was looking for an excuse to sit down."

Sabrina’s blood ran cold. ‘No,’ she thought, her heart hammering. Anyone but her. And not away from the circle!

"Are you sure, Martha?" Elena asked, though she looked relieved to have the 'child' handled. "She can be a handful."

"Oh, pish-posh," Martha scoffed. She reached out and took Sabrina’s free hand, even as Sabrina tried to shift away. The hand not occupied with clutching the Sprite was in Martha’s grasp. Her grip was soft, doughy, but just firm enough to trap Sabrina’s fingers. "I raised three boys and I’m raising a granddaughter. I can handle one little spitfire. Besides, she and I need to have a little chat about manners, don't we, Rina?" Martha gave the girl’s hand a squeeze that sent the message ‘Try me.’

"That is very kind of you, Ms. Higgins," Julian said, nodding approvingly. "We shouldn't be long."

"Go with Ms. Higgins, Rina," Elena commanded, looking down at Sabrina with a mix of amusement and finality. "Behave yourself. I will come get you when we are done."

Sabrina watched in horror as Elena stepped seamlessly into the gap she had left in the circle, closing ranks with Julian and Sterling. The wall of black suits formed a barrier, shutting her out completely.

"Come along, sweetie," Martha said, pulling Sabrina away. "Let’s go find a nice spot to sit. I have some butterscotch in my purse if you finish that soda. Maybe we can play patty-cake."

Sabrina was towed away, her heels dragging slightly on the marble as she craned her neck, desperately trying to catch a snippet of what Sterling was saying. But the ambient noise of the party swallowed the conversation. She was losing it; she was losing the intel.

Martha led her to the crushed velvet armchair in the corner. She sat herself down on the adjacent sofa with a heavy sigh of relief, kicking off one of her pumps, and patted the cushion of the big chair. "Up you go," Martha ordered.

Sabrina glared at her, but the fight had drained out of her. Defeated, she clambered up into the massive chair. It was oversized, designed for a large man to smoke a cigar in, not for a petite woman in a tulle dress. When she sat all the way back, her knees didn't reach the edge of the cushion. Her legs stuck straight out, her pink sequined shoes dangling a good six inches off the floor. “What is patty-cake?” She had no idea what it was, but knew she didn’t want to do it. She slumped back against the velvet, the material scratching against her bare arms. She was trapped. She couldn't hear the merger details. She couldn't hear Julian. All she could hear was the heavy breathing of the Director of Accounting.

"You don't know patty-cake?" Martha blinked, her expression shifting from curiosity to genuine pity. She set her Chardonnay down on a coaster and leaned forward, invading Sabrina’s personal space. "Good heavens, child. What do they teach you in school? Just math and cursive? Do they still teach cursive? Every child knows patty-cake."

"I focused on cello and debate," Sabrina lied stiffly, clutching her plastic cup like a shield. "Games are a waste of productivity."

"Oh, listen to you," Martha chuckled, shaking her head. "You sound like a forty-year-old accountant with an ulcer. Put the cup down, honey. We need to loosen you up."

Martha gently but firmly pried the Sprite from Sabrina’s fingers and set it on the side table. Then, she held up her own pudgy, ring-adorned hands, palms facing out. "Come on," Martha commanded, "Hands up."

Sabrina stared at her crossing her arms and immediately felt uncomfortable doing so. "I am not doing that."

"Rina," Martha warned, her voice dropping into that "grandmother" tone again. "Don't be a sourpuss. Your aunt asked me to watch you, and I won't have you pouting in the corner. Hands up. Palms flat."

Sabrina ground her teeth. She looked over Martha’s shoulder. Across the room, she could see the back of Elena’s sleek black dress, her stupidly pert ass. Elena was nodding at Sterling, looking poised and professional, the woman playing her own part of the perfect executive. Meanwhile, Sabrina was being bullied into a nursery rhyme by the woman who usually filed her expense reports.

Defeated, Sabrina slowly lifted her hands, flattening her palms against Martha’s warm, soft ones.

"There. Now, it’s simple," Martha explained, speaking slowly as if to a toddler, "Clap your own hands, then clap mine. Then roll them like dough. Just follow me." Martha began to chant, her voice low but rhythmic. "Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker's man . . . " She clapped her hands, then reached out to slap Sabrina’s. Sabrina missed the beat, her coordination thrown off by the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Focus, Rina," Martha chided gently, resetting the rhythm, "Bake me a cake as fast as you can . . ."

Sabrina forced herself to comply. Clap. Slap. Clap. Slap. It was rhythmic, repetitive, and mind-numbingly stupid. She felt like a performing monkey.

"Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with a B," Martha sang, taking Sabrina’s small hand and using her finger to trace a 'B' on the palm.

Sabrina shivered at the touch.

"And put it in the oven for baby and me!" Martha finished with a flourish, clapping Sabrina’s hands together between her own.

"See?" Martha beamed, picking her wine back up. "That wasn't so hard, was it? It keeps the hands busy. You have a lot of nervous energy, dear."

Sabrina dropped her hands to her lap, her face burning hot. "It's inefficient," she muttered, "Why would you mark it with a B if the baby's name doesn't start with B?"

Martha laughed, popping a butterscotch candy into her mouth. She leaned back into the sofa, looking at Sabrina with a thoughtful, analytical gaze. "You know," Martha said, crunching on the candy, "You really do remind me of someone. Your aunt's boss. Have you ever met her or heard her talking to your sweet aunt on the phone?"

Sabrina’s head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, yes," Martha nodded, looking toward the group of executives where Elena it appeared she was holding court. "You have the exact same scowl. And the impatience! Always rushing, always analyzing, never just enjoying the moment. But that is part of being young and immature."

Martha took a sip of wine, oblivious to the fact that she was speaking to the Director herself.

"I’ve worked with Sabrina Halloway for five years," Martha confided, lowering her voice to a gossip's whisper, "Brilliant woman in specific circumstances, but absolutely miserable to be around. She snaps at people, interrupts them, treats everyone like they're incompetent . . . Just be mindful of others' feelings and, when you get older, you will be a fine young woman one day."

Sabrina opened her mouth to defend herself, to shout 'I am efficient, not miserable!', but the words died in her throat.

"It’s unbecoming of a grown woman," Martha continued, shaking her head sadly, "And it is certainly not cute on a little girl. You don't want to grow up to be like her, do you, Rina? Alone, angry, and so high-strung she can't make any friends?"

Sabrina sat paralyzed in the massive velvet chair, her legs dangling uselessly in the air. She gripped the arms of the chair, her knuckles turning white. She had come here to save her job, to prove she was indispensable. Instead, she was trapped in a corner, wearing pink tulle, listening to the company grandmother explain exactly why nobody liked her. The worst part was, as she looked across the room at her assistant manager, who was currently laughing at something Julian whispered, Sabrina realized that for the first time in years, things were running perfectly smoothly without her.

Sabrina sat paralyzed in the massive velvet chair, the words “alone” and “angry” burrowing under her skin. She wanted to scoff. She wanted to tell this pudgy bean-counter that she didn't need "friends" in the way Martha meant. She had her sorority sisters from college, didn't she? Sure, they were frenemies at best, conniving, mean bitches who only met up to compare engagement ring carats and see whose BMI had dropped, putting one another down just to feel better about themselves. But that was the game. That was how strong women sharpened each other.

And men? She wasn't lonely. She had plenty of men. She had a roster of fuck buddies, strictly transactional relationships that provided the necessary physical release without the mess. They never lasted long, and they never got overly emotional, exactly how she liked it. She had always viewed her isolation as a sign of superiority. She was lean, mean, and efficient, not needing others to be happy.

But hearing Martha say it, hearing her describe her life not as a triumph of focus, but as the sad, lonely existence of a woman who couldn't connect with a single soul, made the defense die in her throat.

Before she could spiral further, the wall of black suits across the room broke apart. Elena emerged from the group, walking alongside Julian Vance rather than a step behind him. She didn't look like some lowly, poor assistant manager; she looked like the glue holding the trio together.

"There they are," Elena said, her voice warm as she stopped in front of the velvet chair. She looked from Martha to Sabrina, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "I hope she wasn't too much trouble, Ms. Higgins. Rina can be a bit . . intense."

"Oh, not at all!" Martha pushed herself up from the sofa. "We played patty-cake and had a lovely chat about manners. She’s a sweet thing, really. Just needs a little direction." Martha looked down at the girl. "Remember what I said, Rina. Don't be a sourpuss. You don't want to end up bitter."

"I appreciate it," Elena said, extending a hand toward the chair. "Smile, you know good girls smile, come on, Rina. Hop down. It’s dinner time."

Sabrina glared at the hand, then at the floor. It was too high to step down gracefully. She had to scoot forward and slide off, or hop off. Deciding to slide she felt her tulle skirt bunching up around her waist for a second before her sequined flats hit the carpet with a clumsy thud. She straightened her dress, desperate to regain a shred of dignity, but Julian Vance spoke up, ignoring her entirely to address Elena.

"Elena," Julian said. "I just want to say . . . Your input on the Blackwood integration was insightful. I’m sure Sterling and I would agree that it’s rare to find someone who understands both the logistics and the people involved." He sighed. "Usually, when I bring this up with your current supervisor, for as long as that lasts . . . she starts quoting efficiency percentages until my eyes glaze over. You brought a human element to it. I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of you, Ms. Thorne."

Sabrina felt sick. They were erasing her legacy in real-time.

"Thank you, Mr. Vance," Elena said modestly, "I just want what’s best for the team."

"Well, let's get some food in the little one," Julian said, checking his watch, "She looks exhausted, and I for one am famished."

Elena put a hand on Sabrina’s shoulder, her fingers digging in. "Say thank you to Ms. Higgins for watching you, Rina. And say goodbye."

Sabrina stood frozen. Every fiber of her being rebelled.

Elena squeezed harder. "Rina."

Sabrina looked at Martha, who was waiting with an expectant, benevolent smile, the woman who pitied her "sad" life. "Thank you," Sabrina forced out, the words sounding strangled, "Ms. Higgins."

"You're very welcome, dear," Martha beamed. "Such a cute kid," she told the CEO as the group began to move, "A little odd, but cute. I bet she would have fun with my Sarah. Elena, I don’t want to presume, but what do you think of us setting up a play date?"

Sabrina choked on her own breath. A playdate? The sheer horror of the suggestion froze her blood. Being trapped in this ballroom was one thing; being dragged to a suburban house to play dolls with Martha Higgins’s tween granddaughter was a circle of hell she hadn't even known existed.

"I’m very busy with umm- ahh . . . Studies " Sabrina blurted out quickly, her voice pitching high in panic, “You know, school stuff like homework and reading."

"Nonsense," Elena cut in, her eyes lighting up with a sadistic delight. She looked at the older woman with a beaming smile. "Oh, that is such a generous offer! I think that is exactly what Rina needs. She spends far too much time alone with her coloring books. She needs to socialize with girls her own age."

"It’s settled, then!" Martha clapped her hands together softly. "Sarah has a lovely collection of American Girl dolls. They can have a tea party. I’ll text you the details on Monday, Elena."

"We look forward to it," Elena cooed.

Sabrina looked up at her assistant, her eyes wide with betrayal. “You wouldn't dare,” she mouthed silently.

Elena just winked at her, a quick, imperceptible flutter of her lashes, before turning back to the men.

"Socializing is key to development," Julian Vance agreed, nodding sagely as if they weren't discussing the Director of Operations playing with dolls. "Good for the character. Builds the 'human element,' right?"

Reaching out, Elena gave a light squeeze to the broad shouldered man's forearm, her touch lingering. "Exactly," Elena said. Her other hand placed a firm touch on the small of Sabrina’s back, propelling her forward. "Now, let’s eat. Rina gets cranky when her blood sugar drops."

Sabrina walked toward the dining area, her legs feeling like lead. She wasn't just losing her job; she was losing her adulthood. Monday wasn't going to be a board meeting; it was going to be a tea party. She resolved herself to fire her subordinate the moment she could speak to HR.

"Here we are," Elena announced as they reached the set tables. She took charge of the seating arrangements immediately. "Mr. Sterling, why don't you sit there? Julian, you take the center.” Her addressing him less formally for the first time, hoping it didn’t come across as rude like her boss often said it was when she did it with her all while the women continued to call the CEO by his own given name with little warmth. “Martha, you can take the end on the left, next to my niece since she seems so taken by you."

That left the center seat on the opposite side for Sabrina, directly across from Julian Vance. Martha sat to her left, and Elena sat to her right.

Elena pulled out the chair for her. It was a standard banquet chair, perfectly accessible. Sabrina stepped forward, ready to sit with as much dignity as she could muster after the playdate ambush. But before she could bend her knees, she felt Elena’s hands clamp firmly around her waist.

"What do you think you're-" Sabrina started to snap. Before she could finish, Elena hoisted her into the air. Sabrina gasped, her feet kicking uselessly for a split second as she was physically lifted and deposited onto the cushioned seat. The sensation of being manhandled, of being so light that her assistant could lift her without breaking a sweat, made her skin crawl. She hated being touched, and the casual ease of the lift reminded her painfully of her physical vulnerability. "Put me down!" Sabrina hissed, her face flaming as she scrambled to adjust her dress which had bunched up during the flight. "I can sit my own fucking self!"

"Watch your language, Rina," Elena admonished smoothly, sliding the chair in until Sabrina’s stomach pressed against the linen tablecloth. She patted Sabrina’s shoulder. "I’m just helping. I know how tired you get after a long walk. Those little legs aren't used to keeping up with adults. If you keep speaking like that we are going to the bathroom to wash your mouth out with soap. That is an adult word you shouldn’t be using.”

Sabrina froze, her mouth snapping shut with an audible click. The threat was so archaic, so humiliatingly juvenile, that her brain momentarily short-circuited. She looked at Elena’s face and saw zero hesitation. ‘She would do it,’ Sabrina realized with horror. ‘She would drag me into the Grand Meridian restroom and scrub my tongue like an unruly toddler.’

"Quite right," Martha agreed from the left, nodding sagely as she unfolded her napkin. "My Sarah learned that lesson the hard way. Ivory soap tastes terrible, but she stopped swearing, didn't she? You have to nip that behavior in the bud, Elena."

"Good for you, Ms. Thorne," Edgar Sterling added, looking over his spectacles with approval. "Too many guardians let that slide these days. Discipline is love, I always say. A clean mouth makes for a clean mind."

Sabrina looked around the table. She was surrounded by three adults who all agreed that she, a twenty-six-year-old executive, deserved to have her mouth washed out for cursing. She slumped in her chair, defeated by the sheer insanity of the consensus.

A waiter appeared instantly, holding the heavy, leather-bound menus. He handed one to Martha, one to Elena, and then turned to the men.

"And for the young lady?" Edgar Sterling asked, looking over his spectacles. He didn't even glance at the leather menu the waiter was offering Sabrina. "Bring her a kid's menu. Do you have the ones with the crayons?"

"We do, sir," the waiter nodded.

"I don't need crayons," Sabrina muttered, her voice significantly quieter than before, the threat of the soap still lingering in her mind, "I can read a menu."

"I’ll take one," Julian Vance interrupted, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. He leaned across the table, winking at Sabrina as if she couldn't hear him, though he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "I find the puzzles relaxing. I’ll happily color with the girl. It keeps the mind sharp, doesn't it, Sterling?"

Sterling chuckled, clearly pleased by the family-friendly atmosphere Julian was fostering. "Indeed it does. Shows a good balance."

The waiter returned a moment later, bypassing Sabrina with the leather menu and sliding a single sheet of paper and a small box of crayons in front of her. He did the same for Julian, putting it on top of his leather bound menu.

Sabrina stared down at the paper. It featured a maze shaped like a lobster, a word search, and a Tic-Tac-Toe grid.

"Now," the waiter said, taking out his pad. "Tonight’s special selections for the charity are the Jumbo Shrimp with Scallops served over a saffron risotto, or the Personal Beef Wellington with honey-glazed rosemary carrots."

Sabrina’s stomach growled. The Wellington sounded divine. She opened her mouth to order.

"I'll take the Wellington, rare," Julian said.

"Same for me," Sterling added.

"And the lady?" the waiter asked, looking at Sabrina.

"I'll have the Wel-"

"She’ll have the chicken fingers," Elena cut in effortlessly, not even looking up from her own menu, her index finger pressing into the kids menu in front of her fake niece, pointing to the kiddie options. "With the mac and cheese. And keep the Sprite coming, please."

"But, I want the steak," Sabrina protested, looking at Elena with genuine outrage.

"The Wellington is too rich for you, Rina," Elena said, closing her menu and handing it to the waiter. "And after that language? You're lucky you're getting dessert later. Chicken fingers are a safe bet; you can be so picky."

"Excellent choice," the waiter said, snatching the opportunity away before Sabrina could cause a scene. He disappeared toward the kitchen, not wanting to be involved in a conversation evolving an upset child.

Sabrina sat fuming, gripping a blue crayon so hard it threatened to snap. Across the table, Julian Vance picked up a red crayon. He reached across, drawing a large X in the center of Sabrina’s Tic-Tac-Toe grid.

"Your move, Rina," Julian said with a benevolent smile, before turning his head slightly to address Elena. "So, Elena, regarding the staffing for the Blackwood account... I was thinking we might need to restructure the oversight committee."

Sabrina’s ears perked up. Restructure the oversight committee? That was her committee. She needed to hear this. She leaned in, trying to catch the details.

"I think that's wise," Elena replied, her voice calm and professional. "Current leadership is . . . stretched thin."

Sabrina angrily drew an O in the corner of the grid, straining to listen.

"And what about you, young lady?" Edgar Sterling’s voice boomed, cutting through the intel Sabrina was trying to gather. "Starting fourth grade, I heard? That’s the year they start the multiplication tables in earnest, if I recall what they do in public school."

Sabrina blinked, her focus fracturing. "Um. Yes," she said, having no idea.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Sterling challenged, looking amused. "What is seven times eight?"

"Fifty-six," Sabrina answered automatically, her eyes darting back to Julian, who was saying something about 'redundancies in middle management.'

"Good," Sterling nodded, "Nine times six?"

"Fifty-four," she muttered. Julian was drawing another X on her paper. He was blocking her win.

"Twelve times twelve?" Sterling pressed.

"One forty-four," Sabrina said, distracted. Julian was saying, “Halloway is brilliant, but perhaps too rigid for the transition phase . . .”

"What is eight times seven?" Sterling asked again, testing her focus.

"Forty-eight," Sabrina said, watching Julian’s lips move as he spoke to Elena.

There was a pause at the table.

Sabrina snapped her attention back to Sterling. "Wait. No. Fifty-six. I meant fifty-six."

Sterling smiled, a condescending, pitying expression settling on his face. He reached over and patted her hand, which was resting near the crayon box.

"Don't worry, my dear," Sterling said kindly, "It’s a lot of pressure with everyone watching. And frankly . . ." He glanced at Julian and then at Elena. "This is the trouble with the public school system in general. They just don't drill the fundamentals like they used to. At my Blackwood Academy, where my grandsons go, the fourth graders are doing pre-algebra."

"She’s a bright girl, Mr. Sterling," Elena said, coming to her defense with a tone that suggested she was covering for a slow child. "She just gets easily distracted. Don't you, Rina?"

"Your move," Julian said softly, tapping the paper where he had just placed his third X, winning the game while Sabrina was trying to do math and save her career at the same time. "Tic-Tac-Toe."

Sabrina looked down at the paper. She had lost. She looked at Sterling, who now seemed to think she was bad at math. She looked at Elena, who was eating a breadstick with the serenity of a saint.

The waiter arrived and placed a plastic bowl of bright orange macaroni and cheese in front of her.

"Enjoy," the waiter said.

Sabrina stared at the plastic bowl of neon-orange macaroni. It was the final insult. The smell of the saffron risotto wafting from the waiter’s tray was intoxicating, rich and buttery, calling to her refined tastes. She did not eat pasta meant for toddlers. "I am not eating this," Sabrina announced, her voice trembling with rage. She shoved the bowl away with enough force that it skidded across the linen tablecloth, stopping inches from the edge in front of Julian, threatening to fall off into his lap.

She looked at Elena, her eyes burning with defiance. "I'm not a child, and I demand to be treated with respect! I want the scallops and risotto!" Her mouth watered just saying it, the craving for a real meal overpowering her common sense, it hitting her extra hard when she hadn't eaten all day leaving her hangry for a number of reasons.

The table went silent. Julian raised an eyebrow, looking amused by the "little gourmand." Sterling, however, looked disappointed by the lack of gratitude.

"That is quite enough," Elena said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly low register when she saw their client's expression. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Excuse us, gentlemen. Rina needs a reset."

Elena moved with lightning speed, grabbing Sabrina by the upper arm. Her grip was iron. She hauled her work superior and current pretend niece out of the chair, not waiting for her to find her footing.

"I’ll come with you," Martha said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin and standing up. "Sometimes it takes two with a tantrum this size. Demanding scallops like a little princess . . . Honestly."

"I am not having a tantrum!" Sabrina screamed as she was dragged away from the table, her feet skidding on the carpet, enough that one of the little ballet flats came loose "I just want dinner! Let go of me!"

Elena didn't answer. She marched Sabrina across the ballroom, as Martha stopped to pick up the lost footwear as they moved through the lobby, and into the ladies' room. It was an opulent space with marble floors and gold fixtures, currently empty.

Elena spun Sabrina around and backed her against the sink counter. "Soap," Elena muttered, reaching for the dispenser, "I warned you about that mouth."

"Now, Elena," Martha tutted, closing the heavy restroom door and locking it. She looked at Sabrina with a critical, grandmotherly eye. "Soap is for bad words, certainly. But throwing food? Screaming at the table? Demanding adult food you probably won't even finish? That requires a firmer hand. If that were my Sarah, she’d be over my knee before the door clicked shut. It worked on my sons and I know it will work on your little one. She isn’t a bad girl; she’s just having a bad moment."

Elena paused, the soap dispenser in her hand. She looked from Martha to Sabrina, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You’re right. She needs to learn her place."

"No!" Sabrina panicked, backing up until the marble dug into her spine. "You can't touch me! I am your boss! I’m in charge!!"

Martha shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a bad attitude. She wasn’t acting so spoiled earlier. You have to break that delusion."

"I intend to," Elena said.

Before Sabrina could dart for the stall, Elena grabbed her wrist and spun her around. With a strength that Sabrina in her diminished, petite state could not match, Elena sat on a velvet vanity bench and yanked Sabrina down across her lap.

"Let me go!" Sabrina shrieked, kicking her legs. But she was too light, too small. Elena’s arm clamped across her back like a steel bar, pinning her in place.

The first smack landed hard against the tulle and silk of her dress.

"Ow!" Sabrina gasped, the shock of it more painful than the sting.

"Who are you?" Elena demanded, her voice calm and authoritative.

"What!?!" Sabrina yelled, and immediately received two sharp swats in rapid succession.

"Not listening only makes things worse, Rina," Martha advised from the sinks, putting the girl's shoe on the floor next to her before checking her lipstick in the mirror as if this were a normal occurrence. "Tell your Auntie the truth."

"I am telling the truth! I'm a director." Sabrina sobbed.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The pain was real, sharp, and humiliating. Sabrina realized with terrifying clarity that she couldn't overpower Elena. She was trapped in a child’s body, being disciplined by her subordinate, and the only way to make it stop was to surrender.

“Hmmm . . .” Martha started thinking about the girl's claim. “You know I’m a director of a whole division; it is cute that you want to be like me, but right now we need the truth.”

"Who are you?" Elena asked again, her hand raised.

"I-" Sabrina choked, her resolve crumbling under the physical reality of her helplessness. "I'm Rina."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty-six!"

Smack!

"Try again," Elena warned, "Martha, how old does she act?"

"She’s ten but right now, she isn't acting like a big girl, I'd say," Martha chimed in.

"I'm ten!" Sabrina cried out, desperate to stop the stinging. "I'm ten years old!"

"And what grade are you in?" Elena pressed.

"I have a Master's degree!"

Smack. Smack.

"Fourth grade!" Sabrina wailed, tears streaming down her face. "I'm starting fourth grade!"

"And who is in charge?" Elena asked, her hand resting on Sabrina’s back, heavy and dominant.

"You are," Sabrina whispered into her own lap.

"And who am I?"

Smack. Smack.

Sniffling, Sabrina shook her head rapidly ready to say whatever her attacker wanted to stop the assault. “My Auntie . . . ”

“Good, now will you be a good girl!?”

Smack.

Squirming, trying to get free but finding no means of freedom, Sabrina tried to reach behind her to cover her sore rear end. "I will be a good girl," Sabrina recited, the words tasting like bile, "I'll be a good girl."

Elena smoothed down Sabrina’s skirt to cover the little girl's panties and lifted her upright. Sabrina stood there, face red, eyes wet, trembling with residual shock. She felt stripped of everything: Her title, her age, her dignity.

"Much better," Martha said, nodding approvingly, "Now, wash your face. We have a dinner to finish."

Ten minutes later, a subdued, red-eyed Sabrina was placed back into her chair at the table. She didn't argue when Elena tucked a napkin into her collar. She didn't speak when the waiter refilled her Sprite. She just picked up a chicken finger with a trembling hand and ate it, staring at the tablecloth.

"Everything alright?" Julian asked, looking at the silent girl.

"Much better," Elena said brightly, cutting into her beef wellington. "We just needed to get on the same page."

Edgar Sterling wiped his mouth, looking at Sabrina with a contemplative expression.

"You know," Sterling said, leaning back. "It’s hard to find that kind of discipline these days. Most parents let the children run the asylum. But, you . . . You have control, Elena. And the girl, despite her outbursts, has a spark. She’s bright."

He took a sip of wine. "Blackwood Academy prides itself on two things: academic rigor and character development. We take bright, spirited girls like little Rina here, and we mold them. We give them the structure they crave."

Sabrina chewed her macaroni, keeping her eyes down.

"I think she would be a perfect fit," Sterling continued. "In fact, I’d like to invite you both to tour the campus, as early as tomorrow if you like. I’m sure we have an opening in the fourth-grade. I think seeing the facility might help you decide if it’s the right environment for her to succeed."

Sabrina’s head snapped up. Elementary school? He wanted to send her to an elementary school?

"That is a very generous offer, Mr. Sterling," Elena said, feigning surprise, "We wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense," Sterling insisted, "I want to help. Bring her by. Julian can come along, and we can talk about the merger while the headmistress assesses Rina."

Sabrina looked at Elena, waiting for her to say no. But Elena was smiling.

"We would be honored," Elena said.

Sabrina’s mind raced. She should scream. She should flip the table. But then she looked at Julian Vance. He was nodding, looking impressed by Elena’s ability to secure such a personal invitation from the client.

If Sabrina refused . . . if she threw another fit here, things could end badly for her. If she agreed, and then she didn’t show . . . Sterling would be insulted. The merger talks would stall. Elena would be to blame, looking incompetent, but the department, Sabrina’s department, would suffer. She was sure when she was looking back like herself and having the time to formulate a plan, she could save herself and the department. Just not the vile, dark haired woman that dared to treat her like this.

‘I have to go.’ Sabrina reasoned, clutching her fork. ‘If I don't go, things only get better for me and worse for the giraffe. Once the papers are signed, I’ll fire Elena and get my life back.’ It was a desperate, delusional rationalization, but it was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

"What do you say, Rina?" Sterling asked, smiling at her, "Would you like to come see my school?"

Sabrina looked at the man who held her company’s future in his hands. She looked at Elena, who was daring her to play along.

"Yes, sir," Sabrina whispered, defeated. "I would like that."

Chapter Seven

The gala didn’t just fade away as the evening went on; it was dismissed by Edgar Sterling himself. He rose from the table, moving closer to the entrance doors for the reserved room, a hotel employee coming over to hand him a microphone, his voice booming comfortably over the remnants of dessert and the low murmur of tired conversation. "I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight," the spectacled man said, his gaze sweeping over the room, him taking the time to nod and smile at each table in turn, him beaming at the crowd as he unbuttoned his suit jacket. "Thank you for purchasing a plate, or in some cases, a whole table. Every dollar raised tonight is going straight to the foundation, and that is something you should all be proud of."

He raised his glass, catching the light of the chandeliers. "For those of you heading home, drive safe. For the wise ones who booked a room upstairs . . . I’ll see you at the hotel bar in ten minutes."

Applause rippled through the room. For Sabrina, it was the sound of salvation. It meant the night was over. It meant she could finally drop the act, get back to her car, and forget this nightmare ever happened. She started to push her chair back, eager to bolt for the exit, but the humiliation, it seemed, was just getting its second wind.

Vance was there before she could even stand.

"Allow me," he said, pulling Elena's chair out first, ignoring Sabrina entirely.

Sabrina froze, hovering awkwardly halfway out of her seat, forced to push her own chair back with the backs of her legs while Vance offered Elena a hand up like she was royalty.

"Thank you, Mr. Vance," Elena said softly, smoothing her dress.

"Please, call me Julian," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Mr. Vance is for the office. I would like to think we can move past that formality when at a social event. And I insist on walking you to your car. The lot can be chaotic."

"We don't need-" Sabrina started to say, ready to snap that they knew the way.

"We would appreciate that," Elena interrupted, placing a warning hand on Sabrina’s head before running her fingers through one of the pigtails, sliding along the ribbon in her hair.

They moved toward the exit, the cool night air hitting them as they stepped out of the venue. The warning of the oncoming rain was present now. The moment they cleared the doors, Julian made his move. He didn't just walk beside them; he captured Elena’s hand, his fingers interlacing with hers in a way that was far too intimate for a business acquaintance.

Sabrina watched the contact, her stomach churning with rage and jealousy. She didn't even fully understand the reason, she was positive she didn’t have any attraction to the judgmental rich prick, but seeing him treat her assistant like a prize while ignoring the woman who signed the contracts that brought in the money made her blood boil.

To maintain the charade, Elena reached out with her free hand and gripped Sabrina’s. "Come along, sweetie," Elena cooed, tightening her grip.

The result was a grotesque human chain: Julian, the charming suitor; Elena, the demure guardian; and Sabrina, dragged along like a toddler with a sticky face. Her not resisting the hand holding after the encounter in the ladies room and being so worn out from the stress of the night and long day at the office.

"So," Julian said, swinging Elena’s hand slightly as they walked down the paved path. "When you aren't chaperoning spirited nieces or managing events, what does a beautiful lady like yourself do?"

Sabrina squeezed Elena’s hand hard, trying to convey her fury through bone compression. ‘She works for me,’ Sabrina thought venomously. ‘She organizes my calendar. She doesn't have a life. Or need a life.’

Julian didn't look at Sabrina. He was entirely focused on the woman in the middle. "Are you a wine and jazz kind of woman? Or more of a hiking boots and trails type?"

Elena glanced down at her heeled feet not even flinching at Sabrina's weak attempt at a death grip. She just squeezed back, her hold like a vice, while smiling up at Julian. "Oh, I keep things simple. I like quiet nights, a good book or movie. But when the opportunity presents itself, I'm like most women, enjoying a chance to get dolled up. Though I admit, I don't get out as much as I should. Work keeps me rather busy."

"We'll have to change that," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. "You need someone to show you there's more to life than work."

Sabrina gagged internally. They reached the car–her car–her beautiful, customized luxury sedan that Elena had driven earlier. Instinct took over. The moment they stopped, Sabrina dropped Elena’s hand and reached for the front passenger door handle.

Elena was faster.

Before Sabrina’s fingers could graze the chrome, Elena stepped in front of her, blocking the path with her hip, and popped open the rear door. "Backseat, sweetie," Elena said, her voice sugary but her eyes hard.

Sabrina opened her mouth to snap, but Julian spoke up, his brow furrowing as he looked from Sabrina to the cavernous leather interior of the back seat.

"Wait," he said, pausing with his hand on the roof, "Do you have a booster for her? Or a car seat?"

Sabrina froze. She stared at him, waiting for the punchline to the mean spirited joke. "She looks a little small for just the belt," Julian continued, his tone genuinely concerned, "The shoulder strap is going to cut right across her neck."

"We usually have one," Elena lied, not nearly as smoothly or as quickly as she would have liked. "But her mother, my sister . . . She has it in her SUV right now. "

Julian looked uneasy. "You really need to be careful, Elena. You have to keep your little niece safe. The highway can be dangerous at this hour."

"I know," Elena said, sounding suitably chastised, "I'll pick a new one up first thing in the morning."

She ushered Sabrina in. Sabrina climbed into the backseat, her cheeks burning, her frilly skirt bunching up around her legs. She scowled, crossing her arms, but the humiliation wasn't over.

Elena leaned into the backseat, reaching right over the fake child.

"What are you doing?" Sabrina hissed.

"Safety first," Elena muttered. She grabbed the seatbelt, pulled it across Sabrina’s chest, and clicked it into the buckle herself. She gave the strap a firm tug to tighten it, effectively pinning Sabrina against the leather.

Elena pulled back, hand on the door but not closing it yet. Through the open door, Sabrina watched them say a lingering goodbye, a soft touch on the arm.

“You know . . .” Julian rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uneasy about the confession he was about to say. “I was tempted to invite you back up to my room.”

Tapping her index finger to her lipsticked lips, Elena leaned closer to her company's leader. “Were tempted, as in past tense?”

Julian chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Yeah, I'm now tempted to go home with you, but I think that would be crossing a line. Not just professionally, but with your niece with you . . . Even if it would be nice.”

Placing her palm on the tall man’s chest, thanks to her footwear she was eye level with the man.”Julian, are you flirting with me?” she smiled coyly. He took a half step back, but his demeanor didn’t show he was fully closed off. ”For at least one of us, it is sad you won't give in to that temptation, though I can see the appeal of sleeping my way to the top.”

“An interesting strategy. Think it will work?”

Elena shook her head laughing, her smile easily reaching her eyes. “No, you have too much–or is it… the right amount of–integrity.”

Julian shook his head in tandem. “You have your niece for the week, right?

Elena nodded her head not sure where the question was leading to.

“I understand Rina is going on a playdate with Ms. Higgins' granddaughter for a tea party. Perhaps you could use a plus one?

The interaction was making Sabrina sick. ‘If Thorne wants to slut it up, why is she pussy footing around it?’ she thought, the topic of the infuriating playdate catching her attention.”I’m not going to that!” she yelled so both those outside the car could hear. Instead of verbal response, the dark haired woman shut the car door, sealing her inside buckled tightly in.

“Sorry about her, she is tired after such an eventful evening.”

Inside the car Sabrina, seethed watching the two continue to talk before seemingly agreeing to something before Elena got into the driver's seat.

"You," Sabrina seethed as the engine purred to life, "are fired. Re-hired, just so I can fire you again. And fucking the CEO isn’t going to save you."

"Buckle up," Elena said calmly, checking her mirrors, "Oh, wait. I already did that for you."

They pulled out of the lot, leaving Julian waving in the rearview mirror. Sabrina was just beginning to construct a lecture on insubordination that would peel the paint off the walls when blue and red lights exploded in the cabin.

A siren chirped behind them.

"Unbelievable," Sabrina groaned. "You're speeding? In my car?"

"I was doing thirty," Elena said, frowning. She pulled over to the curb.

The officer who approached the window looked bored. He shined his flashlight into the front, then immediately into the back, the beam landing square on Sabrina’s face.

"License and registration," the officer said. "Are you aware the tint on your car is too dark? As in, illegal? It's way too dark."

"It's factory custom!" Sabrina shouted from the back.

The officer ignored her. He took Elena’s license and the registration Sabrina had to direct Elena to find in the glove box. He walked away, ran the numbers, and returned with a clipboard.

"I'm writing you a citation for the tint," the officer said to Elena. "And a second citation for you not properly securing your little one."

Elena blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Unrestrained child," the officer said, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "She's not in a booster seat."

Something inside Sabrina snapped. The wire holding her sanity together frayed and parted. She lunged forward against the seatbelt.

"Are you blind?" she shrieked. "I am twenty-six years old! I am a grown woman! I own this car, and I make millions at my job. The company that probably pays your precinct's taxes! I don't need a damn booster seat!"

The officer looked at her. He looked at the pigtails. He looked at the oversized bow on her dress. He looked at how her feet barely touched the floor mats, he mostly looked bored.

His expression didn't change.

"Ma'am," he deadpanned, "The law is based on height and weight, not age. You don't meet the requirements. Sit back against the seat." he said, not believing the girl or caring.

He ripped the ticket off the pad and handed it to Elena. "Drive safe. And get a booster carseat for the kid." He walked away.

Silence filled the car. It was heavy, thick, and suffocating. Elena placed the tickets on the dashboard. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. The officer of the State had just legally notified Sabrina that she needed to sit in a booster or carseat, like a child. She merged back onto the road. To break the silence, she reached out and turned on the radio. A bubbly, vapid pop song blasted through the high-end speakers, something about teenage heartbreak and glitter.

"Turn this garbage off," Sabrina snapped, her voice trembling with rage. "Put on The Market Watch podcast. I need to check the Asian markets."

Elena did reach for the dial, but only to turn the volume up a notch."No," Elena replied.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no." Elena caught Sabrina’s eye in the rearview mirror. "Driver picks the music. The passenger shuts their cakehole."

Sabrina gasped, too shocked to retort. She turned to stare out the window, plotting her revenge, when she realized the skyline was wrong. The skyscrapers were fading behind them. They were passing strip malls and gas stations.

"Where are you going?" Sabrina demanded. "My penthouse is to the north. You're heading west."

"We aren't going to your penthouse," Elena said.

"Turn around. Take me home. That is a direct order."

"I can't," Elena said reasonably, "Think about it, Sabrina. You have no ID. You have no keys. You have no purse. And your clothes are back at my place. Right now, you're dressed like a doll at a tea party." Elena signaled a turn into a neighborhood of older, modest homes. "Your building has a doorman and security," Elena continued. "Do you really think they're going to let you waltz in looking like that, screaming that you're renting the penthouse? They'll call the police. And frankly, after that last ticket, I don't think you want to talk to the police again tonight."

Sabrina slumped back. The logic was right, she didn’t personally know the door man or the security despite seeing the same faces for years, and that meant they wouldn't know her. Not when her own boss didn't bat an eye, and the old bat had taken one look at her and was convinced she was just a child; it made her want to scream.

Elena led her up the walkway and unlocked the front door. The air inside smelled of vanilla and fresh linens, a stark contrast to the stale anger radiating off Sabrina, thanks to the aggressive air fresheners plugged into every outlet.

"Once more, welcome to my humble abode," Elena said, tossing her keys, complete with Sabrina’s luxury car fob attached, into a ceramic bowl near the door. The clatter sounded far too aggressive for the eventful evening.

Elena pointed to the stairs. "Up and first door on the left. You can sleep in there; it is where you got changed. My niece's room before they moved out of state, if you recall."

Sabrina walked to the stairs and craned her neck to look up, but her movement was awkward. After years of strictly wearing high heeled stilettos, her achilles tendons had shortened significantly. Being forced into flat shoes for hours was agonizing; her calves seized up if she stood flat-footed.

To compensate, she found herself walking on the balls of her feet, bouncing slightly with her knees pressed together to keep the frilly dress from swishing too much.

Elena watched her tip-toe toward the landing, a small smirk touching her lips. "Half-bath is under the stairs, Sabrina. Full bathroom is across the hall from where you're sleeping. You don't have to hold it. You look like you're doing the potty dance."

Sabrina whipped around, her face flaming. "I do not need to use the potty! I mean restroom . . . My legs hurt because these hideous shoes offer no arch support!"

"Right," Elena said, clearly not believing her, "Well, you know where things are."

Sabrina hobbled up the steps, wincing, and peered into the room on the left. It was exactly as she remembered from earlier: a nightmare in pastel pink. There were stuffed animals on the bed, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and a rug shaped like a cloud.

"I am not," Sabrina said, enunciating every word, "sleeping in a nursery."

"It's the only other bed I have," Elena said from the bottom of the stairs, kicking off her heels and rubbing her own aching feet. "Besides, you already took a nap there, unless you prefer sleeping on the floor."

Sabrina turned away from the pink room. Her eyes drifted down the hall to the open door at the end, the master bedroom. She could see the edge of a queen-sized bed with a normal, grey duvet.

"I'll take that one," Sabrina said, pointing to the Master Bedroom. "You can sleep on the couch."

Elena stopped, rubbing her foot. She looked at the stairs, at the woman at the top of the stairs. The woman who had been disciplined, humiliated, ticketed, and legally classified as a child, bouncing on her toes like a toddler needing a toilet, yet still had the audacity to demand the homeowner’s bed.

"Is that so?" Elena asked softly, her voice devoid of the subservience Sabrina was used to at the office. She wasn't going to move to vacate her own room. She didn't even look angry. She just looked like a parent waiting for a tantrum to run its course. "We can discuss your delusions of grandeur after you’ve washed up. The bathroom is right there. And Rina? Don't forget to wash your hands."

Sabrina opened her mouth to argue, to fire her again, to scream that she was the Director of Operations at Aegis Strategic Logistics, a woman who commanded entire fleets and negotiated international shipping contracts, but a sharp cramp in her calf and the undeniable pressure in her bladder kept her from exploding on her assistant. “My name is Sabrina . . . ” She said, dragging out her name, even annoyed at herself for saying her own first name instead of her family name like her subordinate was supposed to use. With a huff that blew a stray hair out of her face, she spun around, wincing as her heels didn't touch the floor, and stomped on her tiptoes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

The moment the lock clicked, Elena moved. She didn't go to the master bedroom to pack her things. Instead, she walked briskly into the nursery.

On the floor, in a discarded heap where Sabrina had frantically changed hours ago, lay Sabrina's expensive padded bra and matching lace thong. Elena scooped them up with a shake of her head. They wouldn’t do for progressing things. She tossed them into the hamper in the hallway, burying them under a pile of towels.

She checked the closet. Sabrina’s power suit was hanging there, looking like a shell of the authority Sabrina thought she still held. Elena left it. It was a taunt, really. Close enough to see, but useless for sleeping. The heels and the purse, however, were safely stowed in the living room closet downstairs, behind some jackets.

The bathroom door creaked open. Sabrina emerged, her face freshly scrubbed; her makeup had been removed long ago. She was still doing the awkward, bouncing walk, her hands smoothing down the front of the frilly dress.

"I feel disgusting," Sabrina muttered, entering the pink room and kicking the door stop so the door drifted shut, though not all the way. "I need my silk pajamas at home. Where is my purse? We can still get there before midnight."

"You misplaced it. Honestly, if you had paid attention rather than storming into a house that isn’t yours, this whole Rina situation would have been avoided," Elena said, leaning against the dresser, "And you aren't getting it tonight unless you suddenly remember where you misplaced it. I have something for you; you can sleep in this."

Elena tossed a garment onto the bed. It was a nightgown, a light lilac purple cotton with small, faded white ducks printed on the hem. It belonged to her niece during her 'awkward growth spurt' phase, meaning it would fit Sabrina, but it was hardly high fashion.

Sabrina stared at it with genuine horror. "I am not wearing that. I sleep in silk or I sleep in nothing. I’ll just sleep nude."

She reached for the zipper of her dress, struggling to reach it past the oversized bow.

"Absolutely not," Elena said, her tone sharp enough to make Sabrina pause. "You are not sleeping naked in my niece's bed. That is unsanitary and disrespectful. You will wear the nightgown."

"It has ducks on it, Elena!"

"And so what? It's cute and you know it. Put it on, or I’ll put it on for you. And considering how tired you look, I don't think you want to wrestle me for it. Not after your negligence got me a ticket for the tint on your car."

Sabrina glared, her hands trembling from exhaustion, her memory plenty sharp to remember how she had been manhandled in the bathroom; her rear was still a bit sore from the encounter. The fight had drained out of her with adrenaline. She was in a stranger's house and technically she had no car, no money, and her feet felt like they were on fire.

"Fine," she spat.

She unzipped the dress and let it pool around her ankles, stepping out of it with her strange, tiptoed gait. She was left standing in the white camisole and the plain, full-coverage cotton panties Elena had forced her into earlier. She snatched the nightgown from the bed and pulled it over her head. It was soft, smelling of lavender detergent, but she refused to admit it was comfortable.

"Happy?" Sabrina asked, the nightgown falling to her knees, making her look even smaller.

"Ecstatic," Elena deadpanned.

Sabrina hobbled over to the corner of the room where a child-sized white vanity table sat. It was the only place to sit other than the bed. She collapsed onto the small, cushioned stool. Tonight, she had sat in some chairs that left her feet dangling and now, here in the child's bedroom, she found a chair the right height for someone vertically challenged like her.

"My feet are ruined," Sabrina moaned, looking at her reflection in the oval mirror bordered by painted flowers, "I'm going to need physical therapy. And this hair . . . I look ridiculous." She reached up to tug at the ribbons, but her fingers were clumsy with fatigue. She fumbled with the knot, pulling it tighter by mistake. "Ow! Damnit!"

"Stop before you rip it out," Elena said. Before Sabrina could protest, Elena moved behind her. "Hands down."

Sabrina hesitated, watching Elena’s reflection in the mirror, then dropped her hands to her lap. Elena’s fingers were deft and gentle. She untied the ribbons, sliding the silk out of the hair, and carefully unwound the elastic bands.

You have far too many knots in your hair," Elena murmured, not unkindly. She picked up a paddle brush from the vanity, a pink one, naturally. "Hold still."

Sabrina braced herself for pain, but it didn't come. Elena started at the ends, gently working through the tangles created by the teasing and her hair bouncing annoyingly as she walked in the child-like hair style. The rhythm was slow and methodical. Brush, smooth, brush, smooth.

Sabrina’s eyes fluttered. The tension in her shoulders, which she had been carrying like a weight since the first moment she saw the tulle dress she was to wear began to melt. The sensation of the bristles scratching lightly against her scalp sent a shiver down her spine, not of fear, but of comfort.

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of the brush moving through her hair. Sabrina stared at her own reflection, her vision blurring slightly. For a second, it wasn't Elena standing behind her. It was a memory, warm and golden. She was seven years old, sitting on the floor of her childhood bedroom. Her mother was behind her, brushing her hair before bed, humming a song Sabrina couldn't quite remember anymore. It was a feeling of being safe. Of being small, but protected. Of being cared for without a contract or an agenda.

"There," Elena whispered, the word pulling Sabrina back from the edge of sleep, "All done."

Sabrina blinked, the memory fading but the feeling lingering in her chest, a strange ache she hadn't felt in years. She looked in the mirror. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, framing her face which, stripped of so much of herself, even her regular scowl, she found herself looking and feeling surprisingly younger but for the first time it wasn’t wholly negative to her overly tired exhausted mind.

"I-" Sabrina started, her voice lacking its usual venom. She cleared her throat, trying to find her inner, in-control self again, but nothing came other than more weariness.

"Come on," Elena said, placing the brush back on the vanity with a soft clatter. She tapped the mattress behind her. "Up."

Sabrina didn't have the energy to argue about being ordered around. Her feet were throbbing in time with her heartbeat, and the adrenaline crash had left her limbs feeling like lead. She stood up, doing her awkward, tiptoe shuffle over to the bed, and climbed in.

The mattress was softer than she preferred; she liked her beds firm enough to bounce a quarter off. The sheets were jersey cotton, not the high-thread-count Egyptian she purchased for her own bed at home. But as she sank into the pillows, a groan of pure, unadulterated relief escaped her lips.

Elena moved instinctively. It was muscle memory from years of watching her niece. She reached down, grabbed the edge of the duvet, and pulled it up to Sabrina’s chin, smoothing out the wrinkles over her shoulders. She even tucked the corners in tight around Sabrina’s sides, creating a warm, restrictive cocoon.

Sabrina blinked up at her, feeling oddly comfortable. It was a sensation she usually associated with the third glass of Pinot Noir, not a child’s bedroom in the suburbs.

"I need a drink," Sabrina mumbled, her eyes heavy, "I should have had more wine at the gala. Then maybe none of this would have happened."

"You had none and that was plenty," Elena said, her voice quiet in the small room. She rested her hand on the bedpost, looking down at the woman who usually terrified the interns. "But I have to know . . . Why in the world did you agree to visit Sterling's school? You hate PR stunts, and you hate wasting time. I expected you to shut him down the moment he asked."

Sabrina shifted in the covers, the duck-print nightgown twisting around her legs. She stared at a glow-in-the-dark star stuck to the ceiling, her defenses too lowered by exhaustion to lie. "I was mad," Sabrina admitted, her voice slurring slightly into the pillow. Everyone kept going on and on . . . acting like you were amazing. Giving you all the praise I deserved. It pissed me off."

"So you agreed to a tour?" Elena questioned.

"I agreed," Sabrina mumbled, her eyes finally closing, "because I knew I would never show up. I made the promise in your name. So when the day comes and there is a no-show . . . you're the one who looks like a flake who disappointed the rich man. The offer gets dismissed after agreeing . . . and you look bad."

Elena stared at her. "You agreed to a tour just to sabotage my reputation with a client? To make me look unreliable?"

"It seemed like a good strategy at the time," Sabrina whispered, her breathing already evening out into the rhythmic puff of sleep. "Checkmate . . . "

Elena shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on her face. Even half-asleep and dressed like a toddler, Sabrina was still playing corporate warfare.

"Goodnight, Rina," Elena whispered.

She reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, save for the soft, amber glow of a nightlight plugged into the wall near the door, a plastic sleeping bear that Elena had completely forgotten to unplug and the little stars on the ceiling. The nightlight casting long, soft shadows across the room, illuminating Sabrina’s sleeping face in a warm, golden hue.

Stepping out into the hall and pulling the door shut, Elena left it cracked just an inch–another habit she hadn't quite shaken. Elena walked down the stairs, the silence of the house finally settling around her. Her own feet were aching as she crossed the living room into the small kitchen. Not turning on the overhead lights; the streetlamp outside provided enough illumination. She opened the cabinet above the fridge and pulled out a bottle of red wine. It wasn't the vintage stuff Sabrina kept in her penthouse; it was a fifteen-dollar bottle from the grocery store. She didn't bother with a glass. Popping the cork, she took a long, slow pull straight from the bottle, and leaned back against the counter.

The tall slim built woman stared at the ceiling, listening to the silence of her home.

No sound of footsteps, or of doors, she let out a tired sigh. Sabrina Halloway, the Director of Operations, the terror of the boardroom, was asleep in her niece’s duck nightgown. Tucked into a twin bed, waiting for morning.

Elena took another drink, a slow smile spreading across her face just as the sound in her home changed as the skies that had been threatening rain made good on their promise as a downpour began.

"You say checkmate, but you don’t know the game we are playing," Elena whispered to the empty room.

Chapter Eight

Morning came quietly, the pale light filtering in through the bedroom curtains as Elena’s alarm went off. She silenced it immediately, more out of habit than necessity, already awake enough that the sound felt unnecessary. Weekdays always started this way: Too early. Yet her body moved anyhow through her waking routine, slightly on autopilot before her thoughts fully caught up, the discipline of routine carrying her out of bed without hesitation.

She rose without lingering, swinging her legs over the side of the bed reaching for the robe draped across the chair, tying it loosely as she crossed the room. The mirror caught her in passing, hair still loose from sleep, face bare but alert, eyes already clear in a way they rarely were first thing in the morning. Whatever remained of the night before sat neatly filed away, not forgotten, but no longer demanding attention. Not that her scheme was without flaws and ways for it to blow up in her face, but she no longer felt like she was walking on thin ice ready to fall out from underneath her. The shower was brief and functional, heat loosening the last of the stiffness from her shoulders as steam fogged the glass. The lithe woman let her thoughts move ahead of her hands, needing to not dwell on everything and move ahead with the day to come. This morning carried weight, and she acknowledged it without indulging it.

Dressing with care, she moved piece by piece through the familiar ritual. Boyshort lace panties, shelf bra, sheer pantyhose smoothed into place before the fitted satin blouse; the soft plum fabric caught the light as she fastened the buttons and tied the pussybow at her throat. The cream-colored pencil skirt followed, tight enough to demand awareness with every step, falling neatly just below the knee. Her hair went up into a clean bun, restrained and controlled enough, leaving strategically few tendrils loose to soften the line of her face. Makeup came next, precise to enhance what she had been blessed with without looking like she was ready for a date, shadow and liner chosen to draw attention to her eyes without theatrics, lip liner and lipstick applied to shape rather than exaggerate. The glossy nude heels completed the look, three inches of stiletto elevation that aligned posture and intent.

By the time she adjusted her slim watch and smoothed the skirt one last time, she looked exactly as she needed to. Composed and unmistakably professional, without sacrificing her femininity. The faint difference in herself registering not as excitement, but as steadiness.

The house remained quiet as she stepped into the hallway. Her memories of having a guest were contrasted by the absence of movement, telling her no one was up and about. Sabrina was not careless with time, alarm or not, and the lack of footsteps or doors opening made Elena slow slightly as she passed the guest room. The door still closed, as she had left it, and after a moment’s pause she rested her hand against the knob and listened, hearing only the soft, even rhythm of breathing on the other side.

She opened the door carefully. The room was unchanged, frozen in the soft disarray of sleep, the small figure beneath the covers barely shifted, the nightgown twisted slightly at the knees where restlessness had tugged at it hours earlier. Without the tension of resistance or performance, without sharpness or command, the woman in the bed looked almost unreal, softened by sleep and framed by a room that should have mocked her but instead seemed to fit her disturbingly well.

Elena let herself observe for a moment longer than necessary, noting the steady rise and fall of Sabrina’s chest, the absence of lines from her brow, the way exhaustion had stripped her down to something deceptively gentle. Someone else might have mistaken it for innocence. Elena knew better.

Her attention lingered on the bed for a moment longer than it should have. The steady breathing, the way sleep had softened everything sharp about the woman tangled in pastel sheets. There was something almost disarming about it, enough that Elena felt the faint tug of hesitation again, quickly recognized and set aside. Sympathy was a poor guide for what needed to happen next.

Turning away, her focus shifted to the closet, the place where choices waited to be made whether Sabrina was ready to face them or not. Inside, the power suit hung exactly where it had been left the night before, expensive, made to be fitted perfectly to her diminutive boss’s frame and add a level of authority to her. It didn’t belong in the room the way the nightgown and stuffed animals did, even when simply hanging in the closet.

Rather than taking it away entirely, or leaving it partially hidden where it was, Elena decided the opposite would be more effective. She lifted it from the hanger and crossed the room, silently as she could, moving to the triptych of full-length mirrors in the center of the room, the one she’d installed after her niece moved out so she could check lines and proportions from every angle when getting ready for work. She hung the suit over the left-most mirror, blocking the reflection from one of the angles.

From the bed, once waking eyes adjusted, it would be impossible to miss. If things went right, it wouldn’t be worn, but it would give her boss something to focus on. The familiar object would give her something that made her feel more at ease, yet would remain just out of reach.

Satisfied, Elena stepped back, giving the room one last glance before leaving and closing the door behind her. ‘Breakfast first. Let the tiny witch sleep for now. She will need the energy,’ Elena thought.

Descending the stairs, the quiet followed her into the kitchen. With it came a memory, the image of Sabrina Halloway across a polished desk, smiling as she praised Elena’s capability while gently explaining why she couldn’t recommend her for the promotion she applied for outside of Sabrina’s direct control. ‘Too soft,’ she’d said, framed as concern. ‘Better to stay where you belong. You’re valuable there. Useful. Protected.’

Elena set a pan on the stove, the motion grounding as the memory faded back into its proper place, no longer sharp enough to sting. It wasn’t rage that remained, but resolution.

She opened the refrigerator to gather what she needed to start cooking, reaching automatically for eggs before pausing. There were only a few left. Not enough for two people for a meal. The realization came with a brief, sharp flicker of annoyance at herself for letting things run low, followed by a slower, more deliberate consideration. She had planned to make breakfast for both of them. For a moment she stood there, the cool air spilling out around her, weighing a choice on how to proceed. Then she pulled the sausage from the drawer and set it on the counter. Her movements stayed steady as she sliced it down, cracked the remaining eggs into the pan, and began scrambling them. She folded everything together with measured care, adding a small dash of salt and a sprinkle of shredded cheese before it was ready to be pulled off the heat.

Standing there a moment longer than necessary, watching the eggs set in the pan, the faintest pinch of unease tightening in her chest. Not regret exactly, and not second thoughts, but the awareness that this was a line being crossed deliberately. Part of her did feel bad. That much was honest. Sabrina looked smaller asleep than she ever did awake, and there was a lingering echo of last night that made this feel uncomfortably intimate.

The feeling that gave her pause didn’t last; the guilt gave way to something more firm, more settled. This wasn’t about payback for sharp words and a bruised pride. It was about stopping a pattern of abuse that had been allowed to run unchecked for too long. The tiny tyrant didn’t just cut people down; she cultivated dependence, kept those beneath her exhausted and second-guessing themselves, convinced they deserved it. Elena had watched it happen to others after it happened to her.

If this slowed Sabrina down, if it forced her out of her usual momentum even briefly, then so be it. She could afford to start the day off balance. She could afford to be uncomfortable. Elena finished cooking, plated the food neatly, and poured orange juice into a glass. She wiped the counter, arranging everything neatly on a lap tray, before lifting it and turning back toward the stairs. Feeling a little bad didn’t mean she was wrong; it just meant she was human. And ultimately, Elena felt confident in her decision.

Carrying the tray carefully, Elena moved back up the stairs, each step measured to keep the contents steady, the faint warmth of the plate seeping into her palms. The guest room door yielded silently beneath her hand, opening just enough to slip inside without disturbing the stillness she’d left behind earlier.

She crossed to the bed and sat along the edge, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight. Up close, sleep had softened everything. Lashes resting dark against pale skin, breath slow and even, the nightgown bunched loosely where one knee had drawn up beneath the covers. It was an image that tugged again at something inconvenient, the quiet reminder of how easily appearances misled, how serene Sabrina could look when stripped of authority and sharpened intent.

Reaching out, Elena brushed a few strands of hair away from Sabrina’s temple, the gesture more tender than she expected herself to act, clearing space before leaning down to press a brief kiss to her forehead. It was the type of thing she would do to wake up her niece and she found the act feeling natural despite knowing the truth.

The reaction from the sleeping figure was subtle but unmistakable. Breathing shifted first, the slow rhythm faltering before settling again, lashes fluttering faintly as awareness began to surface. A small movement followed, shoulders adjusting beneath the covers, the beginnings of a frown pulling at her brow as sleep loosened its hold.

Only then did Elena shift the tray, lifting it from her own lap and settling it carefully across Sabrina’s thighs, adjusting it until it rested securely. The scent followed naturally, eggs and sausage warming the air between them, close enough now to register even through the fog of waking. A faint inhale came first, deeper than the last, followed by another, confusion threading through the motion. Eyes opened partway, unfocused at first, landing on Elena’s face before drifting downward, registering the unfamiliar weight across her lap. The tray, the plate, the glass of orange juice catching the light.

Disorientation came quickly after that. The wrong ceiling. The pastel walls. The mirrors. Her suit draped deliberately within her line of sight. Memory rushed in uneven fragments, the previous night collapsing into the present with a violent sharpness that pulled her fully awake.

Only when seeing her boss come to did Elena speak, her voice low and even, timed to the moment of Sabrina's awareness coming around.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said calmly.

For a moment, Sabrina didn’t answer. Her eyes fluttered a few more times as she glanced down at herself and what she was wearing and the god damned duck on it. The phrase ‘sleepy head’ sat wrong in her ears; it was like it should be followed by a term of endearment like ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’. Considering who it came from, it was all very wrong. The tone was worse, sweet and calm and at the same time sounding like Elena was talking down to her. Sabrina stared at the tray as if it had appeared there by mistake, her hands hovering uselessly at her sides, fingers flexing once before curling into the blanket that had kept her warm and comfortable all night.

“What . . . ” Her voice came out softer than she meant, like that part of her was still just waking up, the word trailing off as she cleared her throat and tried again. “What is this?!”

The question was small but, like the young women it came from, there was a great deal of force behind it; she was used to speaking with authority and it showed. She shifted as she took in the weight and warmth of the tray from the breakfast in bed. Her stomach betrayed her with a quiet, unmistakable response, audibly gurgling.

“I didn’t ask for breakfast,” she said, ignoring what her stomach announced with a frown coming to her face, lifting her chin slightly as if posture alone could reassert order. “I don’t eat in the mornings. You know that.”

Her gaze flicked back to Elena, irritation sharpening as memory finished slotting itself into place. The gala. The drive. The night that hadn’t ended when or where it should have. Being here at all. She pushed the tray a fraction of an inch away from her body, as if distance might undo its presence. “I’ll have coffee,” she added, the words delivered with practiced certainty, “Tall. One extra shot of espresso. Cream and sugar.” It sounded like an order because that was how she’d meant it; the cadence was automatic, like she was speaking to a service worker she had no intention of tipping. For a split second, she might as well have been seated at a café counter instead of tangled in a child’s bed, dressed in cotton and ducks.

Only then did the absurdity catch up to her. The room pressed in again, the mirrors reflecting angles she didn’t recognize, her suit hanging just out of reach like a promise she could see but not quite touch. She swallowed, irritation bleeding into unease, as she tried to ignore the way the food still smelled . . . good.

Her eyes dropped again, unwillingly this time, tracing the plate, the glass, the care with which everything had been arranged. “Take it away,” she said, quieter now but no less firm. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get dressed and get to the office.”

The words sounded weaker than her normal familiar authority, ringing hollow in the child's space she found herself partially assimilated into, the sentence undercut by the simple fact that she hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t pushed the tray off her lap, hadn’t stood. She remained where she was, half-awake and entirely out of place, waiting for the world to snap back into alignment and do as she demanded.

Elena didn’t move to take the tray. She stayed seated on the edge of the bed, posture composed, hands resting loosely in her lap as she looked down at the woman who normally never looked up at anyone. Part of her wished she was quick-witted enough to say her pause wasn't accidental, like it was there to give Sabrina just enough time to feel the contradiction between her words and her stillness, between command and circumstance. The truth was, she was just scrambling to come up with what to do or say next. “You don’t eat in the mornings,” Elena agreed mildly, her tone matter-of-fact rather than deferential, as if she were confirming a calendar entry, “Most days you live on caffeine until noon and pretend it counts as fuel.”

She reached out then, not to reclaim the tray, but to nudge it back the fraction of an inch Sabrina had pushed it away, steadying it where she had put it initially. “And I don’t have an espresso machine,” she continued, as if this were simply the next logical point in the conversation, “No coffee pot, either. Just the pod brewer, and I ran out.” A brief pause, long enough to register. “I used the last one while I was cooking.” Her gaze lifted to meet Sabrina’s fully now, calm and direct. “So, this is what’s available.”

The room seemed to tighten around the two of them, the mirrors holding their reflections in place, the suit hovering in Sabrina’s peripheral vision like a reminder of what she expected the day to look like and how little control she currently had over it. Elena tilted her head slightly, studying her, trying to prepare for the little blonde’s tirade of a rebuttal. “You have a full day,” she added, not unkindly, “You always do. Meetings, calls, people waiting on you to be sharp. Skipping food doesn’t make you efficient, it just makes you irritable.” A faint, knowing look crossed her face. “And you don’t need any help with that.”

She let the silence settle again, the smell of eggs and sausage still present, still tempting despite the refusal. “Please eat. I gave you the last of my eggs before I can go grocery shopping.”

Elena didn’t wait for an answer. Waiting would have turned the moment into a standoff, and that was the last thing she wanted. Not yet. She rose instead, smoothing her skirt as she stood, leaving the tray where it was, warmth still seeping through thin cotton and the scent lingering with a stubbornness that refusal alone wouldn’t dispel. The door closed softly behind her, the latch catching with a muted click.

Downstairs, the house felt as it always did. This early in the morning, however, it was odd she had so much energy to tackle the day. Moving through the living room toward the closet without hesitation, she pushed aside a coat to retrieve the purse and the heels tucked behind it. They were easily the most expensive things in the living room; Elena thought the extravagance was silly, as she wouldn’t buy such items even if she had the money. Setting the purse on the coffee table, she opened it and navigated the contents with ease.

The screen of Sabrina’s phone lit immediately as Elena took it out and rested it in her palm. No trouble with the passcode. It was like there was no resistance for her to gain such intimate access, as the code was just as she had been told to set it after an upgrade earlier in the year. A personal errand that Sabrina had sent her on, saying she had much more important things to do than go to a retail store. ‘Of course she didn’t change the code,’’ Elena thought.

On the phone, missed calls crowded the display, time-stamped in clusters that told a story of negligence of the phone. Normally her boss lived on the device, and how it had less than ten percent power left. Wanting to go through things, she started with the missed call log. Julian Vance’s name appeared more than once from the night before, the first logged shortly after the gala was meant to begin, followed by another nearer to its end. HR sat between them, then again this morning, the pattern unmistakable. Martha Higgins’ name followed, cheerful even in text form, and beneath it several missed calls from a contractor in Singapore, the timing off only because of time zones, the lack of voicemail more concerning than reassuring considering the repeated calls from the worker across the sea working on the project.

Opening the first voicemail, she held the phone away from her ear just enough to keep the volume contained. Vance’s voice filled the space, clipped and displeased, asking where Sabrina was, reminding her with thinly veiled concern that events like this were remembered, that visibility mattered, that opportunities didn’t wait. The message ended without pleasantries, the implication clear enough to sting even secondhand. ‘So that’s how the night started,’ she thought, not fully positive if the call was made before or after she had told him the tiny terror wouldn't be making it.

The next message came from HR, professional but edged, noting the CEO’s inquiry and requesting confirmation of Sabrina’s status, the timestamp aligning neatly with the opening remarks of the gala. Elena exhaled slowly, thumb hovering before tapping the next. Vance again, this time later, his tone altered, smoother, almost magnanimous, mentioning he’d heard she was ill, expressing hope for a quick recovery, gently suggesting better communication in the future. The shift was so abrupt it bordered on insulting. ‘Damage control,’ Elena thought.

Morning messages followed. HR again, requesting a doctor’s note when feasible for her to be allowed to return to work if she misses more than a day, considering the fast pace of the current work load, outlining procedure in careful language that still managed to sound haughty. Then Martha Higgins. The sweetness in her voice was unmistakable, false concern layered thickly over reassurance, promises to cover anything needed while Sabrina was ill, reminders of teamwork and family, every word a velvet-wrapped warning. Elena didn’t need to hear the subtext explained to recognize the power play unfolding. ‘She’s already circling,’ she thought.

Missed calls from Singapore. Elena noted the repetition, the persistence, the absence of follow-up in writing. ‘Something important enough to call at four in the morning, urgent enough to try again, but still no text message or voice mail,’ Elena noted. That observation alone made her uneasy. The potential for this to unravel more quickly than she’d planned crept in, unwelcome but undeniable, the realization that holding Sabrina here had consequences that reached well beyond just taking her down a peg.

For a moment, doubt pressed in insistently. This was bigger than humiliation, bigger than rebalancing a single dynamic. There were contracts, timelines, people who didn’t care about personal power struggles and wouldn’t hesitate to exploit a lapse. Elena closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself against the back of the couch. ‘You might have overplayed this,’ she admitted silently. ‘And if it blows back, it won’t be gentle. Fuck . . . fuck . . . no, fuck it all. I need this.’

The thought didn’t stop her. Resolve settled in where uncertainty had tried to take hold. She straightened, clicking on the icon for the email notifications. She looked at what came in, skimming over the subject lines before deciding there was nothing there she had to address through the dying phone. Slipping the device back into Sabrina’s purse, she set everything exactly where she’d found it. ‘If this is going to explode . . . ’ she thought, already moving toward the closet again to put it back in the hiding spot, ‘it won’t be because I flinched.’

When the bedroom door closed, Sabrina knew her assistant wouldn’t be far. For the moment, she had a much-needed pocket of space to herself, even if it was in a space she didn’t want to be in.

She stayed still at first, chin tucked, eyes fixed on the far wall where a stuffed bunny sat on a shelf too low to be hung for an adult. Part of her felt as if movement might summon Elena back prematurely; the sound of the tall, dark haired woman’s heeled feet could be heard trailing off what she presumed was down the stairs. The tray of food remained balanced across her thighs, its presence undesired, but more tempting now that she no longer had an audience to perform refusal for. Heat bled through the thin cotton of the nightgown and into her skin, the smell impossible to ignore no matter how tightly she pressed her lips together. Eggs. Sausage. Real food. Her stomach made its opinion known again, louder this time, a traitorous sound that made her wince and glance toward the door as if it might tattle on her.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she thought, irritation flaring, the reflexive anger easier than examining why she hadn’t already pushed the tray off or stood up to reassert control. Breakfast in bed was indulgent, unnecessary; it was something other people did when they had time to waste or someone to serve them, not something she allowed herself on a workday. It wasn’t like she never ate breakfast, but in general she was not much of an eater. Perhaps it contributed to her height, growing but not eating too often or too much just felt like a way to get fat when she already had to use shape wear to look how she wanted. Coffee was efficient. Caffeine was always the right call, but it seemed Elena’s negligence had that option removed. Her gaze dropped despite herself, taking in the plate. The careful portions, the way the sausage had been cut into manageable pieces instead of slapped down carelessly, the glass of orange juice placed just so, not full enough to spill if she shifted. That detail stuck with her longer than she liked. It seemed like such a nice thing to do and she hated it.

A faint movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Looking over, her eyes snagged immediately on the dark shape hanging over the leftmost standing folding mirror. Her suit . . . Her clothes draped deliberately for her to see and use. Yet, despite it being a welcome sight, the garment didn’t look like it belonged in the room much like how she felt about herself. Frowning, she looked around, taking notice of a few things. Like how she didn't see her shoes or underwear, for starters. Turning slightly in bed, she looked at the crayon drawing on the wall above the head board and groaned.

She shifted, half expecting the tray to slide or wobble, but it held. The simple fact of that steadiness seemed to decide the matter for her. With a muttered curse under her breath, she picked up the fork, telling herself it was purely practical, that she needed the energy Elena had insisted on, that eating a few bites didn’t mean conceding anything beyond basic physiology. “Fucking fine . . .” The first mouthful silenced her internal argument almost immediately, warmth and salt and fat cutting through the fog that still clung to her thoughts, grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

‘Damn it,’ she thought, annoyed all over again. Chewing slowly now, her eyes flicked back to the door as if Elena might somehow sense her giving in from downstairs. She took another bite anyway, then another, the resistance draining away with each one until the food was gone far more quickly than she intended. Only then did she pause, fork resting on the empty plate, a hollow settling in her chest that had nothing to do with hunger.

The room pressed in again once the tray was lighter, the mirrors reflecting angles she didn’t want to see, the suit watching her like an accusation. Memory finished catching up in full, last night snapping back into place with uncomfortable clarity. The gala, the spanking, the drive and the tickets, the way control had slipped through her fingers one small humiliation at a time. She swallowed hard, setting the fork down carefully, smoothing the blanket over her legs as if tidiness might help her think.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ she told herself firmly, her own voice sounding even condescending to her own shortcomings, wanting to push forward to make things better even if it felt daunting to do so in the child's bedroom. ‘I need to get dressed . . . I needed to get my phone last night. The longer it takes, the worse things will get. Fuck, I need to get ahead of whatever damage had already been done.’ The fact that she’d eaten breakfast in a child’s bed, alone and unseen, was something she could live with so long as she put things back in the proper order.

For now, she shifted the tray aside, planted her feet on the floor, and drew a steadying breath. Her eyes lifted once more to her pants suit in the mirror as if it was mocking her and the duck nightie she currently wore. Her clothing, of course, couldn't do anything. It was an object, but it represented who she actually was and how low she let herself fall all for the sake of a deal and her CEOs insistence on following a memo to keep a client happy. All of it had been pointless, as she was the only one to follow through.

The day had to move on. Sabrina happily peeled the stupid duck nightie over her head, leaving it crumpled on the floor. She stood there in plain white cotton underwear with a pink band designed for a child, much like the baby blue camisole that did nothing to help her less than endowed chest; clenching her jaw, she looked around on the floor for the bra and thong she wore when arriving, neither of which were in sight.

Grimacing, she scanned the floor again, slower this time, eyes tracking the space beside the bed, then the area near the dresser; irritation rose with every empty patch of carpet. She knew where she’d left them. She hadn’t been neat and orderly about it, but they had discarded to the floor. The absence of them was yet another obstacle in her path, this one enough that she wanted to throw back her head and scream so she could get into something not designed for a little girl.

Stepping closer to the bed, she crouched, bracing one hand against the frame as she leaned down to check beneath it. Not seeing what she needed, Sabrina decided to go deeper in case they got kicked under the bed. Getting to her knees, her cotton pantied covered ass rose in the air as the front of her crawled slightly under the frame. Dust, a stray sock that clearly didn’t belong to her, the shadowed underside of furniture that hadn’t been moved in years, but no sign of the bra or thong she remembered dropping without a second thought the night before.

‘This is not happening,’ she thought, annoyance edging toward something greater as she straightened again, hands pressing briefly to her thighs as if grounding herself. ‘I don’t misplace things like this.’ Her own comment made Sabrina shake her head vigorously enough for her blonde hair to spill about. No, she was neat and organized, but yesterday she had misplaced her purse containing her life. It had to be something intentional, considering she brought her key fob inside. Why else would it have been on the counter?

Dropping back down, this time fully onto her knees, reaching farther under the bed, her fingers swept along the floor with more insistence than care, hair falling forward to obscure her view. Still nothing. The room felt smaller now, not that it had been large to begin with. The mirrors caught her at angles she didn’t want to acknowledge, the suit hanging in plain sight like a reminder of what she should have been able to put on by now without interference.

Picking up the pink sock with a picture of a blue duck on it, she rolled her eyes; the random sock had to have been there for years. “Oh, look . . . What a surprise, a duck.” She threw it to the floor in the middle of the room as the door opened behind her. With Elena stepping into the room, Sabrina's shoulders stiffened. Pushing herself upright quickly, brushing hair back from her face with a sharp motion, she bristled at being seen on her knees with her ass up in the air.

Elena stepped inside without comment, closing the door behind her with quiet care, her gaze taking in the scene in a single, assessing sweep. The discarded nightgown on the floor, the tray still on the bed, the plate clean of food with the orange juice left untouched.

“They’re gone,” Sabrina said flatly, irritation bleeding into her voice despite her effort to contain it. “I left them here last night. I didn’t move them.”

Elena nodded once, as if that aligned neatly with expectations, and crossed the room at an unhurried pace, crouching just enough to glance beneath the bed herself before straightening again. “What is gone? What didn’t you move?” she asked, seeing one of her niece’s old socks in the middle of the carpet.

Sabrina exhaled sharply through her nose, the question only increasing her irritation. Here she was, still standing in the underwear fit for a ten year old girl, and the idiot giraffe couldn't put the context clues together. “My bra. And my underwear,” she said, clipped, precise, “The ones I wore last night. They were right here.”

Elena’s eyes moved again, slower this time, not under the bed now but over the room itself. The open floor, the dresser, the discarded nightgown, the mirror where she had left the all too expensive pants suit hanging. She didn’t rush to fill the silence, knowing exactly where Sabrina’s adult belongings were. “You’re wearing your underwear,” she stated, matter of factly.

Sabrina’s head snapped like she had been slapped, disbelief flashing across her face before true anger took its place. “Mine?! You truly are a twit sometimes," she said sharply, “What else would I be wearing?!” Her hand lifted in a short, frustrated gesture toward herself, as if the answer should have been obvious. “They’re not appropriate, and you know that. I need my bra. I need my thong. I cannot put my tailored suit on over . . . this.”

Elena didn’t contradict her boss, Her expression staying neutral, attentive in a way that felt uncomfortably parental rather than subordinate. “You can’t,” she agreed evenly, “Not like that.”

Sabrina seized on the agreement immediately. “Then help me find them,” she snapped, “I left them here. I did not lose them!”

Reaching down, Elena picked up the discarded nightgown, lifting it from the floor and folding it once without thinking, setting it aside on the dresser. “You took them off last night,” she said, accusatorially, “You were tired. You weren’t exactly tracking where things landed.”

“I don’t misplace my clothes,” Sabrina shot back, in the same way she spoke in meetings when she felt challenged, “Especially not when I’m supposed to be at work.”

Elena met her gaze then, steady and unflinching. “Yesterday, you misplaced your purse,” she said quietly, “with your phone, your keys, and everything you need to function.” She let that sit for a moment before continuing, tone unchanged. “So, it’s not impossible.”

The comparison was an accusation and it hit home hard. Sabrina’s mouth tightened, breath drawing in through her nose as she looked away, eyes flicking back to the mirror where the suit hung waiting, so close but so far. “This is not the same thing,” she said, but even her own certainty wavered.

“No,” Elena agreed, “It isn’t.” She turned slightly toward the dresser again, fingers resting briefly on the edge as if grounding herself. “But it does mean we deal with what’s in front of us, not what should be.”

Sabrina laughed once, short and humorless. “And what’s in front of me,” she said, gesturing down at herself again, “is completely unacceptable.”

Elena nodded, conceding that point without hesitation. “Which is why you aren’t staying in those.” She opened the drawer this time, withdrawing a folded pair of panties from the already opened package and setting them neatly on the bed, followed by a soft camisole in white that had a childish lace on the hem line. “These are clean,” she said, “And will work for what you’re wearing today.”

Staring at what had been placed on the bed, it was more of a provocation rather than clothing. Her jaw tightened, shoulders squaring instinctively as though posture alone could reject it. “That,” she said flatly, “is not what I’m wearing.”

“You said you can’t wear what you have on now under your suit and . . . ” she replied, voice level, unbothered by the edge in Sabrina’s tone, “I agree.”

Sabrina’s scoffed. “Those don’t fix the problem,” she snapped, “That is the same thing I’m wearing now!”

“They’re clean,” Elena repeated calmly, as if that were the only metric that mattered, “And you aren’t wearing the same underwear two days in a row.”

Sabrina’s eyes flicked up, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That’s not happening.”

“I am not a child,” Sabrina shot back immediately, heat flaring as she stepped closer to the bed. “And you do not get to decide anything for me unless I say so.”

Elena nodded as if she was in agreement. “I’m not your enemy. Let me help you,” she said evenly, finishing the sentence in her mind, ‘Or at least I wasn’t till you decided to screw me so many times.’ “Because standing here arguing isn’t getting you dressed, and we have places to be.”

The reminder stung. Sabrina glanced again at the mirror, at the suit hanging there, frustration tightening her chest. “You are obstructing me,” she said, “again.”

“No,” Elena corrected quietly. “I’m making sure you are hygienic and I'm not going to argue with you about putting on clean clothes.”

That earned her a sharp look. “The wrong-” Sabrina cut herself off, breath tight, clearly choosing which argument to pursue. “I need my things. The ones I wore last night.”

“And if they were available,” Elena said without hesitation, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She gestured toward the bed instead, where she put the offered camisole and panties. “But they aren’t. So we deal with what’s in front of us.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Sabrina’s fingers curled, then released, irritation warring with the practical awareness that time was moving whether she liked it or not. “Fine,” she said at last, clipped. “But you can't talk to anyone about this.” Her voice was full of regret.

Elena inclined her head slightly, accepting the concession. “Of course.” She stepped aside, clearing space rather than pressing closer. “Once you’re dressed,” she added, “we’ll talk about the rest of your morning.”

"Turn around," Sabrina demanded, as she looked at what she was about to put on her prid., Every fiber of her being protested at what she was about to do, her fingers hovering over the hem of the slightly rumpled camisole she had slept in.

"Sabrina, we don't have time for modesty," Elena replied, checking her watch, "You changed in front of me last night. There is nothing I haven't seen."

Sabrina hesitated, her grip tightening on the fabric. The idea of stripping down in front of her subordinate again made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to be practical. ‘She’s just the help,’ Sabrina told herself, the thought dripping with a comforting layer of disdain. ‘One does not feel shame changing in front of a doctor or a maid. Thorne is basically office furniture that learned to walk. She doesn't count.’ With a huff of resignation, she pulled the camisole over her head and tossed it on the floor, wanting to pretend she had never worn it all while knowing she was about to put on one similar. She shoved the cotton panties down next, stepping out of them with a quick, jerky movement, eager to get the transition over with.

Standing there naked in the morning light, she tried to carry herself with the haughty posture of an executive, chin up and shoulders back, but she was never really proud of her body. The only reason she had chosen to avoid surgical enhancement was due to hearing too many tales of bad doctors and botched jobs.

Elena watched her with a detached, cynical eye. Without her clothing, her veil to hide how she really looked, the padded bras, and the waist cinchers, the "Director of Operations" simply vanished. In her place was a slight, stick-straight figure. Elena’s gaze drifted over the completely hairless skin; what Sabrina claimed was a five-thousand-dollar investment the night before. But in the dimmer light of the night or the light of day, the laser hair removal wasn't doing her any favors. Instead of making her look sleek and high-maintenance, it just made her look undeveloped. Combined with the flat plane of her chest, she looked less like a woman who commanded boardrooms and more like the child whose room she was currently occupying.

"Well?" Sabrina snapped, feeling the weight of the silence, "Hand me the damn things."

Elena reached out and passed her the fresh white cotton panties.

Sabrina snatched them, her nose wrinkling as she stepped into them. They were soft, sure, but they lacked the cool, slippery caress of her usual Italian silk. They felt thick and utilitarian, clinging to her hips in a way that felt deeply unattractive. She pulled on the white camisole next, the cheap lace scratching slightly against her skin. It was degrading. It was the kind of underwear bought in a three-pack at a discount store, not something worn by a woman of her prestige. She tugged at the hem with its cheap lace, glaring at Elena through the mirror.

"Listen to me, Thorne," Sabrina hissed, stepping closer and jabbing a finger toward Elena’s face. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, if I hear a single whisper about 'child's panties' or 'ducks' by the water cooler, I will make your life a living hell. I will bury you in so much paperwork you won't see the sun until you retire. Do you understand me?"

Elena smiled, a soft, patient expression that didn't reach her eyes. It was the look a mother gives a toddler threatening to run away from home. "We've already been over this, Sabrina," Elena said, her voice infuriatingly calm as she reached out to smooth the twisted strap on the camisole. "I told you, your secrets are safe with me. Now, let's focus on the rest of the outfit."

Turning back to the mirror, her hands smoothing the cheap cotton camisole over her hips, Sabrina felt a fresh wave of despair. She looked past her reflection to the pinstripe pants suit hanging on the mirror frame. It was a masterpiece of tailoring, designed to exaggerate her padded form to project power and competence, but as she looked from the suit back to her own unenhanced, cotton-clad reflection, the reality sank in.

Without the foundation, the padded bra to fill the blouse, the waist cincher to create the hourglass silhouette, the heels to give her stature, the suit wouldn't fit. The blazer would hang off her narrow shoulders like a blanket; the trousers would drag on the floor. "I can't wear it," Sabrina muttered, her voice tight with misery, "Not with this underneath. I’ll look like a child playing dress-up in her mother’s closet."

She spun around, glaring at Elena. "This is ridiculous, Thorne! I need my things. Find my goddamn bra and my thong! Or better yet, find my purse! If I have my ID and my keys, I can go home and get properly dressed. Stop standing there looking at me and look for them!"

Elena didn't move. She didn't look flustered by the outburst; she looked disappointed, talking to Sabrina with the slow, deliberate cadence one uses for a child who is struggling to understand simple instructions. "Sabrina, you know the truth," Elena said gently. "I didn't lose your things. You did. You were the one stumbling around last night. You were the one who threw her purse supposedly on the counter or thought you did. It isn't my fault you can't keep track of your belongings."

"I didn't lose them!" Sabrina said, raising her voice in a flustered scream.

"And yet, here we are," Elena interrupted, turning away from the argument. "But since you can't wear the suit, and we are burning daylight, we have to use what is available."

Elena took the two steps needed to reach the white dresser in the small bedroom, the one painted with small flowers, and pulled open the second drawer. It smelled of lavender sachets and old memories. Elena’s expression softened as she reached inside it and a few more of the drawers. These weren't just clothes; they were artifacts from a time when she was the sole support for her sister and her niece, Crystal. Times had been hard then, money tight, but she had loved them fiercely. She missed the noise they brought to this house, a silence that had only grown louder after they left, leaving her alone in the inherited property her sister and herself gained when her parents passed. She pulled out a neat stack of clothing and turned back to Sabrina. "Here," Elena said, laying the items out on the bed, "These will fit. Crystal loved this outfit."

Sabrina stared at the pile in horror. First, there was a pair of thick, opaque white tights. Next, a light pink denim skirt with attached overall straps, a pinafore designed for durability and play. But the pièce de résistance was the t-shirt. It was a bright yellow tee featuring a cartoon graphic of two ducks having an argument. The angry duck was quacking a speech bubble that read: "Oh! Duck you, too!"

Elena smiled down at the shirt, a genuine warmth reaching her eyes. She remembered buying it at a discount rack, chuckling at the pun. "Crystal thought this was hilarious," Elena said softly, tracing the graphic. "She was my crystal ball . . . I used to tell her that with her, I could see a happy future. She wore this shirt until the print started to crack."

To Sabrina, the sentimental journey was nauseating, and the shirt was a declaration of war. "Are you insane?" Sabrina whispered, pointing a shaking finger at the shirt. "I am the Director of Operations. I am not wearing a shirt that makes a barnyard pun! And I don't care about your 'Crystal ball!’”

"It's cute," Elena said defensively. "And it fits the vibe."

"I don't care what fits the vibe! I have to go to work! I have a department to run!"

Elena sighed, the nostalgia fading as the shark-like efficiency returned to her eyes. She picked up the white tights and tossed them to the shorter woman. "That's the thing, Sabrina," Elena said coolly, "We aren't going to work."

Sabrina froze, the tights hitting her chest and falling to the floor. "Excuse me?"

"You seem to have forgotten our dinner conversation," Elena said, crossing her arms, "Mr. Sterling invited us to tour Blackwood Academy. He wants to see if 'Rina,' your new persona, is a good fit for the fourth grade. We have an appointment to make; even Mr. Vance will be there."

"I never planned to go to that!" Sabrina shouted. "I told you last night. I only agreed to make you look bad when 'Rina' didn't show up. It was a strategy!"

"I'm well aware of how you tried to hurt my career," Elena replied, her voice hardening, "You confessed that quite clearly. You wanted to sabotage the client relationship to hurt me. But here is the reality, Sabrina. I am not going to let you tank my career, or yours for that matter, all because you wanted to play games."

"I am not going," Sabrina declared, crossing her arms over her flat chest, "I am walking out that door, I am calling an Uber, and I am going to the office."

Elena raised an eyebrow. "In your new underwear? With what phone?"

Sabrina opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

"And you will pay with what money?" Elena pressed, taking a step closer. "Your wallet is in your missing purse. Your ID is in your missing purse. You can't call a car for a pick up. Even if you used my phone, you can't pay for a cab. You can't even get past the security turnstiles at Aegis without your badge."

She gestured to the window, to the driveway where Sabrina’s Lexus sat locked and useless without its fob.

"You are stranded, Sabrina. You have no resources, but I am giving you help to get through this, as bitter of a pill as that is to swallow. The only person with a car, keys, and a plan is me." Elena picked up the pink overall skirt and held it out, her expression brooking no argument. "Now, we can stand here until we're late, which will insult Mr. Sterling, upsetting the head of our company, or you can get dressed. But make no mistake: I am going to that school. And since you are my 'niece' Rina, you are going to school. I'm not going to have them believe I'm so irresponsible to leave a ten year old girl all on her own, unsupervised."

Chapter Nine

Sabrina snatched the thick white tights from the bed, her face twisted in a scowl that would have terrified a junior analyst. And yet here, in a room painted pastel pink, it just looked like a pout.

"This is insane," she muttered, sitting on the edge of the mattress to roll the opaque fabric up her legs. "I am a grown woman putting on hosiery meant for a kindergartner. These are going to cut off my circulation. I'm going to get a blood clot, Thorne, and I will sue you from the ICU."

"They stretch, and don't exaggerate. Besides, it rained all night. It’s chilly outside, and this will help keep you warm." Elena dismissed her boss’s complaints, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. "And stop stalling. We’re on a schedule."

Sabrina yanked the tights up to her waist, the elastic band snapping against her skin with a cheap, final thwack. She stood up, feeling encased and sexless. Her legs were now two pillars of blinding white matte, compressed more aggressively than her normal thigh high stockings.

Next came the shirt. She held up the bright yellow tee, staring into the eyes of the angry cartoon duck quacking, ‘Oh! Duck you too!’

"I hate this duck," Sabrina hissed, pulling it over her head, "I hate its beak. I hate its pun. I hate that you spent actual currency on this."

"It adds character," Elena deadpanned, "Crystal thought it was hilarious." She remembered having to bargain with her so she would change, allowing the shirt to be put in the laundry.

Finally, the skirt. Sabrina stepped into the light pink denim, pulling the pinafore straps up over her shoulders. She fumbled with the metal buckles, her fingers shaking slightly from a mix of rage and low blood sugar, until they clicked into place. She turned to the triptych mirror.

The reflection that stared back was a nightmare. The white tights made her legs look like marshmallows. The overall skirt flared out stiffly, hiding what little shape she had. The yellow shirt washed out her pale complexion and showed no hint of having breasts, not that she had much to show to begin with. Then there was her hair. It was still a tangled, disheveled mess from sleep, the blonde strands sticking up in chaotic tufts that the duck nightgown had encouraged.

"I look deranged," Sabrina announced, turning to glare at her assistant, "I look like a runaway orphan who got dressed in the dark. And I’m barefoot. Or do you expect me to walk into Blackwood Academy in my . . . in these stupid tights?" she corrected herself,. not wanting to take ownership of what she was wearing.

"You have shoes," Elena said, pointing to the corner of the room, "The pink sequined flats from last night are right there. They look so cute on you."

Sabrina recoiled as if the shoes were radioactive. "I am not wearing those glitter-bombs again. They have zero arch support, they pinch my toes, and I refuse to be associated with the word 'cute' for a second consecutive day. I need real shoes. I need my heels. Where did you put them?"

Elena sighed, pushing off the doorframe with a look of supreme patience, shaking her head as if Sabrina were speaking nonsense. "I didn't put them anywhere, Sabrina," Elena lied smoothly, leaning into the gaslighting she had established earlier. "You were the one stumbling around last night, kicking things off the moment we walked in the door. If you can't remember where you threw them during your little tantrum, that isn't my fault. I can't be responsible for every item you carelessly toss aside."

"I did not toss them aside!" Sabrina shouted, though the certainty in her voice wavered under Elena's calm gaze.

"Well, they aren't here," Elena said reasonably, "And since you refused to tell me where you 'misplaced' your purse with your car keys, we can't get into your place for more options." The tall woman slipped her right foot out of her shoe. She balanced easily on her left leg, the sheer pantyhose covering her foot sliding silently against the plush carpet. She nudged the glossy nude high-heeled shoe toward Sabrina. "You can try mine," Elena offered, a glint of amusement in her green eyes, "If you're so desperate for height."

Sabrina looked at the shoe. It was a stiletto. It was nude. It was a symbol of the adult power she was currently being denied. Without thinking, without letting her brain process the obvious physics of the situation, she stepped forward.

‘I just need the lift,’ Sabrina thought, desperate for the click of a heel, the arch of her foot, the feeling of being herself again. She slid her white-tighted foot into Elena’s shoe. Or rather, she slid her foot into the cavern of Elena’s shoe.

Elena was a statue of a woman, standing five-foot-ten with an athletic build. Her feet were proportionate to her height. Sabrina, at four-foot-eleven and petite in every way, had feet that were practically doll-sized by comparison.

Sabrina’s foot drowned in the shoe. Her toes didn't even reach the toe box, and there was a massive, humiliating gap of at least two inches behind her heel. She tried to take a step, to prove she could make it work, but the shoe just clunked uselessly against the floor, staying flat while her foot lifted right out of it. She wobbled, nearly turning her ankle, and had to grab the bed frame to catch herself.

The image in the mirror was devastating. She didn't look like a woman borrowing a friend's shoes. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s closet, clomping around in heels that were comically, impossibly too big for her.

"Oh," Elena said softly, slipping her other foot out and standing comfortably in her stockings, towering over Sabrina even without the heels. "I forgot. You have such . . . tiny feet."

Sabrina kicked the shoe on the ground in front of her, angry at the object like it was at fault. The nude stiletto tumbled across the carpet a short distance. Her face burned hotter than it had all morning. She stared at the heels lying on the floor, shoes that fit the woman who was currently running her life, but were literally too big for Sabrina to fill.

"Shut up," Sabrina whispered, the fight draining out of her as the physical reality of her smallness crushed her ego. "Just . . . shut up and give me the sparkles."

Elena smiled, the expression maddeningly benevolent as she stepped back into her own heels, regaining her statuesque height in a single fluid motion. She turned her attention to the triptych mirror, but not to look at her boss. She reached out and unhooked the pinstripe blazer and trousers from where she had hung them earlier. With the obstruction removed, she caught her own reflection.

For a second, she just stared, her slim smile on her lipstick-covered lips growing. She straightened her spine, smoothing the plum colored blouse tucked into her cream pencil skirt. Years ago, back in high school, she had hated looking in mirrors. She had been a "tall string bean," awkward and elbows, towering over the boys with zero confidence. But looking at herself now, poised, curvaceous, and towering over the woman who felt she had to constantly remind everyone that she was a Director, she felt a surge of pride. Elena wasn't just tall; she was substantial. She was a woman who didn't need padding or platforms to take up space. "Let's put this away," Elena said airily, turning toward the closet with the suit in hand, "Since we won't be needing it."

"I might need it later!" Sabrina protested, watching her armor disappear into the dark recesses of the closet.

"No, you won't. Rina doesn't wear suits." Elena shut the closet door with a definitive click.

She walked to the corner of the room and retrieved the pink sequined flats. She dropped them at Sabrina’s feet, the sequins catching the morning light. "Put on your pretty shoes," Elena instructed, her tone hovering somewhere between a request and a command, "Then sit down. I need to fix that hair."

Sabrina stared at the shoes, then up at Elena, her jaw tight. "I don't need help, Thorne. I am fully capable of brushing my own hair."

"We don't have time for your tantrums, Sabrina," Elena replied, cutting her off smoothly. She gestured to the vanity stool. "You’re used to ordering everyone around to help you, aren't you? Barking commands for maps and coffee? Well, I’m just being proactive. I’m stepping up. I’m helping you before you even have to ask."

"I wasn't going to ask!"

"And I wasn't asking you to sit," Elena said, her voice dropping that octave again, using the ‘Auntie’ tone she used when Crystal was too wound up to listen slipping into something harder. "I was telling you. Now, sit. Before we're late."

Sabrina glared, looking from the towering woman to the child-sized stool. The logic was twisted; Elena was framing her domination as proactive assistance, but the force behind it was undeniable. Grinding her teeth, Sabrina sat, shoving her feet into the sparkly shoes with aggressive force, them slipping in easily with the smooth tights on. "Fine," she spat, "But if you pull my hair, you're fired."

"Me? Getting fired . . . Again with this. I wouldn't dream of it," Elena smiled, picking up the pink paddle brush as her work superior sat where she was told with a heavy huff escaping her lips. Still, she had done as she was told. "Good girl."

The so-called compliment left Sabrina’s skin crawling. Gripping the edges of the painted vanity stool, her knuckles turned nearly white. She wanted to snap, to snatch the hair brush from her assistant's grasp and throw it across the room, to scream that she wasn't a dog or a toddler performing a trick. But the cold reality of her situation–the missing keys, the missing clothes, the looming threat of the school tour–kept her glued to the seat. She sat there, fuming silently, her pink sequined feet crossed at the ankles, her not even sure why she sat that way instead of crossing her legs at the knee as she normally did.

Elena didn't seem to notice the rage radiating off her boss. She was humming softly, rummaging through a small basket on the vanity. She pulled out a handful of small, multi-colored rubber elastics, pastels in pink, blue, and yellow. "We're doing a Crown Carousel today," Elena announced, setting the elastics down next to the brush.

"A what?" Sabrina asked, eyeing the pile of rubber bands with deep suspicion. "That sounds . . . complicated. And time-consuming. Just put it in a ponytail, Thorne."

"A ponytail is lazy; we need to make an impression today," Elena corrected, picking up a fine-toothed comb, "And it won't hold up. The Crown Carousel is secure. Besides . . ." Elena’s eyes softened as she looked at the reflection of the blonde hair in the mirror, seemingly looking past Sabrina to a memory. "My sister gave Crystal this exact hairstyle on her first day of first grade," Elena said softly, "She was so nervous about big kid school. But once she saw herself in the mirror with her 'princess crown' of hair, she marched right onto that bus. She looked adorable. And so will you, Rina."

Sabrina felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room temperature. ‘First grade,’ she thought with horror. ‘She is giving me a hairstyle designed for a six-year-old.’

"I am not in first grade," Sabrina hissed, "I am a twenty-six-year-old executive."

"Sit still," Elena commanded, the nostalgia snapping shut instantly as she tapped Sabrina’s head with the comb, “A hair style won't change who you are; don't be silly. And my niece Rina is starting the fourth grade. No one thinks you are a 1st grader.” Elena began to work. She didn't just brush the hair back; she used the comb to part Sabrina's hair with surgical precision. Starting at the very center of the crown, she drew radial lines down to the hairline, dissecting the blonde bob into triangular ‘pie slices.’

Sabrina felt the comb scratching lightly against her scalp, mapping out the geometry of her humiliation. "This feels tight," Sabrina muttered, trying to pull away as Elena gathered the first section of hair right above her left ear.

"It has to be tight to stay neat," Elena said, snapping a small pink elastic around the base of the section to create a tiny, vertical ponytail. Then, the "carousel" began. Elena took the tail of the first ponytail, smoothed it flat against Sabrina's scalp, and fed it into the next section of hair. She secured them both with a blue elastic.

Snap. Pull. Smooth. Snap.

The rhythm was hypnotic and terrifying. Elena worked her way around Sabrina's head in a circle. The style pulled every stray hair tight against the scalp, creating a "natural facelift" that widened Sabrina's eyes enhancing her natural young doe-eyed look. The chain of connected ponytails formed a colorful wreath of hair and rubber bands that sat high on her head like a playground crown.

"You're pulling my brain out," Sabrina complained, watching in the mirror as her professional bob was cannibalized into a segmented chain. "I look like I'm wearing a hair helmet."

"It kept Crystal tidy through recess, lunch, and nap time," Elena said absently, moving to the final section at the nape of Sabrina’s neck. She snapped the last elastic in place and tucked the remaining tail neatly under the loop to hide it. To finish the look, she picked up the large, pink Grosgrain bow. She clipped it right at the starting point of the carousel, just above Sabrina's temple, covering the first elastic. "There," Elena said, stepping back and resting her hands on Sabrina's shoulders.

Sabrina stared at her reflection. The transformation was absolute. The "Crown Carousel" was a masterpiece of juvenile engineering. It was intricate, colorful with the exposed elastics, and completely stripped her of any adult edge. Combined with the duck shirt and the pinafore, she didn't look like an executive having a bad hair day; she looked exactly like a young girl ready for a big day to head to the bus, much like she imagined Thorne’s niece did in the story she told.

"I look . . . " Sabrina’s voice trailed off, the word 'ridiculous' dying in her throat as she saw Elena's satisfied smile in the mirror.

"You look ready for school," Elena finished for her, "Now, let's get in the car. We have an errand to take care of first."

Chapter Ten

"Errand?" Sabrina repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism as she followed Elena down the stairs. While Elena descended with fluid grace, the sharp clack-clack of her stilettos announcing every step, Sabrina’s progress was far less dignified.

The sequined flats offered zero elevation, and her calves screamed in protest at the lack of the type of support her feet demanded. Years of strictly wearing five or six-inch heels had shortened her Achilles tendons to the point where standing flat-footed was physically painful. To compensate, she was forced to bounce on the balls of her feet, her knees knocking together slightly as she descended one step at a time, looking for all the world like a toddler doing a frantic potty dance rather than a corporate executive in a hurry.

Everything since the gala had been announced had seemed reasonable at the time. Not that the eccentric request from Edgar Sterling had been reasonable, but it was his charity event and was the client with a wallet full of money they wanted. So, his wants were the needs. Or that was supposed to be the case, until she was backstabbed by everyone coming together like a stupid union to refuse, leaving her the only one brave and foolish enough to comply. It made her wonder if biting the bullet to be publicly embarrassed wouldn't have been better than privately having her pride eviscerated by pretending to be Elena’s niece. At least public humiliation ended when one left the room. This had not ended at all; it simply kept finding new rooms.

“We’re going to a meeting with a big client and Julian,” Sabrina huffed, gripping the banister to stabilize her tiptoed descent, “We don't have time for a detour.”

“So, now you're in a hurry for the school tour? We don't have much of a choice,” Elena said, stopping at the front door to pick up her purse and her keys with the borrowed fob attached to Sabrina's Lexus. She turned, dangling the fob from a manicured finger. “Unless you want to explain to Mr. Sterling and Mr. Vance why the Director of Operations has been pretending to be a fourth grader?”

Sabrina froze on the bottom step, the chill in the air after a night of pouring rain air seemingly seeping through the door before it even opened. “Excuse me?”

“The ticket from last night,” Elena reminded her, opening the front door, “Officer Miller cited me for endangering a minor because you weren't in a booster seat. I am not repeating that to have my license suspended for driving you to a school, a place crawling with parents, safety patrols, and hard-nosed Mr. Sterling himself, without correcting that violation. The most we are going to do is drive you far enough to avoid problems. If we get pulled over again, they won't just write a ticket; they’ll ask questions. Questions about why a woman, cute as you are, is claiming to be twenty six, is dressed like a school girl and is sitting illegally on the way to school.” Elena raised an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over Sabrina’s pinafore and the Crown Carousel styling arranged with humiliating care. “Do you want to have that conversation with the police? Or worse, do you want to explain to Mr. Vance why you missed the meeting because you were getting a car ride from an officer since you have no ID and have a small disagreement about the requirement to be in a proper seat?”

Sabrina’s mouth clicked shut, but she did not move, not immediately, because she had seen the ticket and she had not read it, not closely enough to know whether it had been written to Elena personally the way the woman claimed or written to the car, meaning written to her, meaning another problem she would be expected to pay for while being told she was not allowed to solve anything herself. The money was nothing, a petty number that would not even register on a statement, but the law was not about money and she could feel that in her bones, because it was a rule that looked at her height and turned it into a verdict. It felt like the law itself was saying she could not be an adult just because she was short, and the rage that sparked in her chest was the kind that usually went somewhere productive. A memo, a call, a legal threat, an argument designed to destroy someone. But she could not win an argument with a statute in the short term; to do that, she would need money and, for that, her well paying job had to go well.

She could not fight the law without a lawyer and a prolonged legal battle, and she could already see the timeline of it. The filings, the hearings, the months spent being forced to comply anyway while the world treated her like the problem, and the part that made her swallow hard was the simple fact that continuing to violate the law after being informed was not principled, it was reckless. Reckless brought higher risks. Those risks could lead to her story ending up on the news. Stories like that could damage a company. Such a thing reaching Julian would show him how much of a liability she had become, and Julian did not protect liabilities no matter how much money they made him.

‘This is how they corner you,’ she thought, bitterness sliding through her like cold water. The cage did not seem to be from Elena’s hands; it was the rules of a harsh reality itself, and Elena was simply standing in front of the door holding a key she had not earned but still possessed. “This is ridiculous,” Sabrina said at last, voice tight, clipped, pitched for reason rather than volume. “A law and a ticket does not mean I stop being an adult.”

“It means I don't drive you anywhere until it is corrected,” Elena replied. She did not argue philosophy because she did not need to; she only needed to be the person holding the fob. “Including the tour of the school you agreed to.”

Sabrina stood there another second, bouncing on the balls of her feet because her tendons would not let her settle, then forced herself forward. Not because she wanted to, not because she accepted the premise of the fiasco, but because knowingly proceeding in violation after being informed was the one position she could not defend. It would make her attempt to right the wrong more difficult. “Fine,” she hissed, the word tasting like metal, “What is the errand?”

“I already told you. It's about that ticket and me not losing my license and not having your truth exposed,” Elena said, unlocking the Lexus, “To get you a carseat.”

Sabrina stomped to the car, or rather did a stiff-legged, bouncing march, her pinafore swishing with every awkward step. She climbed into the backseat, crossing her arms and fuming as Elena pulled out of the driveway. She told herself she was not complying; she was managing risk, she was choosing the least catastrophic option available, and when she got her phone back, she would make this stop.

The drive was mercifully short, but the destination was a fresh hell. Elena pulled into the parking lot of a massive baby superstore.

“I am not going in there,” Sabrina announced as the engine cut.

“You have to,” Elena said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I need to make sure I buy the right size. We need to measure you against the height markers on the box. Unless you want me to guess and risk buying a diaper bag instead?”

“That threat only works because of how many typos I see in your work making me question your ability to read with any proficiency, I hate you,” Sabrina whispered.

“Language. Be polite to adults,” Elena warned, “Come on, Rina.”

Sabrina got out of the car, using both hands to slam the car door, cringing as she remembered this was her car. Her movements were stiff and painful. She kept her head down, praying the Crown Carousel hairstyle and the duck shirt would act as camouflage. If anyone from the office saw her walking into a baby store dressed like this, she would have to move to a different continent. The worst part was that the fear did not come only from being recognized, it came from how easily she might not be. Adults did not stare and investigate, they glanced and resolved and moved on, and being resolved into the shape of a child without earning a second look felt like the world agreeing with the lie.

They marched to the safety aisle. It was a kaleidoscope of safety ratings and pastel padding. Elena bypassed the simple backless cushions, the ones that might have offered a shred of dignity, and went straight to the High-Back carseats section.

Elena stopped in front of a display model, a Graco monstrosity in a shade of violet with butterfly stitching. Sabrina nearly bumped into the taller woman as she stopped to read the display.

“This looks robust,” Elena mused, tapping the headrest, “Side impact protection. Adjustable head support. And it’s rated for a girl a little heavier than you. It supports little ones that are on the taller side. You fit right in the sweet spot.”

“It has butterflies on it,” Sabrina hissed, looking around frantically to see if anyone was watching, “It’s purple.”

“And the niece I know likes butterflies almost as much as she loves ducks. If you like, we can see if they have one in pink,” Elena noted, her hand hovering over the box. “We'll take it.”

“No,” Sabrina snapped, the idea of spending one more second in this fluorescent-lit purgatory hunting for a pink version overriding everything else, “Do not look for pink. Just get the damn thing so we can leave.”

Soon enough, the booster seat was being scanned by a cashier.

“That will be one hundred and forty dollars,” the teenage cashier said, snapping gum as she scanned the purple box.

“We'll take the installation service as well,” Elena added smoothly, handing over her credit card, her expression serene in a way that made Sabrina want to scream.

The cashier blinked, glancing at a schedule taped to the register. “That's an extra fifty bucks, ma'am. And there's gonna be a wait. Chad has to finish a stroller assembly first, and he's kinda slow.”

Elena didn’t sigh or complain. Instead, she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial, charming tone. “I hate to be a bother, really I do,” Elena said, her smile warm and apologetic. “But we are on a very tight schedule. I’m taking my niece for a tour of Blackwood Academy this morning. We're hoping to get her enrolled for the term and we simply cannot be late. If you could ask Chad to make this a priority, I’d be happy to hand him an extra twenty dollars for his trouble.”

The cashier’s eyes lit up at the mention of the tip. “Oh, for sure. Blackwood is fancy. I’ll page him right now and tell him to drop the stroller.”

“Thank you. You're a lifesaver,” Elena beamed.

The cashier nodded, finishing the transaction. As the receipt printed, her eyes drifted over Elena’s shoulder to where she saw the small girl standing by the exit, shifting about in a familiar way she had seen a dozen times babysitting. With the shortened tendons and the flat sequined shoes, Sabrina was doing her usual anxious bounce, shifting weight from one ball of the foot to the other, knees knocking together, unable to stand still or put her heels down. “Restrooms are right over there, in the back corner,” the cashier said helpfully, tearing off the receipt, “Looks like your niece is doing the potty dance. Poor thing looks like she’s about to burst.”

Elena turned, watching Sabrina’s frantic, tiptoed shifting. A slow, shark-like smile spread across her lips.

“Good catch,” Elena said. She turned fully toward her boss. “Rina, sweetie? Do you need to use the potty?”

Sabrina’s head snapped up. The name was bad enough, but the question asked loudly in front of a line of strangers was unbearable.

“I do not,” Sabrina snapped, her voice pitching high and sharp, forgetting herself. “I am fine. I just want to leave.”

“Now, Rina, don't lie,” Elena said, closing the distance between them in two long strides. “The nice employee can see you dancing. We have a long car ride to the school. We are not having an accident in my car.”

“Your car?! Listen here, giraffe, I said I don’t-”

Elena didn't wait for the protest to finish. She reached out and grabbed Sabrina’s forearm. It wasn't a gentle guide; it was a firm, inescapable grip, her fingers digging into the soft skin just enough to paralyze the limb. “Come along,” Elena commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

She pulled. Sabrina stumbled, the sequined flats slipping on the linoleum as she was dragged past the impulse-buy candy and toward the back of the store. “Let go of me,” Sabrina hissed, trying to dig her heels in, failing because she had no traction and Elena had all the leverage. “Thorne, unhand me this instant.”

“Quiet,” Elena said, making a shushing sound, yanking the door to the single-occupancy Family Restroom open and shoving Sabrina inside. Elena followed, locking the heavy deadbolt with a decisive thud.

The room was bright, smelling of industrial lemon cleaner and diapers. It was spacious, designed for strollers, with a low toilet and a changing table. “Are you insane?!” Sabrina shouted, rubbing her arm where Elena had grabbed her. “You do not drag me around like a . . .”

“Like a what?” Elena interrupted, backing Sabrina up until her legs hit the porcelain bowl of the toilet. “Like a child? Because that is exactly what everyone out there sees. A cute little girl in a duck shirt doing the potty dance.”

“I can't help the way I stand!”

“It doesn't matter why you're doing it,” Elena said, leaning down so she was face-to-face with the fuming executive. “It matters what it looks like. And right now, you are drawing attention. You are acting like a brat. And I am getting real sick of you not even pretending to show me . . .” she said slightly, trailing off, finishing the sentence mentally and differently out loud. ‘Never is there respect for me.’ Her lips pressed into a line before finishing with something that wasn’t such a depressing truth. “By me, I mean your aunt for this little ruse, who should be getting respect and love from her niece, or at least an attempt to sell that story so we can get through this.”

Sabrina opened her mouth to fire her, to tear into her with the kind of precise verbal attack that made grown men sit straighter in conference rooms, but Elena’s eyes narrowed.

“Don't,” Elena warned, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Do not forget last night, Sabrina. Do not forget the ladies' room at the gala. I told you then that you were acting like a brat. And what happened?”

Sabrina flinched. The memory of the spanking, the sharp, stinging humiliation across her rear while she was helpless, flashed behind her eyes, her face burning crimson. “I am not a child to be spanked,” she whispered, though her voice lacked its usual steel. Her hands tightened into fists at the reminder of the assault. ‘Oh, I haven't forgotten and you will regret even thinking about raising a hand to me,’ she thought, but kept it to herself. The order of the world had been turned upside down. The green eyed giant in front of her was only in a temporary position of power and, while she couldn’t always control her rage, for now it was going to be the fuel to obliterate this woman as soon as Sabrina had her rightful place again.

“Then stop acting like one who needs it,” Elena countered, “Because if you throw a tantrum out there, or if you wet yourself in the car because you were too stubborn to go when told, I will put you over my knee. I don't care who is around.”

Sabrina stared at her, judging the threat. Elena looked perfectly calm. Perfectly willing.

“Now,” Elena pointed to the toilet, “Sit. Try. We aren't opening that door until you do.”

“I told you, I don't have to go,” Sabrina pleaded, crossing her arms over the cartoon duck, “I didn't even drink the orange juice this morning. We can just wait.”

“You haven't gone since before the gala began,” Elena noted, checking her watch, “That was over twelve hours ago. You are dancing because you are full. Sit down.”

“No. I'm not going.”

Elena sighed, the sound echoing off the tiles. She pushed off the doorframe and reached for the lock, not to open it but to make a point. “Fine,” Elena said coldly, “If you won't listen, then I can't trust you to keep my car seats dry. Stay here.”

Sabrina blinked. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to Aisle 4,” Elena said, her hand on the deadbolt, “To buy a pack of pull-ups. If you refuse to try like a big girl, then we will treat you like a toddler who has accidents. I’ll diaper you right here on the changing table before we leave.”

Sabrina looked at the changing table, a plastic slab meant for infants, then at Elena’s dead-serious expression. The thought of crinkling plastic under her pinafore shattered her resistance instantly. “Wait,” Sabrina gasped, grabbing Elena’s wrist, “Don't. Don't do that.”

“Then sit,” Elena commanded, pointing to the bowl.

With a groan of defeat, Sabrina turned around. She reached up to her shoulders, her fingers fumbling with the metal buckles of the pink overall straps. Her hands shook, making the simple task difficult, but finally the clasps popped open. The straps slid down her arms, the bib of the overalls falling forward to hang loosely at her waist.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the denim skirt and shoved it down. Then came the white tights and the humiliating cotton panties with the pink band. Seeing them bunched around her ankles again, against the sequined shoes, made her want to weep.

She sat on the toilet. As Elena predicted, the moment she relaxed, nature took over. The sound was audible in the quiet room, a final betrayal of her defiance confirming just how desperate she had actually been.

Elena didn't gloat verbally. She just watched, her expression impassive, leaning back against the door to ensure no escape.

Sabrina took longer to finish than she would have liked, hating to admit her bladder really had been full. While sitting there, she kept looking at her assistant manager then down to the glossy nude colored heels that she couldn’t wear. They looked stylish enough; if the heel was higher and were of the proper size she would get a pair like them, but that wasn’t a worry for now. Her eyes slid away from the dark haired woman over to the changing table that folded out from the wall, wondering if it would really hold her weight or send her crashing to the floor. It was a dark thought; either she would end up lying on a public bathroom floor, or would be strapped into a changing table ready to have a diaper put on her. Anxiety flowed through her as her bladder emptied. She eventually finished and pulled the layers of white cotton, tights, and denim back up, struggling to re-clasp the buckles over her shoulders with burning cheeks. She flushed the toilet with an aggressive jab of her thumb, then turned to the sink to wash her hands, refusing to look at Elena in the mirror.

“One last thing before we go back out there,” Elena said, not moving from the door.

Sabrina froze, soap on her hands. “What?”

“We need to get your story straight. You seem confused,” Elena tilted her head, “How old are you, Rina?”

Sabrina glared at the drain. “I am twenty-six.”

“Wrong,” Elena said sharply, “Twenty-six-year-olds have IDs. They have keys. They drive cars. You have none of those things. Try again.”

“Elena, stop this.”

“How. Old. Are. You?” Elena repeated, spacing the words out. “We are going to a school. If you tell a teacher you're twenty-six, they’ll call social services because you're delusional. If you tell Mr. Sterling you're twenty-six, he cancels the contract because we lied. You need to be in character. So tell me. How old are you?”

Sabrina looked at the door. It was locked. She looked at Elena. She looked down at the duck on her shirt. She was trapped in a box of her own making, reinforced by Elena’s terrifying competence, and the worst part was that Elena was not asking her to believe the lie, only to perform it.

“I'm ten,” Sabrina whispered, the lie tasting like ash.

“I can't hear you.”

“I'm ten,” Sabrina said again, louder, her fingers gripping the edge of the sink.

“I still can't hear you.”

“I'm ten,” Sabrina shouted, voice cracking with fury and humiliation. “I am ten years old. Are you happy?”

Elena nodded once, as if that solved a problem. “And how are you going to behave for the rest of the day?”

Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears of sheer frustration. “I will be good,” she choked out.

Elena’s gaze stayed on her a beat longer, not satisfied yet, like she was checking off boxes on a list Sabrina couldn’t see.

“And one more thing,” Elena said, voice still low, still controlled. “If you are going to be Rina today, then you need to understand something. I am supposed to be your aunt.”

Sabrina’s hands clenched on the edge of the sink. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has to do with what comes out of your mouth,” Elena replied. “It is never okay for you to talk to me the way you just did out there. No insults. No snapping. No calling me names.”

Sabrina felt heat rise in her face again, the humiliation morphing into anger because she knew exactly what Elena meant, and she hated that Elena was right about how it looked. “You dragged me,” she hissed, “You put your hands on me like I was nothing.”

For a split second, the tiled bathroom blurred, replaced by the memory of another time and place. Glass, steel, and the muted hush of Julian Vance’s office, sunlight slanting through floor-to-ceiling windows while she sat perfectly composed in a leather chair she had earned. Julian had been relaxed, almost bored, congratulating her on last quarter’s numbers, on how cleanly she had closed a deal everyone else had written off, before his tone shifted just enough to register, and he gestured toward the woman seated beside him.

The HR representative had been forgettable in the way HR women often were, neat and pleasant and just a little too eager to be reasonable, the kind of person who could have been pretty if she tried harder, which only irritated Sabrina more. She spoke carefully, using phrases like concerns and perceptions and team morale, explaining there had been complaints, multiple ones, about Sabrina’s tone, about comments that felt dismissive, belittling, sometimes aggressive.

Sabrina had rolled her eyes then, not even bothering to hide it, already cataloging the list of underperformers who had probably decided bullying was a more comfortable word than accountability. Vance had noticed, of course, and sighed, fingers steepled, explaining that if she did not make the company as much money as she did, this conversation would be very different. That this was not a get-out-of-jail-free card, just an opportunity to adjust optics.

The HR woman had added, almost apologetically, that while she did not approve of threats or harsh language, she understood the reality, and moving forward Sabrina would need to complete an anti-bullying training module, something preventative, something to show good faith.

Sabrina had smiled tightly and agreed, already dismissing the entire thing as bureaucratic theater, another example of paper pushers slowing down people who actually worked.

The memory collapsed back into lemon cleaner and tile, but the echo of one phrase lingered longer than it should have, because it had followed her here and Elena had picked it up like she owned it. Optics . . . It is about how it looks.

“And you called me a giraffe,” Elena said, flat and unamused, pulling Sabrina’s mind fully back into the room without raising her voice, “You do that in front of the wrong person at a school and it is not cute. It is not funny. It is a little girl speaking with sass, which is a behavioral problem. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Sabrina swallowed, jaw tight, because she understood and she hated understanding. ‘Little girl . . . Fuck you, Thorne.’

“You do not call me Thorne,” Elena continued as if she could see into her mind, “You do not call me giraffe. You call me what you are supposed to call me.”

Sabrina’s eyes flicked to the deadbolt. The lock sat there like punctuation.

“What is your name?” Elena asked. The question sharpened on the last word, as if precision itself was the lesson. “Say it.”

Sabrina stared at the drain like it had answers. “Rina,” she said, barely audible, the name tasting wrong because it wasn’t hers.

“You sound like you are unsure,” Elena corrected immediately, “If you cannot say it clearly in here, you will not say it clearly out there when it matters.”

“My name is Rina,” Sabrina forced out, louder, steadier, hating herself for cooperating and hating herself more for how her body had already learned that resistance only bought her more time in this room.

“And who am I?” Elena asked.

Sabrina’s fingers curled tighter around the sink, knuckles whitening again. It was happening enough that Sabrina wondered if she would be giving herself a future with carpal tunnel. “Aunt Elena,” she said; it came out more like an accusation.

Elena nodded once, like that was the only acceptable answer. “Or Auntie, if you want to sound sweet. Either works, but you get it right, because we do not practice getting things wrong and then hope we magically get them right when it is important.”

Exhaling through her nose, slow and controlled, because she could foresee what future problems this could avoid but hating it nonetheless. She could feel a knot in her stomach and the beginnings of a headache. ‘She is wanting us to train so it is a reflex,’ she realized, and the realization did not make it better. On more than one occasion she had pulled Thorne into her office, making her read a brief that was to be presented to a client over and over again, making small adjustments as they went, expecting the giraffe to pick up on them instantly. Now, the roles were reversed

Elena’s expression softened into something that would read as caring to anyone outside this room. “Now dry your hands,” she said. Then, only then, she reached for the lock. “We are going back out there, and you are going to behave, Rina. You are going to speak to your aunt the way you are supposed to, because we cannot afford you slipping up when it counts.” The deadbolt clicked and the door opened, spilling them back into the store.

Sabrina stepped out first, shoulders tight, jaw locked, and she could feel the impulse to snap rising in her like a reflex, but she kept it contained because she had learned what snapping bought her. She forced herself into a stiff toe-heel walk, trying to look controlled rather than frantic, trying to keep her movements from giving the wrong impression once more. She hated the pink sequined flats for how much they flashed under the lights, glittering like they wanted attention.

The humiliation from the bathroom still clung to her skin, and in that raw space a different instinct surfaced, not the one that barked orders, but the one that survived, the one that watched Elena and measured what worked. Elena wanted Rina. Elena wanted this myth of a good niece. Elena wanted performance. That meant there was a currency available that Sabrina despised but could still spend.

She softened her face. The juvenile appearing young woman arranged her voice into something smaller than it should have been. She forced her pride down hard enough that it felt like swallowing glass. “Aunt Elena,” she said quietly, making herself say it clearly, making herself use the family title that tasted wrong. “Can I ask you something?”

Elena’s gaze flicked to her, suspicious, measuring. “What?” The pitch of her voice, the tone and use of the word aunt had her willing to listen, not that she would ignore her no matter what. The events in the bathroom had gone too far, as the idea of spanking the little witch again or putting her in a diaper amused her. She knew it was wrong and regretted it, though oddly enough she didn’t feel the same way about the physical act of it the night before.

Sabrina waved her hand toward her feet as if she was trying to be responsible, trying to be anything other than furious. “These shoes keep slipping,” she said, and she hated how small she sounded, “I almost fell earlier, and if I fall again in public, or at the school, then that becomes a problem we cannot control. If I am supposed to behave, then I need traction.”

Elena watched her for a long moment, and Sabrina held the sweetness in place like a mask, because she understood this was not a request a director made. It was a request a child made, and she hated that it was the only way to get anything. The options here in this kids’ store would be none to her liking, but she could improve what she was wearing at least by a few degrees. This was a fight she could win if she did it correctly through the niece act. It would be small, but it would be a victory and show she did have cards to play to have some control of the insanity.

“Fine,” Elena said at last, as if granting a reward for cooperation. “If you're going to behave, pick something safer so long as it is cute.”

The word ‘pick’ sent a thin, humiliating wash of relief through Sabrina’s chest. She grabbed onto it because relief from a strategic retreat to gain a victory was still relief.

They turned down the footwear section, and the wall of options made Sabrina’s stomach drop. Everything was loud. Everything was designed to be noticed. Velcro straps. Plastic hearts. Cartoon branding. Glitter overlays that made her skin crawl. She moved through it like she was trying not to touch anything, scanning for the least impossible compromise. She eventually found it, or what passed for tolerable–white sneakers with thick rubber soles and pink fabric, lights embedded along the side that blinked bright red and pink when they moved, velcro straps sitting above laces like the designer could not decide if the wearer was old enough for one method or the other.

They were horrible. They were a joke. They were still better than sequins that flashed like a punchline. Both best and worst of all, they were in a child's shoe aisle yet her size was easy to find. “These,” Sabrina said softly, keeping the tone sweet because that was part of the path to victory.

Elena took the box and paid at the small footwear counter without comment while Sabrina sat on a little bench and forced her hands steady as she slipped off the sequined flats. For a second, seeing them in her hands instead of on her feet felt like ripping off a label someone had slapped on her, and then she put the sneakers on and stood, and the lights blinked bright pink and red with her first step.

Heat flooded her face. ‘This is not a win,’ she told herself, keeping her expression neutral as she walked. ‘This is just less of a loss, and I will take what I can get.’

Only then did they return toward the front, where the original register area waited like a stage and the cashier leaned forward the moment she saw them.

“Oh, look at that,” the teenage cashier chirped, grinning. “She looks much better. Crisis averted, huh? No more dancing.”

Sabrina’s jaw tightened until her teeth creaked, and she tasted blood where she bit the inside of her cheek, because the impulse to lash out was still there. She had learned what lashing out bought her, and could not afford another purchase.

“Thank you,” she ground out, the words tasting like poison but sounding just as sweet as before.

“She’s just shy,” Elena added with a bright, apologetic smile, resting a hand possessively on Sabrina’s shoulder in a way that looked affectionate to strangers and felt like a collar to Sabrina. “Come on, Rina. Let's go see if Chad got your seat ready.”

Outside, the crisp chill of the morning hit them instantly, dampness from the night's storm still clinging to the air. Sabrina shivered violently in her short sleeves, goosebumps rising on her arms, and she braced herself for the freezing wind to cut through to her legs, but the bite never came. The thick, opaque white tights insulated her perfectly, and the traitorous comfort of it made her stomach twist.

‘I am actually thankful for this,’ she thought with a surge of self-loathing. ‘I am standing here relieved to be wearing kindergarten hosiery because it keeps me warm, and I hate that my body accepts it like it belongs.’

The trunk was open, and Chad was just backing out of the rear passenger door with the speed of someone motivated by money.

“All set,” Chad said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Locked into the anchors tight. That thing isn't going anywhere.”

Elena handed him the crisp twenty-dollar bill. “Thank you, Chad. You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem,” he said, pocketing the cash. He looked down at Sabrina, eyes flicking to the blinking lights on her sneakers. “Cool kicks, kiddo. Good luck at school.”

Sabrina didn’t answer. She stared past him into the open door of her car. He was talking about the shoes she worked so hard for, sacrificing part of her own sanity to get to replace the uncomfortable flats. In the car ahead of her, the contrast was obscene. The interior was cream leather and walnut trim, a sanctuary she paid an exuberant amount for. Now, dominating the back seat, was the purple high-back booster with butterfly stitching, massive enough to block the rear window.

“Well,” Elena said, gesturing to the open door, “we're burning daylight. Up you go.”

Sabrina looked at the seat. It was high, thick plastic adding inches of elevation.

“I can't believe you did this to my car,” Sabrina whispered, voice full of sullen misery.

“It’s not your car right now,” Elena corrected softly, her voice stripped of public sweetness, “Ten year olds don’t have cars, and right now it is the vehicle transporting a minor to a school interview. And you promised to be good. Remember?”

The reminder landed like a hand on the back of her neck, and she swallowed hard, because she understood that the law itself was part of the trap now, and she understood that if she continued after being informed, knowingly violating, then the system would escalate, and the system did not care about dignity or fairness.

She reached for the door frame to steady herself, lifted one foot, and the damp metal from last night’s rain made her slip.

“Whoa,” Sabrina gasped, legs kicking as gravity took her, and the lights in her shoes blinked violently with the sudden movement as if mocking her.

Strong hands caught her.

“I’ve got you,” Elena said, and before Sabrina could regain balance Elena used the moment to lift her, hoisting her into the booster seat like she weighed nothing.

“Put me down,” Sabrina shrieked, humiliation flooding her throat.

“Arms up,” Elena instructed, reaching across her.

“I can do it myself,” Sabrina snapped, batting Elena’s hands away.

Elena captured the belt and threaded it through the bright red guide loop. “These can be tricky, even for adults.”

“I am an adult,” Sabrina spat, “My hands are twenty-six years old.”

Elena clicked the buckle and tugged the strap until it locked, pinning Sabrina back against the purple butterfly wings.

Sabrina clawed at the release. “This is ridiculous. This entire law is bullshit.”

Elena froze. Her eyes snapped to Sabrina’s, wide and warning.

“Rina,” Elena chided, her voice dropping to a scandalized whisper, “Language. We are headed to a school. You are about to meet teachers. You are about to meet other fourth graders. What will they say if they hear you talking like a sailor? You want to make friends, don't you?”

“My peers are my sorority sisters and if I want to make friends they will be on the Board of Directors,” Sabrina shouted, giving the buckle one last futile yank.

“Not today,” Elena said, straightening up. She reached into the front seat, grabbed a plastic bag Sabrina had been too furious to notice, and dropped an iridescent unicorn backpack onto Sabrina’s lap. “Hold this.”

“I am unbuckling this the second you close the door,” Sabrina threatened, glaring up at her.

Before Elena straightened up and backed away, her eyes flicked down toward Sabrina’s feet, still swinging uselessly above the plush floor mats, the sequined flats glittering under the open door light like they were determined to announce her misery to the entire parking lot.

Elena exhaled through her nose in mild annoyance, not at the shoes themselves but at the inefficiency of how it had happened. “We should have done this in the store,” she said, already reaching into the front seat for the shoebox she had left on the passenger side floor. “But you were in such a rush to get out to Chad that you nearly tore my arm off.” She lay the blame for not putting on the shoes in the store at Sabrina's feet even though it hadn’t occurred to her but she surmised that Sabrina was the one wanting to get out of the shoes a shame considering how cute they looked or so Elena thought.

Sabrina’s fingers were still clawing at the buckle, her wrists twisting at an awkward angle because the belt pinned her chest and the plastic wings of the booster forced her shoulders into a posture she could not leverage. “I was trying to leave,” she snapped. “I am not wearing these glitter bombs another second than necessary.”

“I agree,” Elena replied, and there was something infuriating about how calm she sounded, like she was granting agreement the way someone granted a sticker. She slid the box open with one hand, pulled the tissue paper aside, and lifted the new sneakers out, one in each hand, bright even in morning light.

They were childish in the way everything in that store was childish, white uppers with panels of bubblegum pink, the sides banded with translucent plastic that held tiny embedded lights. Even sitting still, the soles looked like they were waiting to blink, the kind of shoe designed to turn a normal step into an announcement. The laces were a glossy synthetic white; too clean, too thick, and over the top was a wide velcro strap in matching pink that promised childish glee in the same way the booster seat promised safety, by treating the wearer as exactly what she currently appeared to be a child.

Elena held them up like a demonstration. “Take off your shoes and we will get these on”

Sabrina looked down at her feet, then at her pinned shoulders, then back at Elena with a glare that could have melted steel. “I can’t.” she said, hating the admission, hating that she had to say it out loud. She tried anyway, bending forward as much as the strap allowed, fingers scrabbling for the sequined flat, but the belt locked tighter the moment she leaned, cinching her back against the booster. Her hand brushed the glittery toe and then slipped off uselessly. She tried to bring one knee up, but the molded divider between her legs and the angle of the seat made it impossible, forcing her thighs into an undignified sprawl that left her feeling even more trapped.

Her cheeks burned. ‘Of course I can’t,’ she thought, fury sharp enough to taste. ‘Even changing my shoes . . . My . . . shoes. Like I want to own either of these.’’ She was frustrated that the booster seat the law demanded removed even more freedom than she ever thought possible.

Elena watched the struggle without moving to unbuckle her, and Sabrina felt the familiar flare of panic at the idea that Elena would choose this moment to make a point. Much like she had pounced on the woman, her lesser when she wanted to drive point home.

Then Elena did something worse, something more helpful, but done in a way that made her feel like the woman who knew better was seeing her as a child in need of assistance. “Hold still,” Elena said, and crouched.

Her hands were warm and decisive as she caught Sabrina’s ankle through the thick white tights, fingers closing around the slim curve above the heel. Sabrina jerked instinctively, but the belt held her pinned letting Elena’s grip hold her steady, and the motion only made the little lights in the new sneakers blink once as Elena set them on the seat beside her a promise of what's to come and worse Sabrina desperate to get rid of one infinity had picked them out.

Elena slid the first sequined flat off with one smooth tug. The shoe gave no resistance, popping free and leaving Sabrina’s foot covered only by the opaque tights, the fabric stretched tight over her arch and toes. Without socks, the sight felt more wrong. Her toes weren’t currently painted, being overdue for a good mani-pedi, but the tights made her small, dainty feet seem so much less like they belonged to her than it should have. Sabrina hated that too, hated how many tiny humiliations could exist inside a single task.

Not commenting. Elena just lifted the new sneaker and guided Sabrina’s foot into it. The inside was padded, softer than Sabrina expected, a cushioned heel cup and a surprising curve of arch support that pressed up under her foot through the tights. The fit was snug, but not painful. They were the right size, the kind of snug that felt comforting and possessive, like the shoe was shaping her foot into the posture it wanted. The thick sole raised her heel slightly, not enough to be a real heel, not enough to satisfy what her tendons begged for, but enough that the burning pull in her calves eased by a fraction. Or at least it would when she walked in them, she supposed; she hated herself for the choice even more, feeling her tight covered foot inside.

Tugging the tongue straight, pulled the laces tight with quick, practiced motions, Elena tightened them in crisp little increments until the shoe held Sabrina’s foot firmly. Then the revenge seeking woman folded the velcro strap down across the top, the sound loud in the open air, a hard ripping press that felt like a finalizing stamp.

Staring at Elena Thorne and what she was doing, at how absurdly normal Elena was being about this, at how absurdly intimate it felt, it made down-but-not-out Sabrina swallow hard. Anger did not remove the reality she was momentarily trapped in.

Elena repeated the process on the other foot, sliding the second sequined flat off and replacing it with the matching sneaker. Her fingers were efficient, almost gentle, but gentleness did not make it better when Sabrina was powerless to stop or assist her. When Elena tightened the laces and pressed the velcro strap down, the embedded lights winked bright pink and red at the slight jostle, blinking like they were applauding.

“There,” Elena said, straightening, “Better traction, better support. Just like you wanted.”

Sabrina flexed her toes inside the shoes, feeling the arch support again, the snug padded sides, the strange security of rubber that actually gripped. The sensation was more than just a few degrees better than what she had been wearing, which only made her angrier, because of that word bouncing around her mind still. Optics. These shoes were not how she wanted to be seen.

Reaching back over to the shoe box, Elena flicked the tissue paper back inside with a tidy movement before putting the now discarded pink flats inside. Shoes she bought only a few days ago, already thinking ahead to when she could get her diminutive boss back in them. “Next time I take you shoe shopping, we’re going to do this before we leave the store. Wasting time in a parking lot is how we get late, and being late is not something you nor I ever enjoy being.”

Sabrina glared at her. “I was trying to get out of there.”

“And you did,” Elena replied, her tone mild. “Now you are dressed appropriately, seated appropriately, and you are going to act appropriately.”

She leaned in, blocking the open door with her shoulder, and Sabrina saw her hand drift toward the edge of the frame where the child safety lock waited.

“Hold this,” Elena said, dropping the iridescent unicorn backpack onto Sabrina’s lap before Sabrina could protest, and the lights in the sneakers blinked again with the tiny shift of her feet.

Sabrina yanked the interior handle, the reach infuriatingly difficult from the booster seat and its straps. The door handle pulled loosely, disconnected from the latch. She was trapped, strapped into a purple booster seat behind a child-locked door, her blinking sneakers flashing every time she shifted, and the worst part was how quickly her mind started calculating survival inside the humiliation rather than escape from it, because escape required leverage she no longer had.

The drive to Blackwood Academy blurred into misery made tactile. The booster seat boxed her shoulders, elevated her body so her feet dangled, and the molded cup holder beside her looked designed for juice boxes. She clawed at the buckle once more, twisting, but the belt locked tight against the guide and the seat held her fast.

Elena tapped the infotainment screen. “It's a bit too quiet. We need some energy.”

She put on a family hits station at a volume that made Sabrina’s teeth ache.

“No,” Sabrina groaned, shrinking back against the purple wings, “Elena, please. Make it stop. I have a headache.”

“It’s popular with the pre-teen demographic,” Elena said, tapping the steering wheel to the beat.

“I don’t care,” Sabrina snapped, tugging uselessly at the strap, “Do I look like a pre-teen to you?”

Elena inhaled as if preparing to answer.

“Shut up, Thorne, don't give me your smart-ass answer,” Sabrina growled, cutting her off before she could speak. Her idea of playing the part given to her and acting sweet to get her way was momentarily forgotten. “Just put on a podcast. Anything where adults are speaking in complete sentences. Please.”

“A podcast,” Elena said, considering it as she guided the Lexus into a brightly lit Wawa gas station. “That’s actually a wonderful idea. It will help get you in the right headspace.”

The car now stopped, she paired her phone. “Connected,” the system announced. Then a chiming melody burst through the speakers, followed by an overly enthusiastic narrator welcoming “little fillies and gentle-colts” to another episode of Equestria Girls.

Sabrina stared at the dashboard in horror. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It’s top-rated,” Elena said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Listen closely. You might learn something about conflict resolution.”

Elena pumped gas while Sabrina sat trapped, premium speakers broadcasting cartoon friendship lessons to the parking lot. People glanced over. Sabrina sank lower in the booster seat, cheeks burning, telling herself she would remember every second of this and repay it in a way that mattered.

Elena returned and did not turn it off, but, like Sabrina wanted and demanded, they drove north. Blackwood appeared like an estate, wrought-iron gates and ivy-covered brick, old money and discipline. Elena parked in the front row of the visitor parking lot.

Sabrina’s stomach dropped when she saw the Rolls-Royce Spectre parked beside them. “He brought the Rolls,” Sabrina whispered, staring at the Spirit of Ecstasy. “He only drives that when he wants to intimidate and show off for someone.”

“Then let's hope he is not intimidated by a fourth grader,” Elena said, killing the engine. The podcast died, leaving silence.

Edgar Sterling waited at the front entrance of the school his family had owned for generations, checking his watch. Julian Vance leaned against a pillar in a tailored three piece suit; he looked bored, scrolling through something on his phone. A third figure stood nearby, a severe woman in grey with cat-eye glasses on a chain, hair pulled tight, looking like she belonged to a late nineteen hundreds reform school.

“Who is that?” Sabrina asked, voice trembling despite herself.

“That must be the Headmistress of the Lower School,” Elena said, peering through the windshield. “The website said she personally oversees younger grade admissions like, for example, say a fourth grader.” Elena turned in the driver’s seat, looking back at the woman strapped into the purple butterfly chair. “Okay, Rina,” Elena said, her voice sharp and clear, “Game time. We are late, so we apologize. You are shy, so you let me do the talking. And if Mr. Vance, Mr. Sterling, or that woman asks you a question, you answer it politely. You do not correct them. You do not talk about logistics. You are a ten-year-old girl who loves ducks and is both nervous and excited about her potential new school.”

Elena reached for her door handle. “I am going to come around and unbuckle you,” she added, her eyes locking onto Sabrina’s. “Do not try to get out yourself, we don't want you slipping again. Wait for me, I will get you out. We are doing this properly. Okay?”

Chapter Eleven

Elena shut the driver’s door softly, before bumping it with her hip to make sure it was sealed. Then her heels clicked away along the pavement as she circled the front of the car, moving with that efficient calm as she saw the trio starting to come closer out of the corner of her eye.

Sabrina watched the shape of her assistant, her helper, her warden, in the extended fiasco through tinted glass until Elena slipped out of her immediate view. The Lexus became quiet in a way that should have been comforting and, in many ways, it was. Like the end to that talk on a magical pony friendship. But there was still the fact she was imprisoned, waiting to be released with only her frayed thoughts, wedged into purple plastic that dictated how she sat and how it held her legs and how much of herself she could reach.

The unicorn backpack that had been shoved into her hands was no longer on her lap. She did not remember deciding to drop it; she only saw it now, tipped on its side on the floor behind the driver’s seat with one strap twisted under itself, sequins catching light like it wanted attention. Close enough to mock her and far enough that she would have to ask for it if she wanted it back. Even that small fact irritated her more than it should have, because it was the same story as everything else since last night–objects moving around her without her permission while she stayed contained and told herself she was only tolerating it until she could correct it properly.

She tried to hold onto her anger, because it was useful and it kept her from a depression spiral. The longer she sat there staring past the empty passenger seat and the clean line of the dashboard, however, the more the anger thinned into an unuseful rage, something that made her stomach tighten. The duck on her shirt might as well have been talking to her, as the words said how she felt, albeit filtered through a pun. “Gah! Duck you too!” she screamed into the void, struggling once more to get freedom from the seat and its infuriating safety precautions that were child tamper proof and truly difficult for an adult like Elena had said.

She looked down at herself, the shirt partially hidden by the light pink bib of the overalls. Bright, stupid, cheerful; painfully youthful, essentially. The thick white tights that sat warm and snug around her waist and legs like they belonged there, the soft cotton panties so plain and devoid of any sex appeal at all underneath them. So many things she should not have allowed into her morning in the first place. That was the point, wasn’t it? Because she had allowed it.

‘Why did I put them on?’ she thought. She hated that the question even existed, because it implied there had been a moment where she could have simply refused.

Arguing in Elena’s bedroom . . . her niece’s old bedroom that still looked so lived in. Arguing there would not have gotten her keys back. Wherever her purse was, she needed to find it; the thing cost more than what her annoying assistant made in a week, and inside was so much of her life. Refusing to change would only have escalated things before she had access to her phone, and standing her ground while locked out of her own apartment with no ID and no leverage was not strength, it was stupidity dressed up as pride.

She had told herself it was temporary, that once she was back in her own space it would stop mattering, dressed or not, because she could dismantle the situation properly the way she dismantled everything–piece by piece, once she had the tools in hand. It wasn't like she was just handed an executive position; she had worked her ass off to earn it, stepping on a few necks with her stiletto along the way. Sometimes, others had to fall down the corporate ladder so someone more deserving could climb up.

Playing along with Elena’s ideas had seemed logical at the time. How easily her mind had slipped into triage, choosing the least catastrophic option available and calling it strategy. And yet, it felt like she had made so many wrong choices to get where she currently was. Sabrina could help second guessing herself as she sat in the booster seat’s straps, unable to free herself. ‘Should I have fought back more? Tried to slap the shit out of the stupid but all too competent giraffe? I could have asked more questions. Stupid duck!’ Her Mind went back to the shirt and the same theme on the random sock she found under the bed. It had also been on the immature nighty she wore to bed.

Sitting there now, legs forced apart by a molded divider, shoulders boxed in by plastic wings, the lie felt a lot less temporary. It felt like cement that had already dried, which was the part that made her throat go tight.

Drawing in a careful breath and trying to pin herself back into place with a name, with a title, with anything that still belonged to her. ‘I am Sabrina Halloway,’ she told herself. ‘I am in my twenties, closer to thirty than twenty . . . I AM AN ADULT! I am an adult.’ The words were correct, but correctness was not the same as control, and she could feel the difference in a way she did not like admitting.

A sharp tap against the window snapped her head to the side before she could stop it, the sound close enough to make her flinch, and there Elena was again, framed by daylight and the open space of the parking lot, her expression all too friendly. She appeared cheerful in a way the woman had never looked at her before. It humanized the giraffe in a way Sabrina wasn’t comfortable with.

Elena stayed where she was, just outside the passenger door with Sabrina keeping her eyes fixed on her through the tinted glass, head turned as far as the molded wings would allow, neck strained against a limit she could not negotiate. From this angle, the parking lot barely existed, cropped away by plastic and reflection. Whatever waited beyond Elena’s shoulder was reduced to fragments Sabrina could not assemble into a full picture no matter how hard she tried. Each second the smiling woman left the door closed kept her from having to face the outside world with the childish clothing and hair style, but it was also another moment imprisoned in a car that was supposed to be a luxury, not a prison.

Elena’s expression was something Sabrina did not recognize from the office, lighter and warmer, almost playful in a way that sat unnervingly well on her face. She lifted her hand, palm angled outward, and gave a small wave made entirely of fingers, restrained and confident, yet so playful.

Sabrina followed the movement instinctively, trying to see who it was meant for, but the seat held her firmly forward, shoulders boxed in by plush cushioned fabric and purple plastic, her body forced to accept that whatever mattered right now was happening just beyond her reach. All she caught was the answer in the glass, a reflected slice of a man’s face and a smile that didn’t belong to the Julian Vance she knew from boardrooms and quarterly reviews.

The smile was softer, almost boyish, carrying an ease she had never been offered despite years of competence and results; the sight of it tightened something low in her stomach that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with hierarchy. Elena saw it clearly, and Sabrina could tell by the way her mouth curved just a fraction more, the way her shoulders loosened as if that single expression confirmed something Elena had calculated or at least desired.

Sabrina shifted as much as the booster seat allowed, which was not much at all, the belt across her chest firm without being painful. The seat accepted her weight easily, its contours meeting her without strain or adjustment, shaped for someone of her height and build. It wasn’t made for an adult, yet she fit into it so cleanly that it made her like she was less than who she believed herself to be. No matter who it had been designed for, it agreed with the law, with the ticket, with everything else that had quietly decided she was to be handled like a child.

Closing her eyes tightly, Sabrina slowly shook her head to try and deny the current setbacks in her life and the scope of them. It was easy to feel and admit to herself she was stressed and full of anxiety in a way she hadn’t felt since she was new in the corporate world. Like that time an old executive literally came up behind her at the copy machine, groping her and kissing her neck, treating her like she was an object for his desires. Nice as it was to be wanted, there was no respect there. It had been a long time since she maneuvered things so she could have his job, and now her situation felt so much worse. She just kept reminding herself how temporary it was, how she needed to keep focusing on her goal. The destination for all of this was getting bogged down in the minor humiliations, where swallowing her pride and keeping calm was getting to be a difficult task.

She told herself her name, then her title, then the path she had taken to earn both without favors or softness, repeating the sequence until the rhythm of it slowed her breathing and pulled her focus back into alignment. Sabrina Halloway did not wait to be validated. She decided, she acted, and the world adjusted afterward.

The logic remained intact, every step clean and defensible, but it did not land with the same authority it once had; that friction made her jaw tighten. She noted it without panic and without surrender, filing it the same way she filed any temporary constraint that could not yet be crushed outright. This was not defeat, it was positioning, and positioning required patience. Whatever leverage Elena thought she held would be neutralized once Sabrina was no longer forced to operate blindly, and the certainty of that outcome was the only thing keeping her from forcing the confrontation too early and turning a solvable problem into a spectacle that benefited no one but her opponent.

It felt like it was taking far too long for the door to open but that could have just as easily been Sabrina's anxiety. When the door did finally open the bound young woman found the buckles released, thankfully quickly, as her assistant finally did something actually helpful.

"You ready for this? Honestly, I'm a nervous wreck. Calm as I seem, I can't think of anything beyond what can go wrong." Elena leaned into the car, close enough she could easily be heard even while whispering.

Hearing the question, Sabrina slowly shook her head; she was not mentally prepared for this, but she was no quitter. It was time to act. ‘It is only for the day . . . No, not even that long. Maybe from morning to afternoon; by then, Edgar Sterling will think Elena is untrustworthy and I will be either back in the office taking care of the paperwork to bury her, or home taking a relaxing bubble bath.’ Sabrina tried to keep herself in a decent frame of mind. "Ready? Sure. My years of dominating the corporate world, proving that a woman was no less than any man, has prepared me for pretending to be a young girl. No, Thorne. I doubt I acted like a child when I was a kid; some of us are just naturally mature. Now get out of my way so I can make an appearance and get this over with." Sabrina didn’t really want to get out of the car, but how else was she going to use the niece act to make Elena look bad if she didn't interact with others?

"Let's get you out of here." Elena reached for her pretend niece in the booster seat in a way that made her recoil, not that she had any where to go. "Listen, there is a lot going on. I know I might have crossed some lines, like in the bathroom or with that podcast. In my defense, you were floundering when I needed the real Sabrina Holloway, the woman that gets things done. I just wanted to push you forward, and spanking you was the only course of action I could see without things blowing up. And the podcast might come in handy. What if the other kids near you talk about the show? If you want to think of me as the bad guy, or incompetent, or whatever, then I get it. But I’m doing the best I can.”

"Pff . . . " Sabrina pushed herself forward in the seat now that she wasn't strapped down, wanting to slap the woman whose plan had her making all the sacrifices. "You are just a giraffe with half a brain and a weak imagination. Your shortcomings aren't your fault and I know . . . I know, ‘be nice,’ the whole good girl niece thing. But you were being honest with me, so it is only fair I do the same in return." Sabrina was not willing to confess that her being here in the stupid niece disguise didn't mean her goal of ruining the green eyed girl had changed. Just that the method had.

Even leaning forward in the child seat, Sabrina had nowhere to go when Elena’s hands closed around her waist, fingers firm enough to make it clear this was not a suggestion. She did not want to be touched and she absolutely did not want to be picked up, not like this, not ever. Whatever she was being made to look like, she was still a grown woman, and the urge to slap those hands away surged hard enough to tighten her shoulders. Past Elena, she could already see movement in her peripheral vision. Figures resolving into people, and the knowledge that resistance here would be seen and interpreted negatively forced the reaction down where it burned instead of detonated.

Elena lifted her straight up and back, clearing her from the booster seat and the car in a single controlled motion. For a brief, humiliating second, Sabrina was suspended with nothing under her feet at all, the open rear door framing the interior of her own car beneath her. Her legs folded reflexively and then parted as gravity resolved itself, settling only after she was fully out of the vehicle. Her body was drawn in close, legs splayed out as she ended up briefly positioned as if she was half sitting on the taller woman's hip. Sabrina locked her jaw and fixed her expression into neutrality, refusing to give the moment anything it did not already have.

Being carried kept her facing the open car, and she could not avoid looking. The Lexus interior stared back at her, the booster seat still looking like a cancerous growth on her perfect car; cream leather and walnut trim, interrupted by the bulky purple booster seat squatting in the back where it did not belong. It looked invasive now, a foreign object imposed on something she owned and controlled, and her thoughts narrowed with sudden clarity to that alone. Dragging it out later. Taking it to Elena’s house once this was finished. Soaking it in lighter fluid right there on her front lawn and watching the plastic curl and collapse into itself until there was nothing left as it burned and melted. The image steadied her, not because it was violent, but because it had an ending she could control.

Only after clearing the door did Elena shift her grip, settling Sabrina more securely against her before lowering her to the pavement. Her feet touched down and the new sneakers betrayed her immediately, lights flaring red and pink with the smallest shift of her weight, and Sabrina froze until the blinking stopped, posture snapping upright out of reflex even though dignity was no longer something she could protect.

Elena turned back to the car then, reaching into the front passenger seat for the plastic bag and unloading its contents with brisk efficiency. The bright yellow binder went into the unicorn backpack first, then the multi-pack crayons, the colored pencils, the child safe sharpener, each item added without pause, as if this were preparation for a real school day. Turning back to her boss, Elena slipped the straps over Sabrina’s shoulders and adjusted them, fingers practiced from so many years of helping her niece. A small pang of grief came through her, feeling how she hadn't been able to do this in over two years, since her cute little duckling had moved out.

Sabrina kept her eyes forward while it happened, breathing measured. Her expression was not even neutral like she normally kept it, nor did she grimace or sneer; instead, she forced a bright cheerful smile, like she was not just happy but excited to be here. According to Elena, they both had to play the part for the upcoming tour.

The act cost her something personal, but it wasn’t any more difficult than acting with appreciation when a man she wasn’t attracted to at all bought her a drink. It made her think of how good a stiff drink would be right now, morning or not. She had stuck a toe into hell and now needed to walk through it, not that any bar would serve her with how she looked now. It had always been an ordeal getting a drink at a bar. The bartender asking for her ID, then looking at her with suspicion if her makeup game wasn’t on point. Standing there, she lifted her left foot before half stomping it back down, the lights flashing as she tested the actual fit of the shoe now that she was standing in them, gauging how good and bad they were with her feet and calves. The answer was a great deal better, but still not good. When Elena finally took her hand and guided her away from the car, Sabrina went with her. Her anger remained banked rather than spent, already recalculating the path ahead and refusing to let this be anything more than a delay before correction.

Sterling reached them first, stepping forward with the ease of a man used to greeting guests on his property. His family had owned the school for generations. His gaze settled on Elena first before dropping naturally to the smaller figure at her side. “Welcome to my small house of education, Ms. Thorne,” he said warmly, the tone practiced and confident, “It’s a pleasure to see you this morning, and to see the girl with the bright young mind again. I hope my school and you are a good fit for one another. You know, I started to attend here when I was younger than you.”

Elena returned the smile carefully, polite and measured; her fingers tightening slightly around Sabrina’s hand as if grounding herself while the pressure of the situation pressed in from all sides. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling. We appreciate you making the time.”

Julian Vance closed the distance without waiting for the exchange to finish, slipping an arm around Elena’s shoulders and drawing her into a one-armed hug that lingered long enough to register as familiar rather than formal. With one hand occupied holding Sabrina’s, Elena’s free hand hovered briefly before settling flat against Julian’s chest, a gesture meant to keep balance and distance that also acknowledged the closeness; her palm rested there long enough for her to feel the firmness beneath it and the knot of his tie just within reach, resisting the urge to grip. Julian leaned in, holding her there for an extra breath as he inhaled deliberately and smiled. “Good morning,” he said quietly, “I love your perfume. You always smell incredible.”

Elena laughed lightly, the sound practiced but edged with nerves; she eased her hand away from his chest as she straightened, acutely aware of the eyes on them and the risk of letting the moment stretch any further than it already had.

The headmistress stepped forward, her presence announced by a sharp clearing of her throat. Her expression was carved from disapproval as her gaze flicked pointedly from Julian’s arm to Elena’s face before settling on Sabrina with brisk appraisal. “Public displays are unnecessary,” she said coolly, “If the young miss and her guardian would follow me inside, we need to complete intake paperwork before any tour or discussion continues.”

Julian withdrew his arm without comment, smoothing his jacket as his expression reset to professional neutrality, though his eyes lingered on Elena a moment longer than propriety required. Elena nodded quickly, a hesitant smile crossing her face as nerves spiked at the awareness that this was where things could still go wrong. “Of course,” she said, “That makes sense.”

Sabrina shifted closer to Elena’s side at that point, posture softening deliberately, shoulders drawing in just enough to read as shy rather than calculated. When she spoke, her voice was smaller than anyone present had ever heard it, bright and polite in a way that had been carefully chosen. “Mr. Vance?” she said, tilting her head up toward him, “I’m really happy to see you, sir.”

Julian blinked, surprise flickering before his smile returned warmer and less guarded. His body language adjusted instantly as he bent slightly at the waist to meet her eye line without crouching. “Well,” he said, clearly charmed, “it’s very nice to see you today, too. I liked the pigtails last night, but I’m liking your current style as well. Did you do it yourself?”

The comment landed wrong before it ever finished settling. The casual mention of her hair pulled a tight, reflexive flare of irritation through her chest that she had to suppress before it reached her face. She hated the reminder, hated that he could look at her and see effort where she felt only compromise. For a split second, the urge to correct him, to explain, to reassert herself rose sharp and dangerous.

She caught it just in time. Instead of stiffening, Sabrina let her shoulders dip slightly. Her grip on Elena’s hand loosened just enough to read as shy rather than resistant as she shifted her weight closer, turning her face up toward Julian with practiced softness. “Um,” she said, letting a small smile spread slowly rather than snapping into place, “Aunt Elena helped a little, but I did most of it myself. She says I’m supposed to practice doing things on my own now that I’m getting older.”

Julian’s expression softened immediately, the change easy and unguarded. His attention narrowed onto her with the same indulgent focus he used when reassuring donors or humoring executives’ children. “She’s right,” he said, nodding with approval, “That’s how you learn confidence.”

Sabrina smiled more widely at that, just enough to reward him without tipping into excess. She kept her posture small and agreeable while the irritation settled back into something colder and more useful. The role was working, and she could feel the shift in the way he looked at her, the way the conversation had already tilted in her favor, which made enduring the reminder of the hair and everything it represented feel like a calculated expense rather than a loss.

Sterling chuckled approvingly, the sound signaling satisfaction as he watched the exchange unfold. “Good manners,” he said, “That’s always a promising sign.”

Sabrina nodded solemnly, fingers brushing Elena’s hand once before she released it. She turned her attention fully back to Julian with careful timing, as if weighing the request she was about to make, needing this to work. “Um,” she said, hesitating just enough to sell uncertainty, “Is it okay if I use your phone for a minute? I just want to call my mom so she doesn’t worry. I promise I won’t take long.”

Elena’s head snapped toward her, the polite smile still fixed in place even as alarm flared unmistakably in her eyes, a silent refusal she could not voice without drawing attention she could not afford.

Julian did not notice, already reaching into his pocket with the relaxed generosity that played well in front of clients. “Of course,” he said easily, “That’s very responsible of you.” He placed the phone into Sabrina’s hands without hesitation. She accepted her prize, with it only costing her more of her pride. Fingers closing around the device, she glanced up at Elena once with an expression sweet enough to reassure, and sharp enough to unsettle as the headmistress turned toward the entrance and motioned them inside.

Chapter Twelve

Mrs. Hatcher pivoted on her heel and led Elena and the prospective student into the front office, a glass-fronted administrative space where the quiet hum of daily school operations continued uninterrupted. Clerks and aides moved papers and typed without paying more than a passing glance to the arrival. The headmistress moved behind the long counter rather than toward any private offices attached, positioning herself on the staff side with practiced ease before straightening and offering Elena her full attention.

“I am Margaret Hatcher,” she said. Her tone was formal, edged with pride; at the same time, she offered little warmth, no smile on her face as she spoke. “Headmistress of the Lower School. My responsibility is to maintain academic standards, faculty conduct, and student welfare for grades one through five, and to ensure that any child placed in our care is supported appropriately.” Her gaze shifted then, deliberate and assessing, as it settled on Sabrina. “You may call me Mrs. Hatcher. If you attend this school, I am the person you will come to if you have concerns, complaints, or difficulties with discipline, though I expect that will not be necessary.”

Mrs. Hatcher picked up the clipboard and glanced down the page, pen poised above the first line, her attention already narrowing into procedure. “And the student’s full name?”

Sabrina Hal . . . ” The diminutive blonde started to say, feeling very done with the Rina nonsense butchering her first name, but not able to finish speaking as she was interrupted.

“Sabrina Haley Thorne,” Elena said at the same time, stepping forward so abruptly her arm brushed Sabrina’s shoulder. The correction had to cover the abrupt cut off of the last name and make up for the woman veering from the established name for her fake niece. “Sabrina Thorne. But she prefers being called Rina.” Elena had a weak smile on her face as he slowly shook her head, her heart beating rapidly at the gaff that could have been the source of her story being unwound and leaving her exposed.

Sabrina froze for half a beat, the interruption hitting like a hand over her mouth, the rest of her name trapped uselessly behind her teeth as heat flashed up her neck. ‘Haley? And your last name? You fucking moron giraffe,’ she thought, anger and understanding colliding at once. She reluctantly let the moment pass without correcting it, already weighing the cost of doing so against the current audience and having something to handle that actually mattered.

The headmistress of the lower grades made a brief note on the clipboard, neither reacting to the stumble nor lingering on it, the moment already categorized in her mind as something commonplace rather than concerning. Children tried on maturity the way they tried on language, names included, especially when adults were watching; this read to her as nothing more than a girl reaching for formality she had not yet earned. She adjusted the paper slightly, aligning it with the edge of the counter, and moved on without comment, her attention shifting smoothly from identity to procedure as if the correction had never occurred.

The headmistress’s pen moved once, a neat mark added beside the name, and whatever assumptions she made about a child trying to sound older around adults stayed unspoken as she shifted the clipboard aside and reached beneath the counter for a thin stack of prepared forms. When she looked back up, her attention settled squarely on Elena as if the adult presence mattered more than the child’s discomfort.

“These are our intake documents,” she said evenly, sliding the papers forward across the counter, “Guardian authorization, emergency contact information, consent for on-site medical services, and an acknowledgment of the student handbook. We believe in clarity here. Expectations protect everyone.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Sabrina, not unkind but appraising, before returning to Elena. “As her Aunt, you will sign as the child’s legal guardian for the duration of the evaluation period.”

Elena nodded a little too quickly and reached for the pen, the motion betraying a tension she tried to mask as composure while she scanned the top page. She formed her signature with care even as her thoughts raced ahead to what she might have missed, what detail could still unravel if she moved too fast. Sabrina barely looked at the forms, her attention already drifting past the counter toward the hallway that opened into the rest of the building. The muted sounds of students and teachers carried faintly through the space, because paperwork meant nothing in the larger equation. Not when she had no plans to turn into reality the fabrication of the 10 year old Rina, which made the school’s paperwork being meaningless.

While Elena worked through the first page, the girl edged backward with deliberate casualness, timing it so the movement read as restlessness rather than intent. Her fingers closed around the phone as she slipped into the short corridor between the front office and the classrooms. The moment the distance gave her a sliver of privacy, she raised the phone to her ear, posture straightening as if the device itself restored something essential. And, when the line connected, she did not bother softening her voice like how she had been talking to the school employee.

“Mr. Vance?” the woman answered brightly, the cheer snapping into place so quickly it sounded rehearsed. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so early.”

“It isn’t Julian,” Sabrina said immediately, her tone cool with an edge to it, already stripping any of the warmth she might have included. “This is Sabrina Halloway. I’m using his phone because mine is currently unavailable, and I needed to check in.”

There was a brief pause on the line. A faint click of keys in the background, as the woman recalibrated. “Oh,” she said, the brightness returning but thinner now, curiosity edging in where confidence had been. “Well, you sound . . . much better than I expected, given what we were told.”

Sabrina’s jaw tightened as she stared at the blank hallway wall. “I’m not sure what you were told,” she replied evenly, “but I am perfectly capable of handling my responsibilities today.”

A soft, almost playful hum came through the speaker. “That’s interesting, because we were informed you were out with the flu,” the HR woman said, sounding pleased with herself, “You sound pretty good for someone who was too sick to come in.”

“That was a miscommunication,” Sabrina cut in, each word clipped, “Specifically, one caused by Elena Thorne. You may want to make a note that inaccurate information was distributed.”

Another pause followed, longer this time, before the woman asked, “So when should we expect you back in the office, if you’re feeling well enough to make calls?”

Sabrina turned slightly, eyes flicking toward the front office where Elena was still bent over paperwork, and muttered a curse under her breath before answering. “I’m working remotely,” she said, “I’ll be logged into the system later today.”

“Well, we’ll need you to formally sign in when you do,” the woman replied, already shifting into procedure, “It’s important for documentation.”

“Noted,” Sabrina said flatly, then redirected without waiting, “While I have you, why was I not informed of the change to the gala agenda?”

“The change?” the HR woman echoed, genuine surprise breaking through her practiced tone, “I wasn’t aware there had been one. Our department wasn’t included in those meetings.”

Sabrina’s fingers tightened slightly around the phone as she absorbed that, irritation settling into something colder and more deliberate. If HR hadn’t been looped in, then the shift hadn’t been broadly communicated, which meant the failure wasn’t procedural, it was selective. “That’s exactly the problem,” she said evenly, “A decision significant enough to alter presentation and expectations should not move forward without full internal awareness.”

There was a faint rustle on the other end, papers being adjusted, keys tapping. “I can look into whether anything was circulated late,” the woman offered, “But as of yesterday, the theme on file hadn’t changed.”

“Then please note that I was operating under incomplete information,” Sabrina replied, her voice smooth and controlled, already filing the inconsistency for later use, “If there was a revision, it did not reach me through official channels, and that gap needs to be addressed.”

“I’ll make a note,” the HR woman said, the confidence in her voice softening as the imbalance became clearer.

“Thank you,” Sabrina said, already disengaging, her attention shifting back toward the front office as footsteps approached, the sense of borrowed control slipping just as quickly as it had arrived.

Sabrina was still holding the phone when someone stopped just inside her peripheral vision, close enough that she could feel the interruption before she registered it fully. When the voice came, it was calm in the way adults used when they believed they were being patient. “Honey,” the woman said, glancing pointedly at the phone and then back toward the front office, “You can’t be back here alone. Your mother is still finishing the intake forms.” The word landed wrong immediately, sharp and invasive, and Sabrina turned toward her with a flash of heat that she did not bother masking.

“She is not my mother,” Sabrina snapped, the words coming out harder than intended, her grip tightening on the phone as if that alone could anchor her. “She’s . . . she's-" Sabrina was so in control on the phone with the paperpusher from HR, but confronted with being seen as a child again, her everyday confidence felt shaken, her power stripped from her.

The staffer blinked once, then softened looking at the cute flustered child with her blonde hair in a circle braid, already recalibrating to what she saw as a correction rather than a challenge. “Of course,” she said evenly, “Your aunt, then. But you still need to come back inside with her.” She angled her body toward the front office again, the expectation clear in the way she waited rather than argued. The patience in her expression only made the correction feel more final.

The staffer did not step aside or repeat herself; she simply stayed where she was, her body angled enough to block the corridor while she looked down at Sabrina with an expectant expression reserved for children who believed they still had time. The phone was still in Sabrina’s hand, the line to her world not yet fully severed. The urge to lift it again, to squeeze one more call out of the moment while she still could, flared sharp and insistent.

Feeling the life line, the brief moment where she regained something slipping away, Sabrina didn’t move other than to shuffle her feet. Seconds stretched, and in that space the staffer’s gaze did not soften or drift; it stayed fixed and unblinking, a quiet reminder that Sabrina was not alone and not unseen, that every hesitation was being cataloged. Feeling the stare settle on her shoulders like weight, feeling the way standing still began to look less like deliberation and more like defiance, the awareness crawled under her skin in a way that made her jaw tighten.

She shifted her grip on the phone instead of raising it, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen as if proximity alone might justify one more connection. The woman did not look away, did not fill the silence, and the patience in her expression was no longer generous, like it was wearing out. From the corner of her eye, Sabrina could see Mrs. Hatcher beyond the glass, upright behind the counter, her attention no longer elsewhere, her presence now part of the equation whether she had spoken or not.

The math on the equation changed with more attention on her. Holding her ground another moment would not buy her another call; it would only turn the phone into evidence, and the thought of it being taken outright because she insisted on standing here made her stomach tighten. With visible reluctance, she lowered the device, ending the call she had already lost, and let her arm fall back to her side. The motion was slow enough to read as restraint rather than obedience.

Only then did the staffer move, the tension easing from her posture as she turned toward the front office, satisfied not because Sabrina had agreed, but because she had complied. Sabrina followed, irritation burning hot and unresolved. The phone was still in her hand but no longer a shield; the knowledge settled in the silence that waiting could be just as effective as force when the system was built to outlast you.

Mrs. Hatcher inclined her head once toward the staffer in a small, contained gesture that read as acknowledgment rather than praise, and the woman answered with the same restrained professionalism. She spoke in a low voice meant for the counter, rather than the room. “She was on the phone in the hallway,” she reported simply.

Elena’s posture tightened at the confirmation, the concern surfacing in her eyes even as she kept her expression composed; she had no idea who Sabrina called, or what she learned or did. Mrs. Hatcher did not ask who had been called or what had been said; the specifics were unnecessary for her purposes, and she returned her attention to the paperwork with a controlled breath before speaking again.

“You indicated earlier,” she said calmly, her tone devoid of any real emotion, “that the reason for borrowing Mr. Vance’s phone was to contact her mother.” Her gaze lifted then, settling briefly on Sabrina and then shifting to Elena, the pause deliberate. “I assume that request has now been addressed, and that we may proceed enforcing the school rules.”

Elena nodded quickly, relief and unease crossing her face in equal measure as she answered, hopeful it would prevent the tiny tyrant from making any more calls. “Yes, Mrs. Hatcher. That’s finished.”

“Good,” Margaret replied evenly; the quiet certainty of her tone made it clear that whatever allowance had been made was no longer in effect.

Sliding a thin booklet out from beneath the remaining forms and placing it on the counter between them, Mrs. Hatcher touched her index finger to it, tapping the book a few times as she looked between the two on the other side of the counter. “If young Miss Thorne is to enroll here, it is important to know the guidelines all students must follow. It is appropriate to review our student handbook.” She turned the booklet so both Elena and the child could see the school crest embossed on the cover; her fingers rested lightly along its edge as she continued. “We believe in consistency here, particularly at the lower school level, where habits are still forming. The rules are not negotiable, and they apply from the moment a student steps onto campus.” Her gaze shifted briefly to Sabrina, not searching for reaction, but noting the girl’s posture and attention, before returning to Elena. “Uniforms are to be worn correctly at all times. Students are expected to show respect to all adults, regardless of role or familiarity. Kindness toward peers is mandatory. Academic work must be completed to the student’s best ability. Phones are not permitted for lower school students during the school day.”

The rules of the school did not really matter to Sabrina, because while she could concede that little brats needed rigid structures to keep them manageable, not one of those rules was going to apply to her beyond the next few hours, after which this entire fiasco would be finished and forgotten like a bad dream. However, she suspected it might be the topic during at least one therapy session. Even so, the final rule made her glance down at the borrowed phone still in her hand, and the implication behind it landed wrong in a way the others had not. The idea that a child, which was what they thought her to be, was not permitted access to something so basic and so powerful made her stomach churn. The discomfort was enough for her to put her hand over her belly even as she told herself it was all in her head. It felt like an attempt to sever the lifeline she had clawed back through calculation and manipulation only minutes earlier, and the thought of being cut off again, rendered silent and contained by an elementary schools policy . . .

Seeing the ten year old’s hand move to hover over her stomach and then press in, Margaret raised an eyebrow. Her reputation made her sound like a cold, uncaring person that was the farthest from the truth. She had just been working in education for so long she had seen how the children that will make the future take advantage, but she still did the job more for passion than any financial reason. ”Little Rina, are you feeling unwell?”

Hearing the question, Elena took a small step to the side, squatting lower so she was to the side of and closer to Sabrina’s height. She leaned in to kiss her cheek, an action she had done without any forethought. Her real intent had just been to sell the good aunt act; the rest just happened before she could half whisper. “You feeling okay, honey?” she asked before looking up at the strict looking older women. “She is fine; her tummy has just been bothering her. It is just butterflies in her stomach, nerves, and all that. She really wants to go here.”

“Perhaps we can get you some water or juice?” Margaret spoke to the child, but she was looking at her guardian, not knowing what she would be allowed to have.

“Hmmm . . . ” Elena cocked her head to the side, giving what looked like a reassuring squeeze to the blonde girl’s shoulder. ”She does like apple juice, if that is an option.”

“NO!” Sabrina said, much louder than was needed. “I don't need any juice . . . I’m fine.

“Very well. Now, as I was saying for accountability,” Mrs. Hatcher continued without pause, “We use a demerit system. One demerit constitutes a warning. A second results in detention. A third escalates to corporal discipline. All faculty have the authority to issue a demerit for breaches of the handbook.”

Elena straightened back out, coming to her full height as she touched the pen on the thin hand book where she left it. “Did you say demerits?”

“Indeed, and to confirm understanding,” the headmistress said, sliding the booklet closer, “Both guardian and student are required to sign.”

The pen was passed to Sabrina first. She took it with visible reluctance, the instrument unfamiliar after years of keyboards and electronic signatures. Much as she hated to have to do it, she went up onto her tip toes to sign on the line for students, very much missing the height her normal footwear provided her. Her handwriting came out uneven and compressed, functional rather than neat, shaped by years of lack of use and at best for speed when needing to actually sign a piece of paper. When she straightened, Mrs. Hatcher’s eyes lingered just long enough to register the detail of the handwriting before moving on..

Elena signed next, her signature neat by contrast. Following that, the booklet was gathered back into the stack, the framework now in place whether either of them liked it or not.

After assessing the young girl's handwriting, knowing the school could help her develop proper handwriting like her aunt, Mrs. Hatch’s attention shifted to the object in the little blonde's hand. To the phone still visible at Sabrina’s side, an object that had outlived the reason it had been permitted in the first place. The allowance had been narrow and specific, granted for her to call her mother and only then because she was a prospective student not one enrolled yet.

“As outlined in the handbook,” Mrs. Hatcher said evenly, “phones are not permitted for lower school students during the academic day.” Her hand extended across the counter, palm up; the gesture was practiced and impersonal, signaling expectation rather than request. “That device will be held at the front desk and returned to its owner.”

Resistance flared and collapsed in the same breath. Sabrina’s mouth opened, locking eyes with the glasses-wearing women before it closed. Fingers tightened briefly around the phone before loosening again, the weight of it altered now that it had been formally reclassified as something not allowed to her. With a controlled motion, Sabrina placed it into the waiting hand. The moment it disappeared behind the counter landed harder than expected. Not because the phone itself mattered, but because it marked the end of the only unsanctioned channel she had managed to reopen.

The acknowledgment that followed was minimal, the matter closed without commentary as procedure reclaimed the space it had temporarily ceded.

With that small matter taken care of, Margaret moved the stack of paperwork under the counter for it to be scanned and filed by the administrative staff. “Before any classroom observation or placement discussion,” she continued, already moving on, “all prospective students, invited under special consideration or not, are required to complete a physical examination. It is school policy.” She registered the worried look on the girl’s aunt's face. “Our school physician and nurse are on site today and have been informed to expect a student requiring evaluation.”

Elena’s head came up sharply, surprise breaking through her controlled expression before she could smooth it away. “Is that really necessary?" she asked, careful to keep her voice level.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hatcher replied without hesitation, her tone unchanged, “It ensures there are no barriers to enrollment and to make sure students are properly cared for. Given the earlier indication of discomfort with your niece's stomach, it is appropriate to address it now rather than delay.” Her gaze shifted briefly toward Sabrina, not searching for consent, simply confirming presence. “The examination is routine.”

The word routine did nothing to blunt the reaction that rippled through Sabrina, because the idea of a doctor looking at her while everyone in the room believed she was ten years old landed like a trapdoor opening beneath her feet. Heat crawled up her neck and into her face as her breathing went shallow and uneven. Each inhale stopped just short of where it needed to be, and she became acutely aware of her own body in a way that felt invasive and dangerous all at once. The awareness dragged her attention downward whether she wanted it to or not.

Her gaze dropped to herself, to the careful layering Elena had insisted on without ever fully explaining. The soft camisole sat flat against her chest beneath the bright shirt, offering just enough shape to smooth rather than define; the absence of anything more structured was suddenly impossible to ignore now that the word doctor had been introduced. Fabric sat where it was supposed to, nothing cupping her body or enhancing it. That was the problem, because it made her look . . . so naturally young. It’s why Elena had been so confident, why no one at the gala had questioned it, why the sales associate at the store had spoken to her the way she had, and now why Mrs. Hatcher and the staffer and everyone else in this building saw exactly what they expected to see without hesitation.

The realization tightened her chest further, panic feeding on every thought instead of fear alone. This wasn’t just a convincing disguise in passing anymore; it was consistency across spaces, across adults trained to notice discrepancies. The thought that she could stand here, light up shoes, hair braid and all, and be read as a child by a school administrator made her stomach twist hard enough to be mistaken for pain. What had felt calculated earlier now felt suffocating; the success of it pressing in from all sides as her mind spiraled through the implications, through the possibility that a doctor might glance at her and then the chart and see a nervous ten-year-old, might look at her body and find nothing that contradicted the story. Somehow, that felt worse than being caught outright, because being exposed would mean the exposure blew things up in a potential legal and criminal way, while being believed could let it continue indefinitely.

Her breath hitched again as the spiral deepened, fear no longer abstract but immediate and physical. The knowledge settled in that this was no longer about humiliating Elena or reclaiming leverage at work, because once medical records and professional assessments entered the equation the stakes shifted sharply upward, into places where explanations stopped working and consequences stopped being negotiable. The most terrifying part was that none of the adults watching her right now saw a woman on the verge of unraveling; only a small, anxious girl who looked exactly like she belonged there.

Breathing like that did not stay invisible in a building designed to notice children, and the headmistress did not need to name what was happening to register that the small figure in front of her had gone pale around the mouth and was pulling air in shallow, uneven pulls that never seemed to reach the bottom of her lungs. Rather than reacting with alarm or false cheer, Mrs. Hatcher let her attention settle, the way it did when it was up to her to keep panic or other extreme emotions from spreading like a fire but it was important her gaze shifted from the girl’s face to Elena’s with quiet focus. Experience, not impatience, shaped the pause that followed.

“Does your niece take anything for anxiety or panic?” she asked gently, lowering her voice so it stayed within the space of the counter rather than the room, “Or has a physician ever suggested medication for responses like this?” The question was careful, framed to gather information rather than assign fault, and the steadiness of it suggested this was not an uncommon crossroads in her day.

Elena hesitated to answer the question. Her real niece took no such thing and she wasn’t close enough with Sabrina to know such an answer and was only able to answer based on what she saw, her eyes dropping briefly toward the supposed child and then lifting again as she found the safest version of the truth she could manage. “No,” she said, keeping her tone even, “nothing prescribed. She just gets nervous sometimes, and it tends to upset her stomach.” The explanation sounded reasonable, though the tightness in her shoulders betrayed how quickly the situation had shifted out of her control, luckily working in her favor appearing to be a concern for her niece.

That seemed to ease something in the stern woman as she looked back to the small blue eyed girl with concern. Mrs. Hatcher inclined her head a fraction, the acknowledgment subtle but present; when she spoke again, it carried reassurance without indulgence. “We see that often,” she said, not dismissively, but with the calm certainty of someone who had guided many children through similar moments. “Large life transitions can do that, especially when expectations feel high.” Her attention was back on the girl, simply checking that she was not getting worse. “It would still be best for the nurse and physician to note it, so we know how to support her properly rather than guess.”

Things seemed to unfolded naturally from there as care following its own logic. Mrs. Hatcher stepped away from the counter with a measured gesture that invited them to follow. The movement carried purpose without urgency, the front office continuing behind them as they turned toward the hall; it was clear by the walls this place handled children in an orderly controlled fashion.

The corridor beyond the front office narrowed and quieted as they moved, the busy murmur of clerks and ringing phones falling away behind them. The carpet in the office muted footsteps to a dull hush, while the tiled floor echoed their footsteps. Even the air felt different here; cooler, faintly antiseptic, the kind of cleanliness that suggested detailed cleaning rather than the basic job done in most public schools. Notices were mounted at identical heights along the walls, evenly spaced, their corners squared, each laminated sheet outlining procedures in tidy bullet points that left no room for interpretation. A classroom door ahead opened just long enough for a teacher to usher two children through with a light touch at their shoulders before it closed again, the sound soft but final, and no one lingered in the hall longer than necessary.

Mrs. Hatcher’s pace never changed. Not hurried and not slow, it was the kind of measured stride that assumed compliance without needing to look back for it, and Elena found herself matching it easily. Even Sabrina’s uneven breathing felt conspicuous in the controlled quiet, every shallow pull of air too loud as she was pulled along. Her hand was still held, but she hardly noticed, so in her own head about how things were developing.

Angling them away from the main corridor and into a quieter branch of the building without breaking stride, Margaret’s voice carried evenly as the walls shifted from glass and administrative polish to older stonework inset with plaques. “This section predates the expansion you passed near the entrance,” she said, lifting two fingers in a small, precise gesture toward the framed dates and donor names embedded at regular intervals, “The Lower School has always occupied the original footprint of the campus. Smaller by design. Fewer transitions. Consistency matters at this age.” Margaret explained the building as they moved, starting the tour but feeling like it needed to be rushed considering the girl’s vacant look and shallow breathing.

A row of class photographs followed the plaques, each frame identical, the spacing exact, decades of students presented. Mrs. Hatcher’s hand moved once more, indicating them as they walked. “Routine is taught before independence,” she continued. “Children earn access to the larger academic spaces later, as they advance in grades.”

Footsteps echoed softly as a classroom door ahead opened and closed again, a teacher guiding two students through with a light touch before the corridor returned to stillness. The sound of breathing that did not match the quiet stood out immediately, and Mrs. Hatcher’s gaze shifted. Not lingering; simply noting.

“Ordinarily,” she said, her tone unchanged as the sentence adjusted mid-stride, “we would pause for classroom observation and introductions at this point.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the smaller figure beside Elena. “Today, we’ll do that afterward.”

Elena frowned slightly. “After?”

“After we’re certain she’s well taken care of,” Mrs. Hatcher replied, “Anxiety attacks can compound when left unaddressed.”

The air changed before any sign announced the destination, cooler and cleaner, the faint scent of disinfectant replacing chalk and paper. A low desk came into view; a woman in a pressed white polo looked up and straightened as recognition crossed her face. “Good morning,” the nurse said.

“Good morning,” the spectacle wearing woman answered, “We have a prospective student invited under special consideration. Routine physical, with reported anxiety and stomach discomfort.”

“Of course,” the nurse replied, already reaching for a clipboard, “We were told to expect her.”

Mrs. Hatcher turned then, attention settling briefly on Elena, her expression composed and calm though not warm. “This shouldn’t take long,” she said, “Our staff is accustomed to working with anxious children. Once she’s finished, we’ll resume the remainder of your visit if she’s up to it.”

The nurse stepped aside, opening the door fully. Light spilled from the exam room beyond, bright and orderly, the table already set, instruments neatly arranged.

“This way,” the nurse said gently.

Chapter 13

The exam room was brighter than the hallway, its white surfaces uninterrupted and orderly in a way that made everything feel clean. Sabrina’s attention snagged immediately on the glass-fronted cabinet mounted along one wall, her gaze catching on it before she could redirect herself. Inside were neatly stacked supplies labeled, bandages, gloves, and, lower than the rest, sealed packages arranged by size. The sight made her doe eyes grow wider, her breath catching halfway through an inhale as the earlier spiral of panic sharpened into something more immediate and dangerous. The kind of reaction was nothing like what she would have felt before today.

“The office called ahead; I understand you like being called Rina and this is your aunt. Please go ahead and hop up on the table, Rina,” the polo shirt wearing nurse said, with a gentle lilt that smoothed out the instruction. “I’m Nurse Anne, and this is Dr. Rehn. We’ll take good care of you today, all right?” She smiled as she said it, the smile itself only partially masking the concern on her face as she looked at the clearly distraught girl.

The doctor gave a small wave from where he stood near the counter, tall and calm in his white coat, already scanning the file he had just printed out that had been sent over. “Hi there,” he said simply, not unkind, “We’ll just do a quick checkup. Nothing to worry about.”

The names registered only halfway. They didn’t really matter to Sabrina; she was more worried about them finding out she was impersonating a child. Her eyes were glued to the diapers and pull-ups in the cabinet, even as Elena's hand guided her over to the doctor’s exam room table with the paper sheet lining it.

The doctor followed her line of sight, adjusting his glasses as he did so, and smiled faintly in a way that suggested he was trying to reassure her. “Those are just for some of the younger students,” he said conversationally, already turning back toward the chart as if the matter were settled, “We see a wide range of needs at this age, and it’s easier to be prepared than to scramble later.” He was talking about the elementary grade students that needed the aid of a diaper.

Elena cocked her head at the explanation, the memory of that morning flashing mirthfully into place before she could stop it. She spoke before filtering herself, the words tumbling out with nervous honesty. “I almost bought pull-ups today,” she admitted, her hand tightening slightly where it rested near Sabrina’s shoulder, “She was refusing to use the bathroom and holding it in.”

The doctor nodded once, pen already moving across the page, his tone neutral and unreactive as he made a note without looking up. “I’ll include that,” he said evenly, “Avoidance behaviors often accompany anxiety.”

It felt like the man in the white doctor coat was sealing her fate with every stroke of the pen; Sabrina’s pulse spiked hard enough to blur the edges of her vision as the awareness set in that none of this was temporary in the way she had been telling herself. Records would not evaporate once the day ended.

The nurse’s attention was fully on the future student, picking up on how she was reacting. She stepped closer without crowding and lowered herself slightly so her presence no longer loomed. “You’re doing just fine,” she said gently, her voice steady and unhurried, “That shirt is really cute. I like ducks, too.”

The words barely registered past the tightness in Sabrina’s chest. Her breath was coming too fast and too shallow to feel useful, hands trembling faintly at her sides as her body responded more quickly than her mind could intervene.

More questions followed. The doctor facing the blonde girl directed the questions toward Sabrina, but was looking to her guardian for the answers that were each consistently answered by Elena; the exchange flowed in a way that quietly reinforced who was expected to speak and who was expected to be interpreted.

“Any trouble sleeping?” the man asked, his attention flowing from his clipboard then up again waiting for an answer.

Elena shrugged, thinking about how many mornings she had seen Ms. Holloway get more than one cup of coffee to get through the morning. “She gets restless.”

Moving his pen down to the next line he continued his questions. “Changes in appetite?”

“Some.” Elena answered, knowing that too much of her supervisor's diet consisted of alcohol that made her drunk all too quickly.

“Stomach pain?”

“Yes, especially when she’s nervous.” The answer came easy to the worried woman afraid her scheme was close to failing catastrophically.

Each response tightened the knot further, yet it was like walking a tight rope.

“Once the medicine has had some time, we’ll finish the exam,” the nurse said.

The cup and pill waited on the counter, the chart rested open nearby. Compliance with the medical staff never felt like an option and, the longer she was around them, the more Sabrina felt like she was being backed into a corner with only one path of escape–not letting them know the truth. It was the only way to keep the situation from tipping fully out of her control. When the doctor stepped closer to check her pulse, the touch was light and practiced, yet the proximity alone was enough to send Sabrina’s breathing into uneven pulls that never seemed to reach the bottom of her lungs. Panic rose quickly enough that she had to lock her knees to keep from swaying. ‘Get it together . . . This is not like me . . . But he can’t find out I’m an adult that is trying to enroll in the fourth grade.’

“All right,” he said after a moment, straightening as he made a final note, “Given the presentation and reported anxiety, I’d recommend starting her on a low dose of sertraline. It’s commonly used in pediatric cases like this and can help reduce the physical escalation.”

The nurse was already moving, retrieving a small paper cup and a single pill with efficient calmness. She placed them on the counter without ceremony as if this were an everyday occurrence, rather than a pivot point. “We’ll give it a little time to take effect before continuing,” she said kindly, turning her attention back toward Sabrina, “You don’t have to do anything else right now.”

Elena knelt without thinking. The movement was automatic; she brushed a kiss against the top of Sabrina’s head before she realized she had done it, the familiarity slipping through the cracks of her composure. “You’re okay, duckling,” she murmured softly, “You will be fine, I promise.” She knew intellectually it was the wrong behavior. This wasn’t Crystal. But the way she looked, with her body shaking and taking audible anxious breaths, Elena felt a need to comfort her.

The nurse smiled at the nickname, her tone warm without being indulgent as she asked, “What do you like to do while you’re waiting? Something quiet that helps you focus?”

The question hovered in front of the overly stressed young blue eyed woman, harmless in tone but persistent in the way it bounced around her head like a pop quiz she had not studied for. The first answer that tried to escape was the one that belonged to her real life–a chilled glass of Sauternes, sweet and expensive and cold enough to make her feel like she could breathe again. That answer died behind her teeth the instant it formed, because it belonged to the version of her that could walk out of this room and back into her office without anyone blinking. That version, unfortunately, was not the one everyone here was looking at.

Being this deep into the act made the small choices feel dangerous, and her brain, still vibrating from panic, kept presenting the same warning in different shapes: ‘Say the wrong thing and you will not get a second chance.’ She scrambled for something that sounded ten instead of twenty-six. The memory of the kids’ menu from the night before flashed up like a lifeline, crayons printed beside cartoon animals. Something safe and ordinary enough to repeat, which she latched onto it because the alternative was silence.

“Umm . . . coloring?” The word came out with a question mark attached, cautious rather than confident. As if she needed the nurse to confirm she had guessed correctly. Even saying it made her feel ridiculous, because the only coloring she had done in years involved spreadsheets and tidy little blocks of conditional formatting, rather than waxy sticks and blank paper.

Elena answered before anyone else could. Not with words at first, but with movement. The zipper of the unicorn backpack sounded too loud in the sterile quiet as she set it on the side table and opened it with the brisk competence of someone trying to look helpful while her nerves buzzed under her skin. A binder came out first, bright and new and childish in a way that made Sabrina’s throat tighten, followed by a box of crayons that Elena placed with gentle care as if the act of arranging them could soothe the room itself. Then the woman crouched a little, angling her face up toward Sabrina with that practiced warmth she used on clients when she needed them calm and agreeable.

“Okay, duckling,” Elena said softly, the sweetness deliberate, pitched for small ears and big feelings. Her fingers smoothed the top edge of the binder as if she were straightening a blanket. “Let’s just do that, all right? You can draw for a bit while we wait. You’re safe; nothing bad is happening.” The words were kind, even sincere in their own way. That sincerity made them worse because it turned the condescension into something she could not dismiss as cruelty.

A small nod came from the nurse, expression open and encouraging in the way adults wore when they were trying to keep a frightened child from bolting. Her voice stayed light as she added, “I like coloring, too. It’s a good way to keep your mind busy.” Gentle and probably true, but still landed with the quiet sting of being spoken to like this was her natural scale.

Elena moved, unzipping the unicorn-print backpack with a calm that didn’t quite match the buzz under her skin. The sound of the zipper was louder than it should have been in the quiet exam room, but no one looked up. Not the nurse, not the doctor, and certainly not Sabrina, who sat stiffly on the paper-draped table like she had forgotten how to move so caught up in her own thoughts.

Inside the backpack, everything was just as Elena had packed it that morning, each item an impulse buy, grabbed quickly in the uncertainty of what the day might demand. Her fingers curled around the edges of the binder first, she had picked out because she liked it and because it looked like something a girl Sabrina’s supposed age might proudly carry. Then came the crayon box, the oversized set with metallics and neons, a rainbow of colors. Elena set both items on the small side table with careful hands, her expression warm and close to unreadable.

"Why don’t you draw something for me while we wait?" she offered gently, not quite crouching but lowering herself enough to be eye-level with the girl on the table. Her voice carried a practiced sweetness, her customer service voice, soft at the edges but with a thread of expectation woven through. "Something from your imagination. Maybe a place you’d rather be right now."

She smoothed the paper of the open binder, her other resting lightly on the edge of the binder as if steadying something fragile. Her eyes flicked once to the nurse, who gave a small nod and turned her attention politely elsewhere.

Sabrina remained silent, the air between her and the table stretching thin while her eyes moved slowly from the crayons to the page and back again. Her fingers twitched once in her lap before she reached for the crayon box. ‘Me and my big mouth . . . But, gotta look happy; this is what I said I like to do. Fuck, I hate this.’

She slid her fingertips across the tops of the wax sticks until she got to orange. What she was going to do hadn't been planned, but an idea hit her with the color. It was too bright, but it was already in her hand before she could change her mind. The line she drew came out thick and curved, bolder than intended, the wax dragging slightly as she pressed too hard. Another followed, then another, the shape forming with slow tension that pulled at the back of her neck. Her breathing still felt shallow, like her body couldn’t quite remember the rhythm, but the act of coloring gave her something to distract her.

Fatigue pressed in around the edges of her concentration, her focus slipping like soap. The tiger’s stripes didn’t match, some too close together, others thick and bloated. The ears leaned unevenly, the snout too short. Her fingers kept moving without checking the proportions. ‘Okay, I was never an artist, but this isn’t what I meant,’ she told herself. The weight in her limbs made it harder to care, her unsure what was wrong.

She switched colors, fidgeting with the box even as she drew. On the page a giraffe came next, or at least that was what it was supposed to be. Tall and narrow and painfully awkward, legs too thin, neck arched in a stupid pose that looked confused. She didn’t care. She wanted it to look wrong, or so she told herself.

The red crayon felt too soft in her grip as she began to write, forming a word bubble from her horrible orange smear of a tighter hand cramping slightly halfway through. The letters started clean but turned unstable as her mind drifted. The spacing was uneven, the last word crammed against the top corner where the bubble curved. She didn’t stop to fix it. ‘She will get the message,’ she thought, ignoring the extra letter used in the writing. Her mind had a hard time fully focusing to truly pick up on the mistake; it didn’t matter, and it no longer felt like she was having a panic attack.

YOU WILLL NOT WIN!

It looked childish, more like a failed drawing than a subtle jab at her assistant manager, as the wax bled slightly into the paper. The words tilted, no part of it neat. She looked at it anyway, legs kicking freely off the end of the exam-table, the shoes going off with each movement. Sabrina wasn’t even sure why she was doing it; she had no clue about the numerous side effects from the medication. Like harder time concentrating and restless energy, to name just a few. Her body was just beginning to suffer, but at least they did their intended job.

Elena leaned in without saying anything for a moment, her eyes flicking across the drawing before her mouth curled in a slow smile. Not mocking, just surprised Sabrina was either terribly bad at drawing or was doing a fantastic job of channeling her inner child. "That’s very creative."

Sabrina didn’t answer. Her hand drifted back toward the crayon box, fingers hovering over the edge like she was still deciding whether the effort was worth the energy and time to continue.

The nurse didn’t say anything when the girl’s aunt commented on her drawing, but could see the medication was doing its job. That, combined with an activity she liked, had her breathing looking normal. She moved with soft efficiency to the cabinet along the wall, retrieving a folded square of fabric that barely looked like clothing. “All right, Rina,” she said gently, not turning until it was already in her hands. “We’ll go ahead and get changed before we start the exam.” She stepped closer, unfolding the gown slowly, the material white and cottony, patterned with cartoon suns and wide-eyed clouds that smiled, giving the impression of a happy sky in some cartoon world. “You can leave your shoes on, sweetie.”

Sabrina stared wide eyed at the piece of cloth, but didn’t reach for it. She knew what a medical gown was even if she hadn’t seen one designed in such a way before. Her hands stayed still in her lap, fingers gripping the ends of the light pink jean skirt of the overalls. Her focus slid from the offered piece of fabric to nurse Anne. Something like that being offered to her felt like a trick, yet this was her reality for this stupid school trip. Part of the illusion she was expected to maintain. Just one insult after another, even if it wasn’t intended to. Whale the dark haired woman whose job it was to help her wasn’t laughing, Sabrina could practically feel it anyhow. The longer she looked, the more unreal it felt. The clouds had faces. The suns had cheeks. It looked like something for a preschool nap-time, not an exam. Not something for a woman like her.

The nurse’s tone didn’t change; it only softened further, when the young blonde didn’t move. “We just need you to slip this on, honey. It’s standard for all our new students, so the doctor can listen to your heart and lungs. Nothing scary. No shots, I promise.”

Gripping the skirt tighter, Sabrina shook her head rapidly. ‘No. I don’t want this, I’m not putting that on,’ she told herself. Still, she didn’t move or say a word out loud; the silence between her and the offered fabric started to stretch too long.

Elena shifted her weight, stepping forward with that same calm she used in client meetings when someone started to veer off script. “It’s all right, duckling.” She placed her palm on her back, rubbing it gently. Do you want help taking off your shirt?” Elena moved her hand to push a loose strand of her own hair out of her face that got stuck to her lipstick before unclasping the metal buttons of the overalls.

The clasps opened with soft metallic clicks, one then the other, and the straps slid down Sabrina’s shoulders. It wasn't a truly quick action, yet it happened before she had time to react. The bib dropped forward, the denim folding against her stomach. The duck-print shirt beneath was still warm against her skin, pressed tightly from the tightness of the overalls, and now fully visible in a way that made her want to shrink back into herself.

Elena didn’t give her a moment to decide what to do. Her fingers moved with calm certainty, finding the hem of the shirt and lifting it at the back, brushing against Sabrina’s neck like she had done countless times helping her niece over the years. Flinching at the touch, Sabrina moved to pull away but the taller woman's hand grabbed her arm to help guide it out of the shirt. “I can do this myself!” Sabrina snapped, not actually wanting to be left sitting there in the camisole.

“I’m just helping so the nice nurse and doctor can do their job.” One arm was raised, then another. Sabrina felt like she was being manhandled. The shirt came off in one long motion, duck and all vanishing behind her as the fabric passed over her head.

She sat still in the camisole and tights, the skirt overalls still on but bib still left unclasped. With the gown not yet on, the room suddenly felt cooler in a way that made her feel like something private had been exposed. The nurse didn’t speak. She only watched, gown still in hand, waiting with that same composed patience that made everything harder to fight.

Elena accepted the gown before holding the fabric open, soft cotton lined with smiling suns and puffy blue clouds. Sabrina didn’t hesitate. That was how it appeared, at least, but internally she was cringing. ‘I’m doing this . . . Like I have much of a choice. I just need to grit my teeth and get through it.’ Her arms went in, the fabric sliding over her shoulders and chest. Light as it was, the fabric was rough compared to her regular blouses. Oddly enough, even the stupid duck shit was both softer and thicker. The neck gaped slightly, the sleeves sat too short. Elena stepped behind her and tied the back without saying a word, only patting her back once she was done.

“Let’s take off the pinafore, now that it is unclasped,” the nurse said, still in that voice that made everything sound so annoyingly reasonable to Sabrina.

Elena touched her leg gently, partying the white tight covered leg. “Down, duckling.”

Sabrina slid off the table, her balance catching for a second before her feet landed. The skirt still clung to her hips, loose now that the bib had fallen. Elena crouched, gathering the denim in both hands.

“Lift your foot.”

She did. Then the other. The skirt jean part of her outfit dropped around her sneakers in a circle of pink fabric; Elena folded it, sliding the clothing into the backpack that now was laying on the exam bed. The duck shirt joined it in the bag, tucked beside the crayon box; the pack was starting to get rather full.

Sabrina followed the clothes with her eyes. They were humiliating, they had made her feel like a joke. But now they were gone, and something in her wanted them back. She couldn’t explain it. She didn’t want to. It felt pathetic, yet the gown was a thousand times worse. ‘You’re not supposed to want that,’ she told herself, ‘You’re supposed to want something that matters.’

She tried to imagine a silk blouse. A tight skirt in charcoal gray. Something with structure. Something that hugged her hips, made people notice her in the right way. Something dry-clean only. But the image wouldn’t hold. It fuzzed out halfway through, the shapes blurring, the textures falling apart before her mind could finish the picture.

Her focus skidded sideways and didn’t come back. She sat back on the table, gown tied, knees pressed together, shoes tapping on empty air telling herself she was fine. Even as she felt off, not just about not wearing her pants suit that was back at Elena’s place. Her mind was foggier than it should be and she felt like she would fall asleep if she closed her eyes for too long. A heavy warmth pressed behind her eyes while she tried to stay upright on the paper-draped table.

The nurse stepped closer, glancing toward the scale by the cabinet and spoke in a calm, practiced tone that asked for compliance without sounding like a command. “We’ll check your height and weight first, sweetheart, and then we’ll begin.”

Sabrina rose, feeling rather unsure and unsteady. Her movements were slowed by the lingering haze of medication as the gown brushed her tights and her shoes tapped softly on the tile, each step causing a blink of light. Positioning herself beneath the measuring rod, she stared ahead while the bar slid down to rest against the crown of her head.

“Four foot eleven,” the doctor said, glancing down at the chart as his pen moved, “That’s a little taller than average for her grade, but still well within normal range. About two in ten girls her age will be this height or taller.”

Sabrina stood there without reacting, her shoulders stiff, because none of that sounded wrong or alarming. That was exactly the problem, since hearing her body described as normal for a ten year old landed on her like a quiet sentence being passed down without appeal.

The nurse waited a beat to be sure Sabrina was steady before gesturing toward the scale with an open hand. “All right, honey, just step right over here for me. We just want to get your weight,” she said, her tone unchanged. Patient and encouraging without any hint of urgency, clearly trying to not make the girl feel stressed.

Sabrina did as she was told, her feet finding the platform while her hands hung stiffly at her sides. The numbers shifted as the nurse adjusted the weights and watched them settle. The doctor leaned in just enough to read the measurement before straightening again, his pen already moving as he spoke. “She’s on the lower end of healthy for her height,” he said, glancing briefly toward Elena, “Nothing concerning, but something we’ll want to keep an eye on.” Sabrina’s eyes practically popped out of her head like a cartoon character. She had always been picky about eating and doing her best to not end up both short and fat. She was only able to control one side of that equation, but hearing she was on the low end for weight for a ten year old hit her like a hammer. ‘I cant be lighter than a fucking child!’

Elena nodded easily, as if the comment fit neatly into expectations. “She’s been under a lot of stress lately,” she said, her voice warm with practiced concern, “I will work on her being a better eater.”

“That tracks,” the doctor replied, already turning back toward the table, “Especially with anxiety. The meds should help. We will send you home with a fifteen day supply. Not something we do for non-students, who aren’t covered by tuition. But it isn't everyday someone is invited to come here personally by the school's owner.”

Nodding with a smile on her face, Elena felt thankful. Not just because the ruse was still holding, but the idea of her boss feeling less stressed might make working for her more tolerable. Though she had no idea of the impact of the side effects of the medication just yet.

Sabrina stepped down and returned to the exam table, climbing up carefully as the paper crackled beneath her weight. The sound seemed louder than it should have been, practically screaming as part of it tore as she moved with less grace than she intended. She settled with her knees together, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the far wall while the nurse warmed the stethoscope between her palms. She handed the warmed up one to the doctor so he wouldn’t be using his cold one. ‘There's more . . . Come on, let’s get this over with!’

“I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs now,” the doctor said, positioning himself behind her, “Take a deep breath in when I ask you, then let it out slowly.”

The stethoscope pressed against Sabrina’s exposed back. The doctor slid the device between the camisole and her flesh, through the neck hole of the gown; it was still cool despite the nurse’s effort. Sabrina inhaled as instructed, the breath catching slightly before she forced it deeper. He shifted the instrument methodically from one side to the other, listening in silence before moving it around to the front. “Again,” he said.

She obeyed, focusing on keeping the rhythm even, on not letting her shoulders rise too sharply as the metal rested just below her collarbone.

“Heart rate’s elevated,” he noted calmly, writing as he spoke, “Consistent with anxiety.” The man paused, looking at the child with some sympathy.

The nurse leaned in slightly, her voice gentle and reassuring, first addressing Elena before smiling at Sabrina. “That’s very common, especially when kids are nervous on their first day somewhere new,” she said, “You’re doing just fine.”

The stethoscope was set aside, replaced by the doctor’s hand as he pressed lightly at the center of Sabrina’s chest before shifting outward. When his fingers settled against the faint fullness beneath the gown, the sensation caught Sabrina off guard. Her breath broke sharply before she could stop it, her shoulders tensing as her hands clenched more tightly in her lap.

The doctor did not react to her intake of breath; his voice remained clinical as he turned back toward the chart. “Minimal breast development present,” he said, “This appears consistent with early-stage puberty, likely beginning within the last six to twelve months.”

The words settled slowly, heavy and unreal. ‘He . . . he thinks I'm just starting puberty!?’ she thought, the shame twisting in her chest as the realization took hold. ‘He thinks I’m just starting! I’m fucking twenty-six!’

“That’s completely normal,” the nurse added softly, resting a reassuring hand against Sabrina’s arm, “Everyone grows at their own pace, sweetheart, and you’re right where you should be.” Despite the words meant to reassure her, nothing felt normal. Saying her growth was normal, when she was actually full grown up and well beyond puberty.

The nurse remained close at Sabrina’s side, her presence steady as the doctor adjusted his stance and spoke again. His tone was unchanged as he prepared for the next step. “I’m going to press on your abdomen now,” he said evenly, his hands already lifting toward the thin cotton of the gown, “Let me know if anything feels painful.”

Raising one eyebrow, she jerked her head down in a singular half nod. The man had just traumatized her and deeply insulted her and carried on like it was nothing. She hadn’t said anything about it, but while she was sitting there coloring and demeaning herself with her continued compliance, her stomach had been churning unhappily. A dull pressure, sitting low; when she was done with this, she would need to head to the bathroom. Using a school restroom–another nail in the coffin for her pride. The doctor’s hands pressed down gently at first, moving with methodical precision as he worked across her abdomen, firm but controlled, testing responsiveness while watching her face for signs of discomfort.

When his fingers pressed lower, her body reacted sharply, the sensation alarming as her muscles tightened on instinct. Her breath caught as she clenched hard, every part of her trying to hold control. Her body felt like it wanted to release the contents of her bowels; her hands gripped the edge of the table beneath the gown as she willed herself not to let go. ‘Not here, not now.’

The effort lasted only a moment before it failed completely. Her muscles gave way despite the tension, her bowels releasing all at once in a truly horrifying way.

The warmth spread beneath her; any resistance she put forward meant nothing. What came out of her wasn’t something solid, but it wasn’t entirely liquid, either. It was unmistakable, diarrhea soaking through her underwear and tights and pooling against the paper-covered table before she could even fully process what was happening. The paper crinkled loudly under the sudden mess and slight squirming, darkening as it absorbed what it could. The smell hit the air, saturating and poisoning it as only human waste could, leaving no room for doubt to any one what had happened.

“No no no no no!” she said frantically, her face burning as she froze in place. Unable to stop it, unable to move, humiliation crashed over her as the reality set in that she was sitting in her own mess. That it was so prevalent it had soaked through the underwear and tights. It was on the table, exposed to everyone in the room.

The doctor withdrew his hands at once, stepping back without hesitation as his expression shifted from focus to recognition. “All right,” he said calmly, his voice firm but unruffled as he reached for the chart, “Does she have a history of these kinds of problems?”

Blinking rapidly, Elena covered her mouth and nose with one hand. She slowly shook her head, trying to deal with the putrid smell, unsure what was happening to her diminutive supervisor.

“NO, SHE DOES NOT!” Sabrina yelled, horrified at what just happened. She was unsure of why, but everything happening in this room would have been too much for her to handle and that was before the other events of the day or the night before. Tears started to well up in her eyes, completely out of her control.

The nurse moved in closer immediately, positioning herself between Sabrina and the doctor. As much as the space allowed, anyway, her hand settling securely on Sabrina’s shoulder. “That’s okay,” she said gently, her voice soft but confident, “Accidents happen, especially when someone’s anxious or adjusting to medication. You didn’t do anything wrong. This happens sometimes, sweetie. It could be a side effect from your medication.”

Sabrina could not bring herself to look down. Her body was locked in place as the shame pressed in from every direction, the awareness of the mess impossible to escape. She could feel it against her skin, slick and wet, ruining everything beneath her; the fact that no one was reacting with shock or anger only made it worse. If things were reversed, she would be cursing and fleeing the room to get fresh air.

The doctor glanced toward Elena as he spoke again, his tone clinical and composed. “Given her anxiety and the medication, this response isn’t unexpected,” he said, “We’ll document it and make sure she’s cleaned up and comfortable.”

The nurse squeezed Sabrina’s shoulder reassuringly, her voice lowering as she spoke directly to her again. “We’ll get you taken care of, sweetheart,” she said, “You’re safe.”

“How am I safe?” Sabrina shouted, her voice breaking as it echoed off the tiled walls, the words tumbling out sharp and raw before she could stop them, “I’m sitting in my own shit!”

The nurse did not flinch or recoil. As the young girl seemingly pleaded with her, Anne’s expression softened as she felt her heart hurt from what she expected the little blue eyed blonde was going through. “I know this feels awful,” she said calmly, keeping her tone even and steady, “But you’re safe because nothing bad is going to happen to you, and we’re going to help you get clean right now.”

Sabrina’s chest heaved as tears finally spilled freely. Her anger despite the situation never quite came to a boil. Instead, it collapsed inward, leaving behind a hollow ache that made her feel small and unsteady. ‘I should be losing it, telling this woman something pretty fucking bad just happened,’ she thought dimly, the realization unsettling her almost as much as the humiliation itself, ‘I should be screaming at all of them, but I can’t even hold onto the feeling long enough.’ Things were at peak humiliation. She had never been brought so low, but the mood altering drug did more than reduce her stress and anxiety; it kept her mood more even.

“Shshshshsh, Rina. Don't look down at it, we got you,” Anne said gently, waiting until Sabrina’s breathing slowed enough to be heard, “I need to get you cleaned up now. Would you like your aunt to help you, or would you prefer that I take care of it with you?”

Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut, her head shaking faintly as the idea of Elena seeing any more of this sent a fresh wave of shame through her. ‘Please don’t make me do this in front of her,’ she thought, the words forming silently as her throat tightened. “No,” she said hoarsely. “I’m . . . Please, help.”

Elena felt a sharp, guilty relief cut through her chest as she stepped back at the nurse’s glance, her hands clasping together to keep from fidgeting. ‘Thank God,’ she thought, even as unease followed close behind. The situation had already escalated far beyond anything she had imagined that morning. “I’ll wait right here,” she said quietly, her voice careful, her eyes fixed anywhere but the table. ‘First she shit herself, then asked for help using the word please. An odd day of firsts.’

“That’s fine,” the nurse replied, nodding once before turning her full attention back to Sabrina. “We’ll take care of you.”

She explained each step as she went, her words simple and reassuring, beginning with the need to remove her shoes. The nurse took the time to compliment them–how she loved the little lights–then it would be the soiled gown, which she lifted away quickly and without comment. Sabrina stayed rigid, eyes still closed as cooler air brushed her skin, her fingers curling tight against the edge of the table. ‘Just get clean,’ she told herself over and over, clinging to the thought. ‘I don’t care how; I just need this gone.’ She slowly shook her head, unable to believe what she had done. She yanked her hands up when noticing how close they were to touching the mess that had spilled out of her and onto the table after soaking through the panties and tights.

Kneeling, Anne did her best to stay composed and calm, knowing it would make the situation worse for the girl if she acted repulsed by the smell. Working efficiently, she removed the soiled tights and underwear together in one smooth motion, leaving her naked from the waist down in only the camisole and covered in her own waste. Sabrina’s face burned as she felt the exposure, her jaw clenched hard as she focused on staying quiet, surprised again by how little fight reached the surface. ‘What is wrong with me?’ she thought faintly, ‘So much is wrong. Maybe it's food poisoning . . . Stupid giraffe giving me expired eggs.’

The wet wipes followed, cool and strongly scented. The nurse cleaned her lower body with careful thoroughness while speaking softly the entire time. “You’re doing a good job,” she murmured, “Almost finished now.”

Sabrina flinched despite herself. The words of the nurse weren’t reassuring at all as she got her butt cheeks wiped, then between. She had to stand when it was time for her legs, things ending when her hairless womanhood felt the cold witness of the wipes. The contact in places that should have been private sent another spike of humiliation through her, even as a heavy numbness kept her from pulling away. Tears slipped sideways into her hair as she kept her eyes shut tight, her breathing shallow and uneven. ‘Fuck fuck fuuuuck,’ she thought distantly, ‘Why does-’ she started to ask herself a question, losing the thought in the heavy fog in her mind.

When the cleaning was finished, the nurse had her step away from the table so she could clean and disinfect the table. She explained the next step with the same calm cadence, framing what had to happen was just a precaution while her stomach settled, something meant to keep her comfortable and protected.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she was talking about. It felt like she missed something or that the overly kind woman was talking around a subject, not naming it. Still, she nodded faintly, still not opening her eyes; the need to feel clean and contained overwhelming any impulse to argue. ‘I just want it to stop,’ she thought, ‘I just want to be done.’

A pull-up was taken from the cabinet before being put on quickly and professionally; the nurse’s touch was efficient as she finished and helped Sabrina settle again on the table. Elena watched from a short distance away, her expression composed even as her thoughts raced. ‘They didn’t question it,’ she realized, a chill running through her as the implication sank in, ‘This is so wild!’

When it was over, Sabrina sat still, hands limp in her lap. Her eyes were closed, as if opening them might make everything fully real again. She was aware only that she was clean now and that another type of underwear had been put on her; something about it was wrong, but it was like her mind was moving through mud, her thoughts coming more slowly and even then slipping away from her randomly.

The awareness came in gradually, creeping in beneath the fog the way discomfort sometimes did when she tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her calves after wearing the heels she loved so much for too long. The strange thickness of the underwear they put her in, the way it felt around her hips, registered before her mind fully named it. Sabrina shifted slightly on the table and froze when the material responded in a way underwear never should. The faint rustle, the thickness, an almost crinkling plastic-like sound. Now that she was paying attention, heat flared across her face as she blushed deeply, the truth of what she was wearing coming to her a moment before her hands grasped at it. ‘No,’ she thought dimly, the word more reflex than protest, “No, no, no.”

Her hands tightened in her lap as if holding herself together might undo it; her shoulders drew in while she stared at nothing, mortified in a way that felt almost deeper than the mess itself. No adult, no one in their twenties would ever wear a diaper; those were for babies, toddlers, and the infirm elderly. “I can’t . . . I don’t want to wear this,” she said at last, her voice rough and small despite her effort to steady it, the plea slipping out, “Please. I just want my clothes back.”

Not rushing to respond, the school nurse looked to the girl's aunt before focusing back on the girl. She had gone through this particular discussion more than once when kids insisted they were too big, too old for a diaper or pull-up. But they needed help, and that was her job. “I know you don’t like it,” she said calmly, meeting Sabrina’s unfocused gaze, “But for right now, you need to keep it on, sweetheart. It’s for sanitary reasons, and it keeps you protected in case your stomach acts up again. You won’t be in it forever, I promise.”

The words settled heavily. Sabrina opened her mouth to verbally bite the woman’s head off, the instinct to argue rising weakly and then collapsing under the weight of exhaustion and something worse–the quiet, humiliating knowledge that the nurse was not wrong. The risk was not gone, not completely, and that realization made her whimper slightly with eyes downcast as her resistance drained away. ‘It shouldn’t be like this,’ she thought, shame curling inward, ‘This shouldn’t even be possible.’

The situation unbelieveable, Elena moved carefully, reaching for the backpack where it rested by the table. She opened it with hands that were steadier than she felt, drawing out the familiar yellow duck shirt first, then the light pink skirt overalls folded neatly beneath it. She held them up as if offering a lifeline, her voice soft when she spoke. “Let’s get you dressed, okay? You’ll feel better once you’re covered.”

Seeing the offered clothing, Sabrina recoiled. She shook her head on instinct, but the offer was a thousand times better than sitting around in a child's camisole and a kid size pull-up. She reached out to snatch the clothing she had to be convinced to put on that morning almost immediately, the motion small but eager, surprising herself with how badly she wanted the clothes back on her. There was no hesitation when Elena helped guide the shirt over her head and smooth it down; the cotton settled against her skin in a way that felt grounding despite everything. When the skirt followed, she lifted her hips without being asked, cooperating quickly, too willingly, the blush burning brighter as she realized she was not just accepting the help, but craving the improvement to her situation. ‘That's better . . . sort of,’ she admitted to herself, hating how much better it was to be wearing the clothes that once belonged to her assistant's niece. The thought stinging. ‘I need to not be exposed.’

The overalls were fastened, Elena’s fingers gentle as she adjusted the straps and made sure everything sat where it should. Only then did Sabrina fully register how tightly she had been holding herself; the breath she let out was shaky but real. She kept her eyes down, unable to meet Elena’s gaze, acutely aware of what was hidden beneath the denim now and how easily it could all go wrong again. The certainty she used to take for granted was gone.

Crouching down, getting the shoes next, Elena slipped them onto Sabrina’s now bare feet. She wished she had put a pair of socks on her earlier that morning in addition to the tights.

The door opened again a moment later as the doctor returned, nodding once towards his nurse Anne with professional appreciation. “Thank you for handling that,” he said simply, then turned to Elena, holding out a small pharmacy bottle, “Here’s the medication, a fifteen day supply. Have her take it as directed. You’re free to return to the office while I finish up Rina’s file.”

Taking the bottle and slipping it into her purse without comment, her nod was automatic as she guided Sabrina gently off the table. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Sabrina followed without protest, moving carefully; every step was taken with a new awareness she did not yet know how to live with. She could feel the diaper with every movement, her face still warm with embarrassment as the reality of what she was wearing settled in fully, the knowledge inescapable.

Sabrina squeezed her assistant’s hand as she was guided out of the exam room, relief cutting through the haze as the door closed behind them. The smells, the lights, and the quiet authority of medical voices were finally left on the other side. The hallway felt long and indistinct, its details slipping past without registering as exhaustion pressed down around the edges of her mind.

It wasn't just a physical thing, but also an emotional one; the aftershocks of everything that had just happened dulled the sharp edges of thought. Her grip tightened unconsciously, not out of fear exactly, but out of the need to stay upright and anchored. To let someone else decide where her feet were supposed to go next.

Chapter 14

The hallway stretched ahead of them, fluorescent lights humming overhead; they cast everything in a flat, unforgiving brightness that made Sabrina's eyes ache. Elena's hand remained firmly wrapped around hers, warm and steady, yet Sabrina found herself shaking her head. Things were feeling off as she reluctantly followed along, pulling slightly on her arm to be free. She wasn’t a child that needed to hold hands to be guided, but tugging gently didn’t bring her freedom. “Thorne, let go of me,” the young executive commanded, though the sternness and confidence she normally had wasn’t present.

“We are almost there,” Elena replied as she kept walking, not letting go. She gave her diminutive boss’s hand a light squeeze, still baffled by what transpired during the medical exam. ‘We made it through that. Not what I expected, but somehow they didn’t realize my ten year old niece is in her mid-twenties.’

Blinking a few times, Sabrina squeezed back without meaning to, her grip tightening unconsciously as they walked. Each step sent those ridiculous sneakers flashing red and pink, little bursts of childish light that announced her presence like a beacon of humiliation. The shoes felt strange on her bare feet, the material rubbing in places where the tights had prevented it before. The discomfort was distant, however, muffled by the medication fog that wrapped everything in cotton wool. What was at the forefront of her mind wasn’t the complete disregard for her authority by the woman who was supposed to be her subordinate, but the pull-up she wore. It shifted slightly with every step, a constant, rustling reminder pressed against her skin beneath the pink skirt overalls. She was acutely aware of it, the bulk of it, the way it moved when she moved, the knowledge of what it was for. All of that settled like lead in her stomach. The sound of the padding made her feel like it was another announcement, letting everyone know what she was wearing, when in reality there was hardly a sound to be noticed.

Her thoughts moved like honey, thick and slow. She tried to focus on where they were going, on what would happen next, but the details slipped away before she could hold them. The hallway seemed to go on forever, or maybe it was just that her sense of time had become unreliable, stretched and compressed by exhaustion and chemistry.

They turned a corner, and suddenly they were back at the front office. The same smell of floor polish and old paper, institutional and impersonal in a way that made her think of her own office at work. This was the same space where this whole school fiasco had all begun, where she'd signed a stupid student handbook she hadn’t bothered to read, where Mrs. Hatcher had looked at her with that professional assessment that saw a troubled child instead of a grown woman. Sabrina had come to the conclusion that the older woman saw most children as potential problems, much like her own personal opinion of them; it had been irritating to be seen as such, but for now that feeling was forgotten.

Mrs. Margaret Hatcher was at the administrative desk now, her severe expression softening slightly as they approached. She moved her reading glasses up from around her neck on a beaded chain, her hair pulled back in its characteristic tight bun. "Ms. Thorne," she said, her tone professional but not unkind, "I trust the medical examination went smoothly?"

" . . . Yes, thank you," Elena replied, with some hesitation. It had not gone smoothly. At the same time, she hadn’t been exposed as a fraud. "Dr. Morrison was very thorough."

"Good." Mrs. Hatcher's gaze flickered to Sabrina, first at the girl’s outfit, noting that she no longer wore her white tights, but didn’t bring it up. She took in how Sabrina swayed slightly on her feet, the vacant quality in her eyes, the hand clutching Elena's like a lifeline. "We rushed through things a bit more quickly than I would have liked before, so I hope it doesn’t come as a surprise that the next step is for young Ms.Thorne to attend one of our classes to get a feel of what she can expect along with meeting some of her peers."

“Oh, of course. I would love to see one of the classes.” Elena said, nodding. She really didn’t have any expectations, but now that the tiny tyrant was actually playing along, her stress levels were much lower than the first time being in this room.

“While your niece will get to enjoy the class, I'm afraid you are expected in a meeting with your company's CEO, along with Mr. Sterling. I promise she will be well taken care of. You see, we try to avoid disrupting the classes as much as possible.” The stern woman slowly shook her head with an apologetic tone to her voice. “On that note, we have a change of clothes for Rina so that she can fit in with the other students; the school uniform fosters feelings of togetherness and prevents disruptions that could come about such as puns covering up for a curse word that is inappropriate for the children like your niece’s shirt.”

Sabrina's thoughts scattered before she could catch them. ‘Uniform? They are giving me a uniform? Like, I’m actually a fucking student here!’ It was just too much “No,” she said, trying to grasp at the thread of resistance. Despite the outrageous idea of putting on a child's uniform, her anger didn’t come as naturally as usual. The medication was doing its job, wrapping everything in fog, muffling her ability to think clearly, to plan, to fight. She was so tired. Her body felt restless and heavy at the same time, a contradiction that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

Mrs. Hatcher produced a neatly folded stack of clothing from beneath the desk: a black jumper dress with a deep blue plaid pattern woven through it, a crisp white collared blouse, and white knee-high socks still in their packaging. The uniform of Blackwood Academy. The uniform of a student who needed correction, guidance, discipline. ”No? Rina, it is not polite to speak to adults in such a manner. Please be mindful of such outbursts that could be seen as disrespectful and earn you a demerit. I’m sure you didn’t mean it as such, but please be mindful so we don’t have to move on to disciplinary actions.”

Sabrina’s head swiveled between the two people taller than her, talking as if it was perfectly normal for her to put on a school uniform and attend a child’s class. “I don’t need to change,” she said quickly, both hands pressing against the jean material of her rear, feeling the cushy thickness of the pull-up underneath. ‘No! I can’t be seen wearing this!’

The friendliness on the headmistress’s face faded away as she glared at the little blonde girl who, despite her gentle warning, was still talking back. “Talking back to adults is not acceptable, young miss. All students wear the same uniform. Some individuality will be allowed, within reason. Think of it as a way to help you make new friends. Now, do not argue.” She looked to the girl’s guardian with a raised eyebrow to see if she was going to back her up.

"Is there somewhere private where she can change?" Elena asked, trying to defuse the situation and move things along. She had seen a section in the handbook on discipline, but hadn’t read it with everything going on. "She's still a little off. I'll need to help her."

"Of course," Mrs. Hatcher gestured to a door marked ‘Private’ just off the main office, "The changing room is just through there. Take your time." She nodded, happy to see that the girl’s aunt had some sense to control the child, but noting she hadn’t tried to correct the bad behavior either.

Sabrina wanted to protest more. Wanted to say she could dress herself, but she wasn’t going to change at all. That she was a grown woman, that she'd been dressing herself for over twenty years without assistance. But the words wouldn't form properly. They scattered before she could catch them, and all that came out was a soft, confused sound.

Elena guided her toward the changing room with that same gentle, inexorable pressure. The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them in a small space with a bench, a mirror, and hooks on the wall. The fluorescent light in here was even harsher, if that was possible.

"Arms up, sweetheart," Elena said, seeing the scowl clearly on her face, knowing the just-playing-along portion of the visit had come to an end. Reaching for the hem of the duck-print shirt, she then paused, her hands hovering. Her gaze dropped to the pink denim overalls still fastened at Sabrina's shoulders. Letting out a small breath of frustration, she adjusted her approach. "Let's do this properly," she said, shaking her head. It felt like she was on a clock when reminded of the meeting already in progress with their client. Sure, it wouldn’t be happening at all here if it wasn’t for the Rina ruse, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t missing things. "I can tell you are not happy," Elena said, her tone matter-of-fact as her fingers found the clasps at Sabrina's shoulders, "but I don't have time to argue with you. The meeting with Mr. Sterling has been happening all this time; I can't leave them waiting much longer."

She unclasped the overalls without waiting for a response. The pink denim fell away from Sabrina's body, sliding down her legs and pooling around her light-up sneakers in a soft heap of fabric. The light yellow duck-print shirt hung loose over her torso, but it was only a shirt leaving her exposed, showing the thing Sabrina would rather no one saw on her. It was horrifyingly visible where girls' panties should have been. The white cotton panties were far from what she would want to be wearing, but when compared to a pull-up, she missed them and their stupid childish pink elastic waist band.

Her hands flew down instinctively, grabbing at the fallen overalls, trying to yank them back up. Her fingers fumbled with the fabric, clumsy and uncoordinated; she wasn't sure why her movements were sluggish and imprecise. As she pulled upwards on the garment, it came up at an angle, catching on the pull up, stopping her progress all while her grip kept slipping. Feeling like she was about to be exposed to an office full of busy bodies, Sabrina’s eyes darted to the closed door, the handle, the gap beneath it where light spilled through. Anyone could walk in. Mrs. Hatcher could open that door right now and see her like this, standing in a childish shirt with the padded underwear exposed, struggling like a toddler who couldn't dress herself. The thought made her stomach twist with panic.

"Stop," she tried to say, but it came out slurred and weak as one hand let go of the overalls to press in on her stomach, the events in the medical room making her wary.

Elena's hands closed over hers, firm and unyielding, pulling them away from the overalls so that they fell once more. "We don't have time for this."

Trying to twist away, Sabrina found herself at a distinct disadvantage. Elena was taller, stronger, and her movements were deliberate where Sabrina's were scattered and slow. Elena systematically removed the light yellow shirt, wrapping her fingers around the bottom of the t-shirt. “Sorry, little duckling; the school wants you to change.” She pulled it up with one hand, using the other to make Sabrina's arms comply with the task before she picked up the white collared blouse from the folded stack, shaking it out with a crisp snap of fabric.

"Arms through," Elena instructed, looking at the smaller woman now standing there in three things: a childish camisole, a pull-up, and velcro sneakers.

Turning her body, trying to angle away, Sabrina found no escape as Elena simply moved with her, guiding one arm into a sleeve with the kind of practiced efficiency that suggested she'd dressed uncooperative children before. Sabrina's other arm resisted, pulling back, but Elena caught it at the wrist and threaded it through the second sleeve before Sabrina could fully process what was happening.

The blouse settled over her shoulders, the fabric cool and stiff against her skin; it was some common fabric, much rougher than what her salary afforded her to wear. Elena's fingers moved down the front, buttoning it methodically from collar to hem. Each button felt like a small defeat. Sabrina tried to pull away again, but Elena's hand pressed against her shoulder, holding her in place.

“Stop touching me, you giraffe!”

"Almost done," Elena murmured.

The black jumper dress came next. Elena lifted it over Sabrina's head; Sabrina ducked instinctively, turning her face away, but Elena simply adjusted her angle and brought the dress down over her anyway. The fabric slid over the blouse, heavy and substantial, settling around Sabrina's body like a weight, light as it was. Elena's hands found the zipper at the back, pulling it up with a smooth, final sound.

The dress fell to mid-thigh. The manhandled woman could feel the pull-up underneath it, the bulk of it pressing against her skin through the layers of fabric. Every shift of her body made it crinkle softly, a sound she was certain everyone would hear.

"Sit," Elena said, gesturing to the closed toilet lid.

Sabrina didn't move. Her feet stayed planted on the cold tile, with the overalls still pooled at her feet. Her body swayed slightly, but refused to comply.

Elena's hands found her waist, picking her up to sit her gently where she had indicated. "Sit down, Sabrina," she said, seeing her trying to plant her feet to get up or about to hop off the toilet seat, placing one hand on her shoulder to ensure compliance.

The pressure increased, and Sabrina's legs, already unsteady, gave way. She sank onto the toilet lid, the hard plastic cold even through the layers of clothing. Her hands gripped the edge of the seat.”You do remember who is actually in charge, right?” Elena knelt in front of her, reaching for the light-up sneakers. She worked the first one off, and it flashed red and pink in protest as it came free. “If you like, I can go out there and let the entire office know you don't want to get changed because of your diaper.”

“It isn’t MY diaper!”

“Oh, is some other little girl wearing it?” Elena looked Sabrina in her vibrant blue eyes. While still pretty, they weren’t nearly as eye-catching without her make-up.

“I’m not a child, you bitch! You are enjoying this too much, and will . . .” Sabrina’s words trailed off as she lost the thread of what she was saying; the implication of Elena’s words were not sitting well on her already injured pride.

“Only little girls wear diapers, and I only see one person in a diaper. Now let me ask you again, little madam–Do you want me to talk to Mrs. Hatcher about this in front of everyone?”

She truly didn't. The question was a threatening one she could not let come to pass. The words resonated; she had shit herself while wearing child's clothing to the point that she ruined a pair of panties and tights. “No, please . . . Elena, please don’t.”

”Then say two things for me, and I swear if you don’t . . . Tell me you are not a big girl, and that you are only ten. Now, say it and don’t you dare use such foul language. You understand me, Rina?”

Feeling as if her eyes were once more tearing up, Sabrina nodded, feeling so broken. “I’m not . . . not . . . No, I can’t- I won't say that!”

Still bent down, Elena went back to removing the shoes as she shook her head. The second shoe had another burst of childish light. Sabrina's bare feet looked small and pale against the tile, vulnerable in a way that made her chest tighten. “Are you sure?” Elena asked

Lip quivering, she wanted to tell the raven-haired woman to go fuck herself. But Sabrina had been demeaned so much today, and being revealed to be wearing the pull-up was too much. “I’m not a big girl; I'm only ten.”

“That is right. Rina, you are only ten, so best do what adults tell you to without argument.” Elena reached into the stack of uniform items and produced a pair of white ankle socks. They weren't plain; Sabrina could see the Blackwood Academy crest embroidered in navy blue thread on each one, a small shield with a black tree.

Bunching up the first sock, she guided it over Sabrina's toes. Sabrina's foot jerked back instinctively, pulling away, but Elena's other hand closed around her ankle, holding it steady. "Hold still," Elena said, her voice calm but firm. She pulled the sock up over Sabrina's heel, smoothing it into place with methodical care. Then the second sock, the same process. Sabrina's foot tried to pull back again, but Elena's grip kept it in place. The fabric slid up and settled just above her ankle. The crest sat on the outside of each sock, visible and unmistakable.

“Let’s get your new sneakers you picked out back on, sweetie.” Elena picked up the light-up sneakers, putting them back onto Sabrina's feet one at a time. They flashed as she worked the straps, securing them snugly.

"No," Sabrina said, the word finally forming properly, breaking through the fog. "I don't- I can't . . . " it was technically true that she had picked out the velcro sneakers not even adult enough for laces. ‘These aren’t even big girl shoes. She even has me thinking like a kid. Come on, Sabrina. Snap out of it . . . ”

"Shh," Elena said, standing and brushing her hands against her pencil skirt, "It's done now."

"I'm not-" Sabrina tried again, her voice rising slightly, words tumbling over each other, her not even fully sure what she was trying to say. "This isn't- You can't just . . . "

"I said shush, little one," Elena repeated, softer this time. Her hand came to rest on top of Sabrina's head in a gesture that was somehow both comforting to the rather discombobulated Sabrina and condescending. "We need to go. Mr. Sterling is waiting."

Elena's hand moved from Sabrina's head to her shoulder, guiding her toward the door with gentle but insistent pressure. This time, there was only a moment of resistance. Sabrina's legs felt heavy, disconnected, like they belonged to someone else. The sneakers flashed with each sluggish step, little bursts of pink and purple light that seemed to announce her presence and her humiliation to anyone who might be watching. It wasn’t new, but they now seemed persistent in their goal to dismantle her.

Looking back at the closed lid of the toilet seat, Elena turned her supervisor to face the toilet where she had been sitting, the woman who seemed more and more like a different person. “How about you try to go while we are here?”

“I . . . ” Sabrina started to speak. She had been hesitant to leave the privacy of the bathroom, but now she looked at the toilet with a mix of annoyance and confusion. In the medical room with the doctor and nurse she knew she needed to use the bathroom but had no idea how badly until it was too late. With that in mind, it was hard for her to argue. “Sure.” She agreed to the statement–the command–as if it was a question. Stepping closer, she raised the lid, turning around. Her hands went under the skirt of the pinafore, glancing towards the overalls still lying on the floor as she sat down. “This is what you wanted, right?” she asked, a harsh tone to her voice.

Letting out a breath, Elena scooped up the discarded garment and folded it. “You act like I'm the bad guy here. Do you want to have another accident? I’m trying to help. You want to act like a big girl, don’t you?”

“I’m a woman, not a girl, you twat!”

Snapping her head back like she had been struck, Elena was feeling a lot more powerful than usual. “I know exactly who you are. And if you promise to be a good girl, I will bring you back to your apartment.”

“You will!?” Sabrina asked, wide eyed. Finally, after all her excuses and bullshit the end seemed to be within reach.

Whatever this all was with her boss was never meant to last, but she hoped with Sabrina going awol and what blackmail material she could gather from all this would insulate her from the tyrant going forward. “I will, but only if you do as I say. Will you be a good girl for me?”

Without hesitation, Sabrina nodded once, twice, then a third time. “Yes.”

“No, Rina. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you will be a good girl.”

After answering the question, Sabrina’s eyes slid off the tall woman. It took a moment for the words to sink in. ”You know I don’t want to-” she started, before rolling her eyes and giving in. It was hardly a good time to test her while sitting there on the toilet, pull-up around her ankles. “I will be a good girl.”

Moving her right hand, her fingers to her chin, Elena considered things before pushing harder. “I hope so. Tell me again, Rina–How old are you and what grade are you in?”

“Fine.” She let out a long breath. “I’m ten and I’m in the fourth grade.”

“Yes, you are. Now, is a fourth grader a big girl or a little girl?”

Being asked such a question dressed as she was, in the position she was in, Sabrina felt so low. In less than a handful of minutes, her assistant had helped to get her dressed in an elementary school girl’s uniform, exactly like a little girl. "A little girl.” It wasn't iron tight logic, but she got what Elena was doing with the way she asked the question. “You know, I know what you’re- Shit, what was I saying?”

The way she just blanked out with a vacant look in her eyes was new; Sabrina Halloway had a lot of problems but ADHD was not one of them. “You were just telling me you are a little girl,” Elena said, “Go on. Say that, and tell me who I am to you.”

“Ugh, really?! FINE. I'm a little girl and you're my Aunt. Aunt Elena. HAPPY?”

Unable to help herself, Elena giggled. Not just a laugh, but a full on giggle. “I could go with less attitude, but I will take it. Now finish going potty and remember your promise, little duckling.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sabrina made a real effort, forcing out some pee before cleaning herself. Then she hopped off the toilet and pulled back up the toddler-like underwear. “ I’m done here.”

The bathroom room door opened as Elena turned the handle; the cooler air of the main office hit Sabrina's exposed legs. It wasn’t anything new in this outfit compared to the last, but it still made her hyper aware of what little fabric stood between the diaper and everyone. The pinafore, while not thin, was much less so than the jean material she had been wearing. Gritting her teeth, she stepped out of the bathroom, taking a few rapid steps to catch up to her longer legged assistant.

Mrs. Hatcher looked up from her desk, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her gaze swept over Sabrina with the practiced efficiency of someone who had evaluated thousands of students over decades. Sabrina froze under that scrutiny, her breath catching in her throat. She had stared down man after man who had dismissed her as just a pretty face over the years, but this look and in this situation brought her back to her more fragile years.

"Well," Mrs. Hatcher said, setting down her pen, "Let's have a look at you."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She could feel the pull-up, the bulk of it, the way it felt against her with every tiny movement, ‘Can she tell? Can she see it somehow?’ she fretted.

"Your hair," Mrs. Hatcher continued, her tone matter-of-fact, "is neat and orderly. The carousel braid is well-executed."

"And cute on her," Elena added, her voice warm with false affection.

"Indeed," Mrs. Hatcher agreed.

Sabrina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands twisting together in front of her. The movement made the dress ride up slightly; she immediately tugged it back down. Her thoughts were scattered and fragmented. She needed to say something, needed to explain that this was wrong, that she wasn't supposed to be here, that she was the Director of Operations at Aegis Strategic Logistics, not some . . . not a child. ‘But I am wearing a diaper.’ What she had falsely admitted to Elena in the bathroom ran through her mind. The words wouldn't come. They tangled in her mind, slipping away before she could grasp them. She wasn’t sure if saying anything was the right call or just her pride rebelling.

Mrs. Hatcher's eyes narrowed slightly. "Stop fidgeting, young lady." The command was sharp, the kind of tone that expected immediate obedience. Sabrina's hands stilled, dropping to her sides. She felt her face flush, heat crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. She felt like a child caught misbehaving, like she'd done something wrong just by existing in this space.

"I'm not-" Sabrina started, her voice small and uncertain, "doing . . ." She stuttered under the piercing gaze, completely unlike her normal self

"Your shoes," Mrs. Hatcher interrupted, her gaze dropping to Sabrina's feet. The light-up sneakers that flashed with every step. "They'll be allowed for today. However, if you were to be enrolled, you would need to consult the school guide under the uniforms section to obtain the correct footwear. The school does not provide shoes."

‘Enrolled. That isn’t happening, you old crone.’ Still, the very idea of this going on made her mind swim, despite knowing that once she got in her penthouse, things were going to be fixed. Then those that wronged her would be brought to heel.

"We really should be going," Elena said smoothly, her hand returning to Sabrina's shoulder. "Lovely as the tour has been, I have that meeting with Mr. Sterling. I’m sure he and Mr. Vance shouldn't be kept waiting."

Mrs. Hatcher nodded, already turning her attention back to the papers on her desk. "Of course. Fourth grade classes are down the hall, second door on the left. Ms. Fujina, one of our science teachers, is expecting her."

Standing from her desk with practiced efficiency, Mrs. Hatcher glanced at the two. "I'll take you both to your destinations," she said, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

Sabrina's stomach dropped. Destinations. Plural. As if they weren't going to the same place. The thought slipped away as the older woman moved to the door back out to the hallway. Elena's hand on Sabrina’s shoulder guiding her forward.

The walls in this direction were covered in bulletin boards. Construction paper borders in primary colors. Red, yellow, and blue framed displays of children's artwork. Crayon drawings of families with stick-figure parents and oversized suns. Handwriting practice sheets with wobbly letters. A banner that read ‘SPRING INTO READING!’ with paper flowers and smiling cartoon books.

Sabrina's eyes tracked across them, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing. This was the area of the school used for elementary school. A real elementary school. With real children. She could hear them now, distant voices, high-pitched and energetic, filtering through closed classroom doors. Someone was singing. Someone else was counting. " . . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty . . ."

Her dress swished against her thighs with each step. She could feel how short it was, how the pleated navy fabric barely covered the bulk of the pull-up beneath. The white Peter Pan collar felt tight around her neck. The knee-high socks were slipping slightly, one of them starting to bunch around her ankle.

Mrs. Thatcher walked with the brisk, purposeful stride of an administrator who had places to be. Elena walked beside Sabrina, her hand still resting on the smaller woman's shoulder. The gesture could have been supportive, but it felt more controlling. Like a handler guiding a confused animal.

They passed a water fountain. A display case with a trophy read ‘BLACKWOOD ACADEMY SPELLING BEE CHAMPIONS.’

Sabrina's sneakers flashed with each step. Flash, flash, flash. She felt like she was floating. Like she was watching this happen to someone else. Like she was a ghost drifting through a building that didn't quite make sense, where the rules had changed and no one had told her what they were now.

They stopped in front of a door. Not one of the classroom doors; this one was different. Heavier. A small placard read ‘Edgar Sterling’s office.’

"Ms. Thorne, this is where you'll be meeting with Mr. Sterling and Mr. Vance," Mrs. Hatcher said. She opened the door to reveal a glimpse of the professional space beyond with a polished table and leather set chairs. The door to the man’s office initially looked like it opened to a small conference room, with another door at the back leading deeper in left slightly ajar.

Elena's hand left Sabrina's shoulder. The absence of it was immediate and disorienting, like a tether being cut.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hatcher," Elena said smoothly. Then she turned to Sabrina. Something in her expression shifted, softening in a way that was somehow worse than her usual cold efficiency. Elena crouched down until she was at Sabrina's level, bringing her face even with the smaller woman's; her emerald eyes met Sabrina's confused blue ones. "Alright, sweetie," Elena said, her voice taking on a tone that was gentle and condescending in equal measure, "I need to go talk with the grown-ups now. You're going to go with Mrs. Hatcher to your classroom, okay?"

Sabrina blinked. The words were English. She understood English. But they weren't making sense. "I- I should be in the meeting . . ."

"The meeting is for the adults, Rina," The school administrator said, seeing that the girl did not want to leave her family. She reached over to adjust the white bow in Sabrina's braided hair. "You're going to go learn some things with Ms. Fujina. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time learning and making friends."

"But, I-" Sabrina's voice was small, uncertain. "I'm supposed to-"

"Be good for your teacher," Elena interrupted, giving a kiss to Sabrina's forehead with a finality that made the smaller woman's stomach twist. "I'll come get you when we're done with the important business talk. Can you do that for me?"

Sabrina wanted to say no. Wanted to say that this was wrong. That a client meeting with someone who had so much money and influence shouldn't be held without her. She wanted to say that she was the Director of Operations and Elena was just an assistant. True, the full title was Assistant Manager, but the woman managed her calendar more than people.

The words wouldn't come. They were stuck somewhere in the fog, tangled up with all the other thoughts that wouldn't quite form. It was like the more she pushed herself to talk, the more that was happening, the more flustered she got. It was like a mental car pile up blocking all the traffic.

"I . . . " Sabrina whispered, feeling unsure of herself. An uncommon feeling, until recently.

Elena smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she stood back up to her full height. "She'll be fine," she said to the school employee, as if Sabrina weren't standing right there. "She's just a little nervous. First day jitters." Then Elena stepped into the office, and the door closed behind her with a soft, final click.

Standing there in the hallway, Sabrina stared at the closed door. Behind it, Sabrina could hear adult voices she recognized from work and phone calls, now fully knowing beyond a doubt what she already believed, that she should be in there.

"Come along, dear," Sabrina heard. The woman’s hand took the place where Elena's had been on Sabrina's shoulder. "Ms. Fujina is waiting for you."

And then they were moving again. Just the two of them now. Down the hallway, past more bulletin boards, more classroom doors, more evidence of the children that were around but out of sight from the hallway.

She stopped in front of a door, second on the left from the door to the front office just like she'd said. Sabrina's heart began to pound in her chest, a rapid, panicked rhythm that cut through the medication just enough for her to understand. The sudden and terrible clarity made it so the unease once again bordered on turning into a panic.

"Here we are," Mrs. Hatcher said, her hand on the doorknob.

Chapter Fifteen

The door opened.

The first thing Sabrina registered were the voices in the room. The thick classroom door had muted the sound in the hallway; now that it was open, she could clearly hear the focused, engaged sound of those in the room that was in session. An accented but clear, warm adult voice asking questions, punctuated by the eager responses of children raising their hands, calling out "Ooh! Ooh!" as they competed to answer. Then came the smell. Dry-erase markers, construction paper, that particular combination of cleaning products and kid-sweat that defined elementary school classrooms everywhere.

The room itself was cheerful in that aggressively educational way. Alphabet posters were lined up along one wall with a science theme; A is for Atom, B is for bacteria, C is for comet. It went on and on. Then there was the periodic table on another, student artwork pinned to a cork board near the windows, bright colors everywhere. The desks were arranged in clusters of four. A smartboard at the front displayed a colorful diagram of the water cycle, complete with animated raindrops.

And children. So many actual children, unlike her. Twelve of them, scattered across the room in their desk clusters, most of them turned toward the front where a young Asian woman was teaching. It was difficult for Sabrina to pin down her exact age, but she would guess low twenties . . . Younger than her, but easily commanding a room of kids. She was seen as an adult, unlike Sabrina. The young woman stood beside the smartboard, wearing a lilac accordion-pleated skirt that fell to mid-calf, and an ivory blouse. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she held a dry-erase marker in one hand. Even from across the room, Sabrina could see that she was taller than herself, an average height for a woman not nearly as tall as her freakish assistant Elena. And this teacher got to wear sensible two inch heels while her expensive shoes had gone missing.

“And that is why we see clouds forming at different altitudes,” the woman was saying, her accent lilting softly through her words. The Japanese inflection slightly changed how some words would normally sound in English, while still sounding clear and perfectly paced for the age of the kids she was teaching. “The water vapor rises, cools down, and . . . Oh!” She trailed off from the lesson as she noticed the door opening. She saw Mrs. Hatcher, the person in charge of the faculty for the lower grades, standing there with the potential new student half-hidden behind her. “Mrs. Hatcher! Come in, come in.”

The children's attention shifted immediately. Twelve pairs of eyes swiveled toward the door.

Having a room full of people focused on her was normally Sabrina's domain, only with adults in a meeting she commanded. Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly put herself in a situation where she’d be standing before a group of snot-nosed kids. And now she was doing so while wearing a diaper, after soiling herself less than an hour ago. The moment made her stomach drop. ‘No, no, no, no; don’t look at me.’

"Ms. Fujina," Mrs. Hatcher said, her voice carrying that same professional warmth she had used before. "I have your potential new student. This is Sabrina Thorne." The slight emphasis on the last name, Elena's last name, not her own, irritated Sabrina. At the same time, she didn't want anyone connecting how she looked now to her true self. Of course, Elena had put that on the paperwork, because using ‘Holloway’ would raise questions, and potentially create connections that couldn't exist if this nightmare was going to work. "She prefers to be called Rina," The stern administrator added.

Rina. The nickname landed like a slap. Sabrina had never been ‘Rina’ in her life. ‘Sabrina’ was already informal enough; she'd spent years training people to use her last name, to show her the proper respect or to not talk to her at all. But now she was once more introduced as Rina. A child's name; a diminutization of who she was at her core.

Ms. Fujina's face lit up with a smile that seemed genuinely warm. "Rina! Welcome!" She set down her marker and crossed the room in a few long strides, her heels clicking softly against the linoleum. Up close, she was even younger than Sabrina had thought, maybe twenty-two or three. Barely out of college. "We're so excited to have you visit today. I'm Ms. Hana Fujina. You can call me Ms.Hana or Ms. Fujina." She extended her hand. “Please forgive my accent; this is my first year in America. If you need me to repeat something, just say so.”

Sabrina stared at the offered hand. The medication made everything feel distant, like she was watching this happen to someone else. Even through the fog, however, she could feel the wrongness of it. This woman, this girl who was younger than her, taller than her, standing there in professional clothes while Sabrina wore a plaid jumper and light-up sneakers. Her hand moved, taking Ms. Fujina's in a brief, limp shake.

"There's an empty desk right over there," the teacher said, gesturing toward a cluster near the windows. "Next to Maya. Maya, can you wave?"

A girl with dark braids and a gap-toothed smile raised her hand enthusiastically.

"Perfect," Mrs. Hatcher said, giving Sabrina's shoulder one last squeeze. "I'll leave you in Ms. Fujina's capable hands, dear. Have a wonderful time, I will see you again after class." Then she was gone, the door closing behind her, leaving Sabrina in a class full of fourth graders. Students she was expected to go sit with. The door wasn't loud, yet the sound of it still echoed in her mind, sounding like a finality of sorts.

Sabrina stood frozen in the doorway, twelve pairs of eyes still fixed on her; the reality of it crashed over her in a wave that the medication couldn't quite suppress. She was alone. Elena was in that conference room with Mr. Sterling, discussing god-knew-what, and Sabrina was here, in a fourth-grade classroom, expected to sit and learn, like she belonged here.

"Come on in, Rina," Ms. Fujina said gently, "Don't be shy. We're just learning about the water cycle. Have you studied that before?"

Sabrina's mouth opened. Closed. No sound came out.

One of the boys, a kid with red hair and freckles, leaned over to whisper something to his neighbor. They both giggled.

"Rina?" Ms. Fujina prompted, her smile still in place but with a slight note of concern creeping in. "Don't worry, everyone is here to learn. Your desk is right there, sweetie. Why don't you go ahead and sit down?"

The word ‘sweetie’ was said in the same tone the word should indicate, but it felt so condescending. The word jolted her into motion. Sabrina's legs carried her forward on autopilot, her light-up sneakers flashing with each step. Flash, flash, flash, announcing her presence to every single person in the room. The children tracked her movement. Some of them smiled. One girl, taller than Sabrina by at least an inch, stared with open curiosity.

The empty desk was in the second cluster from the windows. Sabrina slid into the chair carefully, not wanting the sound of the diaper to alert those close to her of its presence. Her hands immediately gripped the edge of the desk, and she tried very hard not to look at anyone.

The chair was attached to the desk, fitting her perfectly in a way so few did with her height. That struck her as a negative, not a positive. 'It's made to fit children, and it is the perfect size; my feet aren’t hanging in the air.'

"Wonderful," Ms. Fujina said, already turning back toward the smartboard. "Okay, everyone. Let's give Rina a chance to settle in and get back to our lesson. We were talking about condensation. Who can remind me what that means?"

Several hands shot up. Sabrina stared at the desk surface. Someone had carved a tiny heart into the corner, the kind of mindless vandalism that happened in every school everywhere. Her vision blurred slightly; the lesson meant nothing to her. Without even considering what she was doing, she let the voice faded into the background.

‘Elena promised. She promised to take me home after this. Just get through this. Just sit here and wait and then Elena will come back and we'll leave and . . .’ The thought was interrupted as someone spoke to her, as the teacher was still saying something about water.

"Hi!" The whisper came from her right. Sabrina's head swiveled in the voice’s direction.

The girl that had waved before, Maya, as Ms. Fujina had called her, was leaning across the gap between their desks. Her dark eyes were bright with interest. She looked about nine, maybe ten, with the kind of unselfconscious friendliness that only children seemed to possess. "I'm Maya," she whispered, even though Ms. Fujina had already introduced her, "I like your hair! The braid is so pretty. Did your mommy do it?"

Sabrina stared at her. ‘Did your mommy do it?’ the question echoed in her mind. The question was so absurd, so completely disconnected from reality, that for a moment Sabrina couldn't process it. ‘My mom? She hasn't braided my hair since I was eight years old, and even then it had been a nanny who'd done most of the work, and . . .’

"Maya," Ms. Fujina's voice cut through the fog, gentle but firm, "Rina. I know it's exciting to meet a possible new student, a new friend, but I need both of you to pay attention to the lesson, please. We'll have time to chat during recess."

‘Recess?’ The word and the implication of it threw the young woman for a loop.

Maya gave Sabrina an apologetic smile and turned back toward the front, where Ms. Fujina had resumed her explanation of the water cycle. Something about evaporation and temperature, molecules moving faster when they are heated up.

Sabrina slowly blinked, a part of her trying to give the pretty Asian woman her attention. Trying to make sense of the words. But everything felt distant and muffled, like she was underwater; the only thing that felt real was the pull-up pressing against her skin and the knowledge that she was sitting in a classroom full of children, dressed like them, expected to be one of them.

‘The giraffe promised. Just get through this.’

The minutes crawled by. Ms. Fujina's voice rose and fell in that practiced teacher cadence, asking questions, calling on students, praising correct answers. The smartboard cycled through diagrams. A boy in the front row asked if clouds were made of cotton candy. Everyone laughed.

Sabrina sat perfectly still, feeling awkward and out of place, her hands still gripping the sides of her hard plastic seat, trying to will herself to disappear.

" . . . and that's why we see rain!" Ms. Fujina concluded, capping her marker with a flourish. "Now, I want everyone to take out your science journals and draw your own water cycle diagram. Make sure to label each stage. Evaporation, condensation, precipitation, and collection. You have fifteen minutes."

The classroom erupted into motion as each of the students did as they were asked, more than used to her odd accent, desk lids lifted. Pencil cases unzipped. Papers rustled.

Sabrina still didn't move. ‘I'm an adult. I’m an adult, not a student.’ She didn't have a science journal. She didn't have anything except a notebook, colored pencils, and crayons in the stupid backpack that she had forgotten about until just then.

"Psst. Rina." Maya again. Leaning over, her journal was already open in front of her, a pencil in her hand.

"Do you need paper? I have extra." She was already reaching into her desk, pulling out a sheet of lined notebook paper. "Here! Ms. Fujina won't mind if you use regular paper for today since you're new." She held it out, smiling.

Sabrina looked at the paper. At Maya's eager, friendly face. At the other children around them, all busy with their assignments, all perfectly comfortable in this space that felt like a nightmare.

"I'm in Mrs. Rodriguez's class, usually," Maya continued, apparently taking Sabrina's silence as an invitation to keep talking, "But she's out sick today, so we're combined with Ms. Fujina's class. Are you going to be in Ms. Fujina's class? Or Mrs. Rodriguez's? What grade are you in? You look like you might be a fifth grader, but you're kind of small so maybe fourth? I have a cousin who's small for her age, too. She's really good at gymnastics though. Do you do gymnastics? I tried it, but I wasn't very good. I like soccer better. Do you like soccer?"

The words tumbled out in a breathless rush. Sabrina felt something more crack inside her chest; not the medication-dampened panic, but something that raised an alarm, something that cut through the fog with sudden, vicious clarity.

‘This child is trying to befriend me. This nine-year-old is asking about soccer and gymnastics and treating me like a peer, like someone who belonged here, like . . .’ "Leave me alone," Sabrina said. Her voice came out flat. She didn’t reach for the offered paper.

Maya blinked. "Oh. Um. Okay." She pulled back slightly, the paper still extended between them. "I was just trying to be nice. You looked kind of sad and I thought . . . " She stopped talking as she was cut off.

"I don't care what you thought. Leave me alone," she snapped, part of her almost moving to unzip the backpack to show the girl she had her own paper. It was ridiculous that she was here, and she didn’t really need to do the school work.

"Fine." Maya's expression shifted, the friendliness cooling into something more guarded. She set the paper on Sabrina's desk anyway, then turned back to her own work. "But that isn't how you make friends," she added, not quite under her breath, "And the school rules say to be kind to your peers."

‘Peers.’ The word detonated in Sabrina's brain, repeating. ‘Peers.’ This child, this nine-year-old with her gap-toothed smile and her soccer stories and her concern about making friends, had just called them peers. She had just put them on the same level. Had just confirmed, with perfect childish logic, exactly what this entire nightmare was designed to make Sabrina believe–that she belonged here. That she was one of them. That she was a fourth grader who needed to follow the school rules and be kind to her peers. ‘I have a masters degree!’

"Shut up," Sabrina hissed. The words came out louder than she'd intended. Sharp enough to cut through the ambient classroom noise. Loud enough that Ms. Fujina heard.

The teacher's head turned, her expression shifting from pleasant focus to something more alert. Her eyes found Sabrina immediately. "Rina?" Ms. Fujina's voice was still gentle, but there was a new note in it, something firmer, more authoritative. "Can you come up here and talk to me for a moment, please?"

The classroom went quiet.

Not completely silent; there were still pencils scratching, papers rustling, but it was quiet enough that Sabrina could feel the attention shifting toward her again. Could feel the weight of focus being on her. Her heart started to pick up the pace, almost getting to the point it hammered against her ribs. ‘No. No no no!’

"Rina," Ms. Fujina repeated, and this time it wasn't a question, "Come here, please."

Sabrina's hands released the chair, sliding along the desk. Her legs moved, sliding out of the chair, stepping across the space between the desk clusters and the front of the room. Her sneakers flashed with each step. Flash, flash, flash.

Ms. Fujina waited by her desk, her expression calm but serious. Up close, the height difference was even more pronounced. Sabrina had to tilt her head back to meet the teacher's eyes. There was so much wrongness about it all; so much humiliation from looking up at someone who was younger than her, who should have been beneath her in every possible hierarchy.

"Rina," Ms. Fujina said quietly, crouching down slightly so they were closer to eye level. "I heard what you said to Maya. We don't tell other students to shut up in this classroom. That's not kind, and it's not respectful. Do you understand?"

Sabrina stared at her.

“I will give you a demerit slip. You can do better.”

Moving her lips, Sabrina found no words coming out as she was admonished and told she was getting a demerit. Whatever that was. Something was wrong; it was difficult to organize her thoughts into anything coherent, and beneath the fog there was a scream building, a desperate need to explain. That she wasn't supposed to be here, that she was twenty-six years old and a Director of Operations, that she didn't need to be lectured about kindness by someone who was barely out of college.

"I know it can be difficult being the new student," Ms. Fujina continued, her voice softening slightly. "And I know Maya can be a little chatty sometimes. But she was trying to be welcoming. She was trying to help you feel included. And when someone does that, we respond with kindness. Okay?"

The word hung in the air between them, waiting for Sabrina's agreement, waiting for her to accept this reality where she was a student and Ms. Fujina was her teacher and Maya was her peer. Sabrina's mouth opened. Once more, nothing came out.

"Rina?" Ms. Fujina prompted. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Behind them, the classroom had gone almost completely silent now. Everyone was watching. Everyone was waiting to see what would happen to the new girl who'd told Maya to shut up.

Half turning to the side so she could see the brats, Sabrina shook her head. None of this was okay.

Ms. Fujina straightened up slowly, her expression shifting from gentle encouragement to something more measured. Not angry, exactly, but disappointed in that particular way teachers had perfected over generations. "I see," she said quietly, "Well, that's very unfortunate, Rina. Because you were mean to Maya. She's another student here, someone you should be trying to make friends with." She paused, studying Sabrina's face with a thoughtful expression. "When you were in the office with Mrs. Hatcher, did you sign the school guide? The student behavior expectations?"

Sabrina blinked, the medication making her thoughts move like molasses. She remembered Elena pushing papers in front of her, telling her to sign. Multiple forms. She'd signed something, the memory of using the wrong name clear in her sluggish mind, it didn’t matter, none of this did. "Yes," she managed.

"Did you read it before you signed?"

The question hung there. Sabrina's mouth felt dry. "No."

Ms. Fujina's expression softened into something that looked almost like concern. "Okay. That's okay, Rina. I know reading can be hard for some students." She spoke slowly, carefully, the way someone might explain something to a child who struggled. "Many kids come from public schools where they're below where they should be. There's no shame in that. But we still need to go over the rules."

'She thinks I can't read,' Sabrina realized with dawning horror. 'She thinks I'm fucking illiterate!'

"Our school has three main rules," Ms. Fujina continued, holding up fingers as she counted. "One, be kind to your peers. Two, Respect your teachers and all adults. Three, try your best in all your work. These rules help everyone feel safe and respected. Do you understand?"

Sabrina stared at her, unable to form words. Her hands balled into fists, just about done with this bullshit. The ridiculous promise to be a little girl to Thorne was present in her mind, which was bullshit as well. That still mattered more than anything the fourth grade science teacher with her sickly sweet attitude had to say; at least Elena was trying to help in her inane failing way. For now, Elena had leverage. That would be gone soon enough, and Sabrina could get her fired.

"The thing is, Rina, even though I've explained the rules now, you still broke the first one. You were not kind to Maya. So I still need to give you a demerit." Turning and walking to her desk, Hana’s heels clicked against the linoleum. She opened the drawer, pulling out a small pad of pre-printed forms, pale yellow carbon copies. Ms. Fujina clicked a pen and filled one out with quick, efficient strokes.

The sound of walking in high heels was so familiar to Sabrina. She didn’t own the sound, but since she was a teen it was what she heard with every step. Now she was in children’s shoes that still left her feet a bit sore after wearing nothing but four to five inch heels for so long. Now this woman made that sound, instead of her. 'No. No, this isn't . . .' Sabrina's thoughts scattered like marbles. 'I don't get demerits. I give performance reviews. I terminate contracts. I don't-'

Ms. Fujina returned, the slip in her hand. "Normally, a parent or guardian has to sign this," she explained, her voice taking on that careful, educational tone again. "But for you, Rina, this is more about education. About learning our rules. So please put this in your backpack, and we'll talk about it more later."

She held out the slip. Sabrina stared at it, at the neat handwriting documenting her supposed failure to be kind to her peer. Maya Chen, age 9, fourth grade.

"Now, there are punishments for demerits," Ms. Fujina continued, "Since you didn't read the guidelines before signing, would you like one of the students to go over them with you? Maya is very good at explaining things, or . . ."

"No." The word burst out before the woman could go on. Being treated like a child was once again starting to feel like too much. “I’m not a student. Listen, lady. I have a college degree.”

Hana’s expression shifted. Not to shock or concern, but to something almost amused. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "A college degree?" she repeated, her tone gentle and patronizing. "Well, that's something big kids get, Rina. But I would love it if that were true for you someday. For now, though, please take the demerit and put it in your backpack."

'She doesn't believe me; of course she doesn't. How is she and everyone too blind and stupid to see the truth?!’ The realization crashed through her with brutal clarity. 'She thinks I'm making it up. She thinks I'm a child with an overactive imagination.' And worse, so much worse, was the understanding that followed. Telling the truth had made everything worse. The claim about her degree hadn't convinced the Japanese woman she was an adult. Instead, it had convinced her that Sabrina was a troubled child who needed extra patience, extra understanding; the kind of gentle correction reserved for kids who told elaborate lies about being princesses or superheroes.

'I have a masters degree!' Sabrina's mind screamed, 'I have a masters in business administration from a top-tier program. I manage logistics contracts worth millions. I have an office with my name on the door. I have employees. I have a 401k. I have a car payment. I have . . . ' But none of that mattered. None of it existed in this room. Here, she was Rina, a fourth-grader who'd been mean to another student and was now acting out, claiming impossible things to avoid consequences.

The medication made her thoughts move like syrup, made it hard to find the words that would explain, that would make Ms. Fujina understand. How could she prove it? What could she say that wouldn't sound exactly like something a child would say? 'I'm really an adult, I promise. I have a job and everything!' Even in her own head, it sounded pathetic.

Behind her, she could hear whispers starting up. Soft, curious murmurs from the other students.

" . . . said she has a college degree . . . "

" . . . that's what my dad got when he went back to school."

" . . . Such a liar . . . "

Maya's voice was quieter than the others, but still audible. "She was really mean. I was just trying to be nice."

Sabrina's hands remained at her sides, the demerit slip still extended toward her in the teacher’s hand. Her fingers wouldn't move. Couldn't move. Taking it would mean accepting this, accepting that she was a student who'd misbehaved, accepting that she belonged here. But not taking it . . . 'What happens if I refuse? What happens if I just stand here?'

Ms. Fujina's expression shifted slightly, the gentle amusement fading into something more practical. "Rina," she said, her voice still kind but with a note of finality, "I need you to take the demerit now. We need to get back to our lesson."

Sabrina's mouth opened. "I'm not-" she started, but the words tangled in her throat. 'I'm not a child' would sound exactly like something a child would say. 'I'm an executive' would sound like fantasy. 'I'm twenty-six years old' would be met with that same patronizing smile. Every truth would come across as a fantasy or a lie . . .

"Rina." Ms. Fujina's tone shifted, not harsh, but more firm. The kind of voice that expected compliance. When Sabrina still didn't move, didn't reach for the slip, Ms. Fujina made a small sound of understanding. "Okay, sweetie. I can see this is hard for you. Let me help." She stepped around Sabrina, moving toward the desk cluster where Sabrina's backpack sat on the floor beside her chair.

'No. No no no, don't!'

Hana’s dark hair draped over part of her face as she picked up the backpack, a small iridescent thing with a unicorn that Elena had provided. The sound of the zipper seemed impossibly loud in the quiet classroom. She slipped the demerit inside, nestling it between the notebook and the pencil case, then zipped it closed again and set it back down.

"There," she said, straightening up and returning to where Sabrina stood frozen. "All done. Your guardian will see it when you get home, and we'll talk about how you can do better at the end of class. For now, let's get back to work, okay?"

She placed a hand on Sabrina's shoulder, gently steering her back toward her desk. The touch was kind, less firm than how the administrator did it, but Sabrina still hated being touched without permission. It made her want to scream. The walk back to her desk felt endless. Flash, flash, flash went her sneakers. Every eye in the classroom tracked her movement. She could feel their curiosity, their judgment, their fascination with the new girl who'd gotten in trouble on her very first day. When she reached her chair, she sank into it mechanically, her hands gripping the edge of the desk again.

"All right, everyone," Ms. Fujina said, her voice bright and professional as she returned to the front of the room. "That's enough excitement for today. Let's get back to our water cycle diagrams. You have ten minutes left. Make sure everything is labeled clearly."

The classroom settled into focused work. Around Sabrina, pencils moved across paper with the easy confidence of children who'd been paying attention, who knew exactly what they were supposed to do. She could hear the soft scratch of graphite, the occasional whisper of someone asking to borrow an eraser, the rustle of papers being adjusted.

Not moving now that she was sitting once more, other than to shake her head, Sabrina wanted to take no part in this. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared at the wood grain. The backpack sat beside her chair like an accusation. Inside it, the demerit slip waited. 'Just sit here. Just wait. Wait it out.'

"Rina?" Ms. Fujina's voice cut through Sabrina’s thoughts. Jerking her head up, she could see the teacher was still standing a few feet away, her expression concerned. "Sweetie, you need to start your diagram. You don't have your things out."

Sabrina stared at her. ‘My things?’ she asked herself.

"Maya," Ms. Fujina said, turning slightly toward the girl at the next desk, "Cou;d you please explain the assignment to Rina? She missed part of the lesson, so she might need help understanding what to draw."

Maya looked up from her own paper, where a neat diagram was already taking shape. Clouds labeled in careful print, arrows showing the movement of water. Her expression was uncertain, guarded. "Um. Okay, Ms. Hana." She turned toward Sabrina, her voice quieter now, less enthusiastic than before. "So, we're supposed to draw the water cycle. You know, like . . . Water evaporates from the ocean or lakes, then it goes up and makes clouds, and then it rains, and the water goes back to the ocean. And you have to label each part. Evaporation, con-den-say-tion, Pre-sip . . . Umm, pre-sip-uh-tation, and collection."

The words were careful as she corrected herself, adding extra syllables on some of the words the way a child might explain something they'd just learned themselves.

"I don't need your help," Sabrina said flatly.

Maya blinked. "Oh. Um. Okay." She glanced toward the teacher, uncertain.

"Rina," Ms. Fujina said, her voice still gentle but with that note of firmness underneath. "Maya is trying to help you. But if you don't want her explanation, that's fine. You still need to complete the assignment. The diagram is on the smartboard if you need a reference. Please get started."

Sabrina's jaw tightened. Her hands reached down for the god awful backpack, pulling it up with movements that felt mechanical, disconnected. The zipper opened. Inside, nestled among the supplies Elena had packed, were the notebook, the crayons, the colored pencils and now a demerit slip. Whatever that meant. No regular pencils, no pens; just children’s art supplies.

Pulling out the colored pencils, which at least had actual points unlike the thick waxy crayons and the notebook, she set them on the desk. The paper Maya had offered earlier still sat there, untouched. Sabrina pushed it aside and opened the notebook to a blank page, the one right after her terrible drawing she started earlier. Around her, the students continued working. The sound of their productivity felt like pressure against her skull.

'This is insane. I'm a college graduate. I have a masters degree. I shouldn't be sitting here with colored pencils drawing a diagram about rain.' Yet her hand moved anyway, picking up a blue pencil. She stared at the blank page. Water cycle. She knew this. Everyone knew this. Water evaporated, rose into the air, formed clouds, and fell as rain. Basic science. Elementary school science. Literally. But, drawing it . . .

Her hand hovered over the paper. ‘Where do I start? With the ocean? With the sun?’ The smartboard diagram showed a cross-section view. Water at the bottom, sun at the top, arrows indicating movement. Labels in neat print. Evaporation. Condensation. Precipitation. Collection.

'Evaporation. That's when water turns to vapor. Condensation is . . . clouds forming? Or is that- No, condensation is when the vapor cools and becomes liquid again. Precipitation is rain. Collection is . . .' The medication made her thoughts slow, made it hard to hold all the pieces in her mind at once. She knew this. She'd learned this in school, actual school, when she was a child herself. But now, trying to recall the exact terms, the exact sequence, felt like reaching for something on a high shelf, just out of reach.

She drew a wavy line at the bottom of the page. ‘Ocean. Easy enough. Then what?’

Her eyes flicked toward the smartboard, trying to be subtle about it, trying not to look like she needed help. The diagram was still there, colorful and clear. She could see the arrows, the labels, but from this distance the text was small. 'Draw something with the answers in view for everyone, please. How stupid is this and yet . . . I can't ask. I can't look like I don't know this. I can't give them more ammunition.'

She drew the sun in the corner. Added some wavy lines rising from the ocean. ‘That was evaporation, water vapor rising, then a cloud.’ She labeled it, her handwriting not staying in a straight line, looking uncertain with the colored pencil. "Evaporation."

‘No, wait. The cloud wasn't evaporation. The cloud was condensation.’ She scribbled it out, the blue pencil leaving a messy smudge. She started again. Around her, other students were finishing. She could see Maya's completed diagram out of the corner of her eye, neat and colorful and correct. A boy across from her was adding decorative details to his sun, making it smile with a pair of dark sunglasses on its new face.

Sabrina's hand tightened on the pencil. Her diagram looked like a mess. The proportions were wrong, the labels were in the wrong places. She couldn't remember if "collection" meant water gathering in the ocean or water gathering in clouds or something else entirely. 'This is fourth-grade science. I should be able to do this in my sleep. Why can't I-'

But she knew why. It was stupid. She didn’t need to retain information on why it rained; she only needed to know how to look up what the weather was going to be like on her phone . . . the phone she didn’t have. The sheer emotional weight of sitting there was a lot. Dressed like a child, treated like a child, expected to perform like a child, all while her adult mind screamed in the background. ‘This is wrong, all of this is wrong.’

She added another label. Drew another arrow. It didn't look right. None of it looked right.

"Two minutes," Ms. Fujina announced from the front of the room.

Sabrina's pencil moved more quickly, more desperately. She didn't care if it was correct anymore. She just needed it to be done. Needed this to be over. The classroom continued stirring as the students worked. Pencils scratching, papers rustled. A boy in the front asked if it was okay that he used colored markers for his diagram. Ms. Fujina said yes, that was lovely.

The institutional machine moved forward, uncaring, as if nothing significant was happening at all.

Sabrina sat fidgeting with a purple colored pencil, staring at nothing. The backpack sat on the floor beside her chair. Inside it, nestled between school supplies she would never use, was a demerit slip documenting a behavioral problem–a failure to be kind to her peers. A slip that required a guardian's signature.

‘Does Thorne really need to sign it? No, what am I thinking? This doesn’t matter and she is no guardian of mine; she is nothing but my assistant. The stupid giraffe would so sign it with a smile or fake concern on her face, and then she'd use it. Another piece of leverage. More proof that I can’t be trusted to behave like an adult, that I need supervision, that I need . . . I can't do this. I can't. I can't.'

The thing was though, she was doing it. She was sitting there, in a fourth-grade classroom, with a demerit in her backpack and twelve actual children around her. All of them believed she was one of them. If she wanted to tell them the truth, none of them would believe her, because she couldn't prove otherwise.

“Alright, class," Ms. Fujina's voice cut through the ambient noise, bright and authoritative, "Time is up! Please put your pencils down."

The scratching sounds ceased immediately. Around Sabrina, students set down their writing implements with the obedience of children who knew classroom routines. A few added last-minute touches, a final arrow, a decorative flourish on a cloud but most simply stopped, their diagrams complete.

Sabrina stared down at her own paper. The mess of blue and green colored pencil looked nothing like the neat diagrams surrounding her. Her ocean was a wobbly line. Her sun was lopsided. The arrows pointing from one stage to the next went in directions that didn't quite make sense, and the labels . . . She'd crossed out "Evaporation" twice, finally settling on writing it next to the wavy lines rising from the water, but now she wasn't sure if that was right. "Condensation" was smudged where she'd tried to erase it with her finger. "Precipitation" was spelled incorrectly; she'd written "Presipitation" before catching it and squeezing in the missing 'c' above the line. "Collection" sat at the bottom, but she'd drawn the arrow pointing the wrong way.

'It's wrong. It's all wrong. A fourth-grader could do better than this.' And they had. She could see it on every desk within her field of vision.

"Wonderful work, everyone," Ms. Fujina said, moving between the desk clusters with that easy teacher grace. "Now, I'm going to come around and correct your diagrams. When I get to your desk, please hold up your paper so I can see it clearly."

'No. No no no.' Sabrina's hands moved to cover her diagram instinctively, but that would only draw more attention. She forced them to rest in her lap feeling the cushioned pull-up under the uniform she shouldn't be wearing.

Hana started at the front of the room, moving methodically through the clusters. Each student held up their work when she approached. "Very good, James. Excellent labels." "Nice use of color, Sophie." "Perfect arrows showing the flow, Michael." The praise was genuine, warm; the kind of positive reinforcement that made children beam with pride. Sabrina watched as each student received their validation, their confirmation that they'd done well, that they understood, that they belonged.

The teacher moved closer. Two clusters away. Then one. Sabrina tried to avoid looking at her, just glaring down at her work. The medication made everything feel distant, enough to keep panic from overtaking her but not distant enough to suppress her shame. 'She's going to see it. She's going to see how badly I did. She's going to know I couldn't even complete a simple fourth-grade assignment.'

Ms. Fujina reached Maya's cluster. "Maya, let's see yours." Maya held up her paper proudly, and Ms. Fujina's smile brightened. "Excellent! Your labels are so neat, and I love how you added color to show the different stages. This is exactly what I was looking for."

Maya glowed. She glanced sideways at Sabrina, just for a moment. There was something in that look; not quite smugness, but a quiet satisfaction. Then the teacher turned to Sabrina. "Rina, may I see yours, please?"

It felt as if every eye in the cluster was on her. Sabrina's hands wouldn't move. Couldn't move.

"Sweetie?" Ms. Fujina's voice was gentle, patient. "It's okay. I just want to see what you did."

Slowly, mechanically, Sabrina's hands picked up the notebook. She held it up, the messy diagram on display for everyone to see. The smudges. The crossed-out labels. The arrows going nowhere. The misspelling.

Ms. Hana studied it for a long moment. Sabrina waited for the criticism, for the disappointment, for the confirmation that she'd failed even this simple task. But when the teacher spoke, her voice was warm. Encouraging. "This is a good start, Rina! I can see you understand the basic concept. Water goes up, forms clouds, comes back down. That's the most important part."

'A good start.' The words were meant to be kind, but they landed like stones. Not "good work." Not "excellent." A good start. The kind of thing you said to a struggling student who'd tried their best but hadn't quite gotten there.

"I can see you had a little trouble with some of the labels," Ms. Fujina continued, crouching down slightly so she was closer to Sabrina's eye level. "That's okay. These are big words, and spelling can be tricky. But you got the general idea, and that's what matters for today."

She reached out and tapped the paper gently with one finger. "Next time, try to make your arrows a little clearer so we can see which direction the water is moving. And remember, condensation is when the water vapor turns back into little droplets in the clouds. You had it labeled by the ocean, but it should be up here." She pointed to where Sabrina's cloud was drawn. "See?"

Sabrina nodded, the movement disconnected. 'She's explaining it to me like I'm a child who doesn't understand. Because that's what I am to her. That's what I am to everyone here.'

"But you did try, and that's what's important," Ms. Fujina said, straightening up, "I can tell you put effort into this, even though you missed part of the lesson. That shows good character, Rina. Keep working like that, and you'll do great here."

She moved on to the next student, leaving Sabrina sitting there with her "good start" diagram and her ‘participation trophy’ praise.

Around her, the other students had already moved on, putting their papers away, preparing for whatever came next. Maya was organizing her pencils back into her pencil case with meticulous care. The boy across from Sabrina was doodling on a scrap of paper, his completed diagram already tucked safely into his desk.

She looked down at her own work. At the messy, childish attempt that had earned her gentle correction and patronizing encouragement. 'I have a masters degree,' she thought again, but the words felt hollow now. Empty. What did a masters degree matter when she couldn't even draw a water cycle diagram without making a mess of it? Ripping the page from the notebook, she shoved it into the desk out of sight. She could remove it from her sight, but not from her mind.

"All right, class," Ms. Fujina announced from the front of the room, "Please put your science materials away. We're going to transition to reading time now. Everyone should have their reading book ready."

The classroom erupted into motion again. Desk lids lifted. Books emerged. The institutional rhythm continued, uncaring, unstoppable.

Sabrina wanted to yell “Fuck this.” ‘Reading time,' she thought distantly. 'What fresh hell is reading time?'

But she already knew. She was going to find out. Because she was here, in this classroom, expected to participate. Expected to be a student.

Chapter Sixteen

Ms. Fujina's heeled footsteps approached Sabrina once again, the soft click of her shoes against the linoleum floor making Sabrina's expression turn into a scowl. She didn't look up, couldn’t bring herself to look up into her stupid smiling face. The water cycle diagram was still burning in her mind, the gentle correction still echoing in her ears.

"Rina?"

The childish nickname version of her own name landed like a stone in her chest. Not Sabrina. Not Director Halloway. Rina. The diminutive that had somehow become her identity in this nightmare. She glanced up, the scowl still in place.

Hana stood beside her desk, holding a stapled packet of papers. The pages were crisp and white, official-looking, with the school's logo printed at the top. "I have something for you," the teacher said, her voice warm and encouraging, "While the class does reading time . . . For you, I have this. It’s just a standard assessment we give all potential new students. It helps us understand where you are academically so we can support you properly."

Sabrina stared at the packet. An assessment of her. The word should have been laughable. She was a college graduate; she had a master's degree in business administration. She'd negotiated million-dollar contracts and managed complex financial portfolios and was a leader of people.

And now she was being handed an elementary school assessment test.

"Take your time," The teacher continued, setting the packet on Sabrina's desk, "And make sure you read all the directions carefully, okay?"

The words felt patronizing, like something you'd tell a child who couldn't be trusted to follow simple instructions. 'I'm a fucking adult!,' Sabrina thought, the words sharp and defensive in her mind. 'I know how to read directions.'

With a gentle and patient expression, Hana looked down at the ten-year-old, feeling like she wanted to help. "Do you have everything you need? Pencil, eraser?"

Pride flaring hot, Sabrina shook her head. Of course she had what she needed. She wasn't an idiot. ‘I’m not some unprepared child who showed up to school without basic supplies,’ she thought. Her pride made her forget how ill-prepared she truly was.

"No, I'm fine," she said, the words coming out clipped and certain.

Ms. Fujina smiled. "Wonderful. Just raise your hand if you need anything." She moved away, her attention shifting to another student who was waving their hand in the air.

Sabrina looked down at the assessment packet. The cover page listed three sections: English, Science, Math. Elementary subjects. Child's work. 'Finally,' she thought, a spark of defiance igniting in her chest, 'Finally something I can actually demolish. Something I can use to prove I don't belong here.' So much had been stripped from her, and the classwork sat heavy in her mind, making her feel . . . making her need to prove she was actually above it all.

She reached for the backpack. The unicorn-adorned monstrosity wasn’t even something Elena had insisted on; her assistant had just put it on her out in the parking lot. Sabrina’s fingers found the zipper and pulled it open. Inside, she could see the multi-set box of crayons and colored pencils, the waxy sticks visible through the clear plastic window of the packaging. Then there was the notebook and the demerit slip, but there were no real pencils or pens to be found.

'Shit.'

Her jaw tightened. She wasn’t about to ask the teacher, a person younger than her that ran the classroom. Not now. Not after she'd just said she was fine, that she had everything she needed. Asking now would make her look stupid and/or incompetent. She stared at the colored pencils in the bag for a moment, her mind working through the problem. ‘A colored pencil will work. It’s still a pencil; it will still make marks on paper. The color doesn’t matter; what matters is proving how trivial this all is.’

Sabrina pulled out a blue colored pencil, its tip sharp. She set it on her desk with deliberate confidence, as if she'd chosen it intentionally. 'It's fine. I'll make it work.'

Turning to the first page of the assessment packet, Sabrina began reading the English section. Vocabulary matching. It appeared so simple she couldn't help rolling her eyes, easily knowing every word on this list. The colored pencil hurriedly moved across the paper; the answers came easily. She matched "ephemeral" with "lasting a short time," "obfuscate" with "to confuse or obscure." The blue pencil glided across the page, leaving a trail of color in uneven lines, but she was sure all the answers were correct.

Then she reached the fifth word, matching “Peculiar” with its definition when her hand slipped slightly. The pencil jerked across the line, making the “C” look like an “O”.

“The fuck?” Sabrina whispered to herself, glaring at the mistake. One thing the school system had failed with for her was properly learning cursive. She had faked it long enough that she had tried the little flourish without thinking, botching the simple word. She looked at the mistake, her mind already calculating the fix. ‘Just erase it, and . . . ” Her thoughts trailed off as she looked at the end of the writing tool. Colored pencils didn’t have erasers; she couldn't erase it.

Sabrina tightened her grip on the pencil, her eyes locked on the mistake. The curve of the “O” mocked her, an obvious flaw she couldn’t undo. She drew a single line through the word, trying to keep it clean. Her second attempt writing above the crossed out mistake made the paper look worse in her eyes; it made it appear as if the spacing was off, and now the line crossed behind both attempts in a way that made it look cluttered. Staring at the paper, she cursed the writing utensil, as if it was at fault.

The next few vocabulary words blurred together. Not because they were difficult, but because her eyes wouldn’t stop flicking back to the crossed-out mess. Her hand moved more quickly, trying to push past it. The paper caught slightly under her palm as she wrote, the skin of her hand picking up faint smudges of blue.

The matching section ended, and the next page told her to write a paragraph. She read the prompt twice. ‘Describe your favorite season and explain why you like it.’ It sounded like something she would have been asked in second grade. Tapping the pencil, she began thinking about the answer. ‘Not winter. Too cold, and I don't care for Christmas . . . Not summer. Too hot, and all these brats are out of school. Fall . . . Sweater weather, when I can wear my designer boots. Yeah, that’s it. The start of the fourth quarter, when it’s time to shave off the dead weight. Layoffs always cut costs and secure department bonuses . . . ’ Her thoughts trailed off as she noticed a boy in the little desk cube glaring at her for tapping the pencil. Ignoring him, she began writing, determined to bury the test, this latest insult, with her intelligence.

She filled in the first line with, “My favorite season is autumn due to its temperate climate and aesthetically pleasing transformation of foliage.” The pencil dragged slightly where the pressure increased, and the sentence sloped down into the margin before it reached the end. Words that sounded polished in her head came out cramped, with uneven loops and inconsistent spacing. Each letter pressed harder than the last, she was forced to shrink the tail end of the sentence in order to fit the line.

Her second sentence began with “Additionally,” but the thought behind it flickered and dimmed before the midpoint. Instead of the polished phrasing she’d intended, the result turned into a jumble about fresh air, leaves, and thinking clearly, followed by the phrase “for calm and relacksing” written without hesitation, until the spelling error registered too late. A line slashed across it, leaving the mistake exposed under the smudge of blue.

The paragraph lost shape quickly after that. Attempts to rewrite resulted in layered words, one on top of the other. Inserting “seasonal clarity” seemed clever until the next phrase repeated “season” again, making the sentence sound clunky and rehearsed. The absence of an eraser turned each fix into another blemish, the pencil tip wearing down more quickly with each correction.

The muscles in her hand were cramping from the grip, but letting up wasn’t an option. A final attempt to close out the thought turned into a run-on sentence about pumpkins and sweaters and change, none of it as coherent as it had sounded seconds earlier. The final line veered sharply upward, cutting across the guide line as the paragraph ran out of space.

No adult would read it and see a businesswoman. No teacher would guess a graduate had written it. It was a total mess of overwritten thoughts and visible corrections, exactly the kind of thing they’d expect from a child trying too hard to impress.

She looked down at the paragraph again. She had repeated the word “transition” and left the last sentence hanging. Her hand reached for the margin and began scratching out the second half of the line. The colored pencil left a wide arc of blue, thicker than she meant. She cursed under her breath and tried to write over it, only to realize the sentence no longer made sense.

Her fingers tightened around the pencil, and she turned slightly in her chair.

“Maya,” she whispered, keeping her voice low, “Do you have a real pencil? One with an eraser?” The all too happy to help teacher had asked if she needed anything and Sabrina had practically shooed her away; now she needed a pencil to fix the problems caused by the stupid blue colored utensil.

Maya looked up quickly, already reaching into her desk. “Yeah! I’ve got one. My mom bought me a full box of them and then I used the pencil sharpener. It's sort of fun, but you can’t go too far. Did your mom forget to get you pencils?”

“Maya,” Ms. Hana’s voice interrupted softly from across the room, “I know you’re trying to help, but we don’t talk during reading time, remember?”

Maya stopped mid-motion, but still extended the pencil. Sabrina took it without a word. She turned back to her paper and pressed the eraser to the page, rubbing at the smudged line. The old writing didn’t vanish; it faded and smeared, leaving a blue-ish cloud that made the new words harder to read. Frustrated with the cheap eraser and its failure to eradicate the evidence, she erased again, harder this time. The paper started to wrinkle under the pressure.

Once more, the blue eyed young woman rewrote the line. Her wrist bumped the desk. The new sentence trailed into the margin. Another mistake. A glaring problem that made her press her lips together as she slowly shook her head. The eraser squeaked as she attacked the spot, and this time the paper tore slightly at the edge. Freezing, she let out a long breath. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’ Her other hand slid under the desk to smooth her skirt across her lap, feeling the wrongness of the pull up underneath.

She froze again, not daring to move once she felt it. In the quiet of the room, the light crinkling sounded way too loud, even with how it was muffled by the skirt. The fabric of the uniform was wrong; it was cheaper and stiffer than what she was used to, and it did nothing to help her frame look womanly. It was all wrong. The desk she sat at, being in this room along with the abysmal job she was doing on a test meant to understand a child's education level. ‘Fuck. FUCK! I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT THE DIAPER.’ The thickness of the leak-protecting garment was present in the forefront of her mind once more. The humiliating truth no one else could see, but she couldn’t forget. Her shoulders sagged, and her handwriting collapsed further with each line.

‘Just finish the paragraph, this can be salvaged. I have fixed quarterly reports with more mistakes before. I’m just- just frustrated. God, I could use a drink.’ But it didn’t matter what she told herself; the damage was done. The paper was a mix of blue and gray writing with smudges across its surface, with almost as much on her writing hand from how it pressed and drifted over the surface of the paper as she wrote. The English portion of the test didn't look neat and orderly at all. There were scratched out lines, writing varying where it shouldn’t, and so on. There was also more of the test to do, and Sabrina wasn’t going to let this speed bump stop her from proving this whole thing was beneath her.

Turning the page brought momentary relief. The neatly printed questions of the science section offered the kind of structure that didn’t require neat handwriting or full paragraphs. She just had to make small deliberate marks next to the correct answers. The layout was clean and spaced, each question followed by four plainly written responses stacked in gentle lines beneath it. The whole thing was printed in that large, slightly condescending font used in materials for children still mastering long words. She stared at it for a moment, reminding herself this part would be easy. Factual, unambiguous; something a grown woman like her could dispatch in minutes without getting pulled into a spiral of smudges and sloppy cursive. She welcomed the clarity of it.

The first question asked about the hottest planet in the solar system, and her eyes passed quickly over the choices. Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter. She circled Mercury without hesitation, her internal logic confident. ‘Of course it’s Mercury; that’s the one closest to the sun.’ Whatever this test was trying to catch, it wouldn’t be clever enough to unseat what she believed to be common sense. Her foot tapped softly under the desk. Not in defiance or anxiety; it was just a movement that settled without permission and stayed even after she noticed it.

The next question took longer to land in her brain. The letters swam slightly as her eyes dragged across them, the phrasing too plain. She blinked twice, forcing herself to reread it more slowly. It was asking what created most of the Earth’s oxygen. Trees, oceans, flowers, or mountains. The borrowed pencil circled trees, the choice almost automatic, reinforced by years of public campaigns and climate debates and infographics filled with rainforest statistics. Her hand tightened slightly on the pencil, not from doubt but from the rising need to finish and move on, to get through this and prove something no one else in the room seemed interested in questioning. ‘I don't belong here. How does no one see that?!’

As she shifted in the seat, her skirt adjusted just slightly across her lap. With that movement came the same sound from before, the soft plastic rustle she had been unable to move past. The heat in her face returned instantly, flushing up the back of her neck. Her hand hovered over the next question for longer than she realized, eyes stuck on the surface of the page while her mind went sideways trying to tune out the sensation, the memory, the reality of what she was wearing under the uniform. Her focus faltered, and the question blurred again before she forced herself to read it. What is the main ingredient in household dust? Dirt from outside. Bits of clothing. Hair and pet fur. Dead skin cells.

She stared at the options, frowning faintly. Dirt made the most sense. People tracked it in on their shoes. It blew through the windows. She circled it and moved on before that faint tickle of memory could reach her fully. Something about skin cells she vaguely remembered reading once, though it felt like the kind of gross overstatement people liked to exaggerate, and she didn’t have the patience to pick it apart at the moment.

The next question asked which animal had more than one heart. Dog. Octopus. Cow. Elephant. She circled cow, her brain skipping to the connection between multiple stomachs and internal complexity, knowing it wasn’t exactly how biology worked but also not caring. Not in this room, not on this paper. The pencil dug into the page slightly as she moved to the next line, the pressure building in her fingertips as her body shifted again. Not enough to make noise, but enough to feel that constant low discomfort.

Each question asked less than the last. Which is hotter? The surface of the sun. Lava. Lightning. A firework explosion. She picked the sun, not out of confidence, but because she was tired of second-guessing. Tired of questions that looked simple and then tried to trap her with facts she hadn’t cared about since she was a kid. Circling it, her hand then dropped slightly from the motion. She noticed movement at the corner of her desk.

Maya wasn’t looking at her directly, but her elbow had nudged forward, and with it, a small folded note had appeared. Slid just barely across the space between their desks with an air of cautious pride that pretended to be subtle. There was no eye contact, no smirk or wink. The note rested halfway under Sabrina’s arm. She didn’t reach for it immediately. When she finally opened it, the crease cracked softly between her fingers.

Science section. Remember Pluto isn’t a planet. It’s stupid but true :)

The pencil in her hand didn’t move.

She had already passed a question asking which was not a planet and it had clearly been Pluto. She had known the answer before she even got to that question. The note didn’t help. It didn’t offer anything new. It just assumed she needed help. That she was someone who might forget. That she was someone who could use the reminder like some child..

No response formed in response to the passed note. No glare. No returned note. The line of her mouth thinned slightly, her hand gripping the pencil once more not to write but just to stop herself from tearing the paper in half.

Turning the page brought no satisfaction this time, only the next demand waiting in oversized print at the top of the sheet. The word “Math” sat bold and centered, followed by a second line in cheerful block letters reminding her that she must show her work to receive full credit. She barely gave it a glance. The first problem sat directly beneath it. Simple addition, single digits; nothing that required steps, explanation, or effort. She could do it before the average ten-year-old even finished reading the question aloud. ’How dumb are some of these kids for this to be a question?’

The pencil rolled once between her fingers, its weight still awkward from lack of practice. With a slightly too tight grip, she leaned in and wrote the answer in the space provided. The lines beneath it, left empty, waited for a justification she had no interest in giving. ‘Eight plus six, show my work. Please . . . The answer is right; only results matter. I’m not wasting my time scribbling out arithmetic for problems I could solve in my sleep.’

The next few followed the same rhythm. Simple two-digit subtraction, basic word problems about cookies or playgrounds or whatever else passed for math in this environment. One question asked which of two fractions was larger, both of them common enough that she didn’t have to pause. Three-fourths was more than two-thirds. It was obvious. She didn't need number lines or pie charts to sort that out.

Still, every answer landed in its tidy blank, with the space below it left untouched. The structure of the section made it seem like she was trying to cheat by being competent. The urge to fill in the extra space wasn’t just unnecessary; it felt insulting. She knew she was right. She wasn’t going to perform like a child learning how to carry numbers just because a set of printed lines told her to.

A sound to her right broke through the hum of her focus. A zipper tugged open. Plastic crinkled. The sound was odd enough that it pulled her attention. Her head turned on reflex, catching sight of the boy two desks over pulling a juice box from his lunchbox. The foil crinkled loudly as he peeled the straw wrapper, and the faint squeak of rubber soles followed as he squirmed in his seat to drink.

“That's for lunch, sweetheart,” Ms. Hana’s voice came, soft but firm as she approached, “Are you thirsty?”

The boy mumbled something, still holding the juice box close.

“And how do you ask to get a drink?”

Sabrina blinked down at her test. Her pencil hovered uselessly above the page. She hadn’t finished reading the next question, and now she was stuck on the phrasing again. The voice of the teacher carried too clearly. The scene unfolded with her cheerful, polite, calm, only made worse by the fact that it worked. The boy asked politely. Ms. Hana smiled and handed him a laminated hall pass from her desk. He left quietly, walking between rows. It felt like he, a real child, was getting to escape.

Her leg bounced harder beneath the desk, the subtle fidgeting outside her control. When her eyes returned to the test, the next question looked unfamiliar even though she had already read it. She skimmed it again and circled what she was pretty sure was the right answer, too annoyed to care if the numbers lined up exactly. The font was too wide. The cheap wood of the pencil in her hand was too light. Everything seemed designed to trip her up.

The final question was boxed in cartoon stars at the bottom of the page, signaling itself as the fun challenge, the special problem to end on. She already hated it. It was one of those long word problems packed with details and numbers meant to distract, the kind meant to test whether a student could pay attention more than whether they could calculate.

Lila buys 6 packs of gum. Each pack has 8 pieces. She gives 5 pieces to her brother and eats 3 herself. If gum costs two dollars per pack, and she has five dollars, how many pieces of gum does she have left?

Sabrina exhaled slowly through her nose, rereading it once to scan for the math, and again to figure out what parts didn’t matter. The money clearly didn’t. The question was about pieces of gum. So six packs times eight was forty-eight. Five to her brother, three to herself, minus eight total. That was forty. But the sentence order made her second-guess it. Her eyes flicked back up to the mention of the five dollars. Something about it snagged, like it was supposed to factor in. Her mind darted sideways for a moment, recalculating as if she needed to account for what she could afford, even though the gum was already bought. She caught herself, annoyed, and scribbled down thirty-eight.

If anything came back marked wrong, it would be because the question was poorly written. Or because the layout was childish. Or because she wasn’t given a real pencil from the start. She sat up straighter, pressing her thighs together, all too aware of the rustle beneath her skirt as the bulk of the pull-up shifted again. As usual, the sensation anchored her back in the physical reality of what she was wearing and where she was sitting.

Her fingers released the pencil as if it had burned her. The test was done. Every section and frustration endured. She didn’t want to sit there pretending to re-read her work like a nervous grade-schooler hoping for a gold star.

Sliding out of the seat, causing part of the lights on her shoes to flash as she stood up, she was immediately called out by the teacher.

“Rina,” Ms. Fujina’s voice carried lightly from across the room, calm but unmistakably corrective, “Please remain in your seat unless you’ve been given permission to get up.”

Being spoken to like that was insulting. The idea of needing permission to stand was outrageous. The paper crinkled in her hand as she glared at the young asian woman.

“I’m done,” she said, her voice clipped but still quieter than she wanted it to be, the words more muttered than declared.

“It’s polite to raise your hand if you need something,” the teacher replied gently, her tone never changing.

The correction dug under her skin more than the rule itself. Holding the test paper tightly in one hand, Sabrina sat back down with exaggerated care, then lifted her arm in the air. Each movement was deliberate and stiff, her elbow angled too sharply as if she were lifting a weight, rather than a hand. “I’m . . . ” she began, but didn’t get to finish.

“Pssst. Rina, you have to wait to be called on,” Maya whispered loudly from the next desk over, a note of cheerful correction in her voice as if she were passing on a helpful reminder.

Sabrina didn’t turn her head. Her hand remained raised. Her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw ached. Hana turned toward her a second later, finishing whatever it was she was looking at before smiling as if the interaction had been completely natural.

“Thank you, Rina. I see you’re finished, but we still have a few minutes before recess. Why don’t you go back over your test and check your answers? Sometimes we catch things we didn’t notice the first time.”

The tone was sweet, the suggestion harmless, but it made Sabrina’s skin crawl. She lowered her hand slowly, pressing it to her lap to hide the tension in her fingers. “No. I’m done!”

“Rina, please don’t argue, I would rather not give you another demerit. You are doing so well.”

The gently threatening reply was yet another infuriating blow to her dignity. If it wasn’t for the calming effects from what she had been given earlier, she might have cursed the woman out right there. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop her from snapping, “EXCUSE ME?!”

Chapter 17

Ms. Fujina looked at Sabrina for a long moment after the sharp outburst. The room held its breath just long enough for a ripple of sound to break loose behind her, a soft chorus of “ohhh” passing through the class like a wave. She did not raise her voice or frown, only turned her head slightly toward the room and lifted one hand. “Alright, everyone,” Hana said evenly; the warmth was still there, but tightened now, “Please put away your reading and sit quietly.” Chairs shifted, books closed, the noise settling as attention was deliberately redirected elsewhere. Then she looked back to Sabrina. “Rina, come up to my desk, right now.”

Sabrina’s face burned as she stood and walked forward; the floor seemed too long beneath her feet, her thoughts pressing in on themselves as she stopped beside the desk. ‘This is ridiculous, this is humiliating,’ she thought, even as her shoulders sagged with the drag of fatigue she could no longer quite mask. Ms. Fujina picked up a demerit slip and began to write, her pen moving with calm certainty while she spoke in a low, measured voice. “I know new places and making new friends can be a lot to handle,” she said gently, eyes flicking up just long enough to note the slow blink, the yawn Sabrina failed to fully suppress, the way she rubbed at her eyes. “Sometimes when you get tired, you can feel cranky, and that makes it harder to remember our rules.” There was no question in her tone, only explanation, her conclusion already reached by what she observed.

Finishing writing, she slid the slip toward Sabrina, tapping it once with her finger. “Put this in your backpack, please,” the Japanese woman said, still quiet and kind, “And remember, you cannot talk back to adults, even when you are frustrated.” Her gaze softened just a touch. “A little fresh air may help you feel better.”

While Sabrina did as she was told, reluctantly shoving the paper into her bag under the teacher’s watchful eye, her jaw tight as she straightened again. Ms. Fujina turned then, raising her voice just enough to carry. “Class, line up by the door for recess.” As the chairs scraped and students stood, she leaned closer to Sabrina and added in a whisper meant only for her, “Join the line.” She motioned towards the forming line.

Sabrina stepped away from the desk, staring at the children before her eyes fell to the ground just as the last flash went off on her footwear. ‘Am I really thinking about joining a line of kids to go to recess?’ she asked herself, being drawn out of her thoughts when she saw Maya wave a hand to beckon her over.

Eyes staying low, fixed somewhere near the floor, she refused to lift her gaze toward the girl or the invitation from her hopeful motion. Standing there at the edge of the line felt unreal. The idea of stepping into it still lodged hard in her chest, pride flaring at the thought of being herded outside like this. Recess. The word echoed again, sharp and juvenile; everything about it felt wrong.

More and more of the children moved past her. The classroom hummed behind her with movement, chairs scraping, voices settling as the line finished forming. Remaining inside that room meant turning back toward the desks, toward supervision and the quiet aftermath of what had just happened. Fresh air suddenly sounded less like a suggestion and more like an escape, however thin the distinction felt. ‘Fuck it.’

With slow and deliberate steps, she angled herself to the end of the line, still avoiding Maya. Being at the back meant fewer eyes, fewer chances for conversation, fewer reminders of who everyone else thought she was supposed to be. Friendship with a child was not an option. That held up for less than a minute when the nine year old left her place in line to move to the end. She was more focused on the restless energy and murmured conversations to notice until she heard the voice behind her.

“Rina, didn’t you see me?”

Turning around, the blue eyed woman blinked at the girl a few times. She wanted to tell her to shut up, but the demeaning discipline form was still weighing on her. “Umm, what if I said no?”

The answer just made Maya laugh. “That's okay. Are you tired?” The question was asked with such a chipper voice.

“Yes, actually. I could use a coffee about now,” she said, really wanting something stronger to spike the caffeinated beverage.

“Your mom lets you drink coffee? Yuck,“ Maya said, raising an eyebrow

Odd as it was, the question brought an old memory to the surface of the disguised executive’s mind. Sitting at the dinner table, grabbing her mother’s coffee mug while she was cooking breakfast and taking a sip. A morning without coffee was a poor way to start a day, but back then she had the same opinion as this girl. ‘You will like it some day’ was what she had been told.

“Nope!” Maya declared, “It’s okay if you like it, though. Everyone can like different things, like my brother doesn’t like strawberries, but that just means I get to have more. He is in fifth grade, by the way.”

Half turning away from the girl, trying to will the brats to get a move on, Sabrina let out a short breath. “That’s nice.” She really didn’t care about the girl or her family.

“Yeah he is, at least most of the time. Like one of my friends was visiting, we were swimming in our pool, and he told her how pretty she was and that he will marry her one day. Sandy, that's my friend. She blushed so much, I think she likes him now but they had never even said more than hi to one another before. Isn’t that funny? OH. Oh! Idea! You should come over to swim sometime.”

Fully turning away now, Sabrina rolled her eyes. She took a few steps forward as the line finally started to move while the teacher sat at her desk looking at the packet of paperwork that had been the ridiculous exam she had taken. “Sounds like loads of fun,” she replied sarcastically.

“Yeah I think so, that is why I said it. Then my mom can make us snacks and we can watch TV. She melts cheese on a tortilla, the white fluffy ones. She says it’s easy, but I'm not allowed to make it myself since it has to go in the oven. What shows do you watch? My mom found an old show she used to watch about a girl band but it's different like secret identities. It's fun, it's called Jem. Have you ever heard of it before?”

The truth was Sabrina had heard of it, though it was before her time. The yammering kept going, but she was done answering the brat’s endless questions. Or at least she thought she was as they made their way through the hallway, away from the front door towards another.

“Come on, Rina! You have to answer, what shows do you like? What's your favorite?”

With Maya not letting up and Sabrina wanting a moment of peace, she gave in. “I don't watch TV.” She was too busy with her life to bother, though she had a fifty inch flat panel TV at her place. Most of the time it looked more like a large painting, but on a rare occasion that she had a man over she would put something on for background noise as they had their fun.

“You don’t watch TV, or not a lot of TV? My dad says I can watch for an hour but when he is at work and my mom wants to read I can watch more. You have to watch something, come on. What do you like? Maybe we can watch it together after swimming.”

“Fine, the news but that is garbage, sometimes Market Watch.” The insistent girl was a bigger pain then ninety percent of her employees and impossible to ignore, but Sabrina was positive the true answer wasn’t going to stop the questions. Saying she listens to murder documentary podcasts wasn’t going to fly either. She did remember the godawful podcast her assistant put on when she was a prisoner in her own car. "The show about horses and magic?”

“My Little Pony? Oh yeah, I like that too, I like Apple Bloom but she isn’t on enough episodes. Who is your favorite?!”

Slapping her own cheek, Sabrina groaned. Giving in only created more inane questions. ”Listen, kid. We are about to be outside, so let’s stop with the questions.”

Literally less than a minute later, the line of children made its way out of a side door. Right away, Sabrina laid eyes on the semi-open field with a pair of elaborate playgrounds on a rubbery surface standing there as if to block the way to a multipurpose field set up to accommodate a game of child sized baseball or soccer.

“What do you want to do? The little kids like the curling slide but I mostly like the swingset.”

‘She never shuts up!’ Sabrina took in one deep breath after another. Looking around, spotting a metal picnic table with other adults, she decided that it looked like a safe harbor in the eye of this storm. As she looked, the frustrated young woman witnessed the fourth grade science teacher she had just been admonished by go and sit down, having no idea that the now graded assessment test had been dropped off at the front office on her way out here. Sabrina barely made it a few steps in that direction before a middle aged man in a sweater vest and bowtie pointed off in the playground’s direction. “Young miss, go play with the other children.”

‘Other . . . children. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Her entire body shivered as she heard the nine year old still asking about what she wanted to do. “The swings sound fine, but only if you stop talking. Listen, whatever your name is. I have had a hell of a day. I just need some peace and quiet.” The irony of the nine year old recently referring to others as little kids wasn’t lost on her.

Looking at the new girl, Maya wasn’t sure how to take that until she remembered how tired the girl looked. “Oh yeah, you're tired. Okay, but we have to hurry or others will get them first.” With that, Sabrina found her hand being held. Maya pulled her along, moving at a pace Sabrina hadn’t moved in years. In the office she strode, at the gym on the treadmill she jogged, but she couldn’t remember the last time she ran.

Maya’s hand stayed clamped around hers as the pace shifted abruptly from walking to running, the sudden acceleration pulling Sabrina forward across the black rubberized surface of the playground. Her breath hitched, her stride lagged behind the child’s relentless energy, her legs struggled to keep up as laughter rang out ahead of them, high and unrestrained. “We gotta hurry,” Maya squealed, dark braids bouncing wildly as the gap-toothed smile flashed back over her shoulder, excitement spilling out unchecked, “If we don’t, all the swings will be taken.”

‘I am running to a swingset,’ came the stunned realization, irritation and disbelief tangling together as her balance wobbled with every step. Sabrina was unable to stop or slow down as she was pulled along by the child; the indignity of being dragged hand-in-hand across a playground settling in even as exhaustion stripped away the strength to protest. The direction had already been set by the smaller grip that refused to loosen. The swingset loomed closer as children converged from different angles, chains clinking and seats swaying as shoes slapped dully against the rubberized ground. The sight of two open swings still hanging free brought an unexpected wave of relief that had nothing to do with excitement and everything to do with finally being able to stop.

Sabrina’s legs got a break as her momentum came to an end. She took one of the empty seats, weight dropping heavily onto the rubber swing as her legs faltered beneath her, fingers slipping free of Maya’s grasp only to curl immediately around the chains for support. Her forehead tipped forward until it rested against the cool metal links while she closed her eyes and struggled to steady her breath. “You gotta use your legs,” Maya said brightly as she climbed onto the swing beside her, feet kicking off the ground and chains creaking as motion began, laughter bubbling up with each arc, “That’s how you go higher.”

Not wanting to actually use the swing, it barely shifting beneath her weight as her body remained heavy and unmoving, Sabrina continued pressing her forehead into the chain as if it were the only thing holding everything together. ‘I am really sitting on a swing,’ the thought repeated faintly, draining away what little energy she had. The disbelief of it faded to make room for a tired resignation, while Maya’s delighted squeals grew louder as she pumped harder, legs straightening with each pass as she called back proudly, “See, like that, you push.”

An intrusive presence edged in close, the shadow cutting across the ground near Sabrina’s feet as one of the boys from the class stepped into her space. His red hair was bright against the sun, his freckles standing out as he leaned in with impatient irritation. “Hey,” he said loudly, fingers closing around one of the chains, “Why are you just sitting there?” Sabrina internally groaned, not answering. Her forehead was still pressed into the metal, hands gripping the links tightly instead of letting go. A short laugh followed, sharp and pleased with itself. “Didn’t you say you had a college degree?” he went on, voice rising to draw a few eyes, “What kind of college girl can’t even use a swing?”

Opening her eyes, Sabrina stared directly into the boy’s pale green eyes, the chain lifting from her forehead as her head snapped up. The shouted insult hit her in a way she knew shouldn’t matter to her. He was just a kid, but after the classroom and dealing with the girl trying to be her friend, Sabrina had enough. “Fuck off!” The words rang out across the playground, loud and raw, enough to turn even more heads.

The smirk on the boy's face vanished immediately, freckles practically darkening as his face flushed red with anger. “What’s your problem?” he snapped. Before she had time to react, he shoved both of his hands hard against her shoulder.

Not being the most alert at the moment, Sabrina found her balance disappearing in an instant as the swing lurched sideways. The fall came quickly, air driven from her lungs as her back struck the black rubberized surface with a dull smack that stung but did not truly injure. The ground gave just enough to contain the impact, but her uniform shifted with the motion, the pinafore skirt riding up. The white fabric of the pull-up stood out starkly against the dark ground. The boy laughed immediately, pointing at what he saw. “Oh, God,” he crowed, delight spilling out unchecked, “You’re wearing a diaper.” His voice climbed higher, “You’re a baby!”

‘No! No, no, no!’ Sabrina's mind went to red alert as her hands scrambled to pull down the skirt of the pinafore to hide her shame. The sound of children giggling hit her first, emboldening the red headed boy. He leaned closer. “College degree,” he repeated mockingly, stretching the words into something ugly, “Babies don’t have college degrees”

The world blurred around the distraught blonde as she lay there, the soft black surface pressing against her back while the word baby echoed louder than the fall, louder than the laughter, louder than anything she could say to reclaim control of the moment. ‘I’m an adult, not a baby!’ An insult from a 4th grader normally wouldn’t even register, other than Sabrina thinking they were a brat. After what happened in the classroom, and what transpired in the school’s doctor's office and now being seen wearing the diaper, things felt like they were coming crashing down. The medication to repress her anxiety was not nearly enough to calm the powerful storm of emotions. There was no explosion of vitriol to use to cow the boy; instead, Sabrina found tears filling her eyes. She ended up fully bawling her eyes out, a wail of sorrow flowing free from her mouth.

“Look! The baby is crying!” The entire event was beyond Sabrina to take in as she drowned in that internal storm. She knew she was an adult. She was a powerful woman that was self made, yet dark thoughts crept in her mind as the freckled boy kept chanting the word baby. ‘I’m at recess, I attended a 4th grade class . . . I’m wearing a diaper.’ The tears still flowing, Sabrina continued to howl in sorrow. She got to her feet, glaring at the boy through blurry vision. She could see just well enough to witness Maya literally trying to pull the boy away before he shoved the Asian girl to the ground. She landed hard enough that her braid started to come undone.

‘FUCK this bully!’ She was still unable to stop the water works. She had dealt with so many types of bullies in her life and how she learned to deal with them was to be bigger than them, not in size but in scale. Fists clenched at her side, the petite young woman stalked forward. Clenching her jaw, not thinking at all about conscience or consequences, she found herself physically lashing out. Her foot swiftly connected with the child’s groin.

“Oof!” The boy exclaimed. Just like that, he was hunched over, his hands cupping the sensitive area where he had been attacked. The damage was done. His taunts ended as tears came to his own eyes.

It was about then that Maya not only stood, but shoved the boy, causing him to topple over. “Look who is the big baby now!”

What none of the students or Sabrina were aware of was that back at the picnic table, Ms. Hana was watching everything unfold. First she had been happy to see the guest in her classroom, Sabrina Thorne, Rina, holding hands with one of her more outgoing students, Maya Kanna, as the two ran toward one of the swing sets. While her friendly student seemed to be trying to swing as high as she could, Rina on the other hand sat there leaning on the swings chain. She then witnessed Kyle, the freckled red headed boy, approach. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but a moment or two later Kyle shoved the blonde girl to the ground before pointing at her as she broke out in tears. Maya tried to pull him away before Rina kicked him in the balls. While concern had her rushing to the children, her mind was also counting infractions for demerits.

Barely registering the moment, the Asian woman came upon them. Sabrina’s awareness had long since collapsed inward from the taunting and physical assault from those on the playground. It was all blurring together with Kyle’s crying, the echo of that word he used still ringing in her head. Her body was buzzing with adrenaline and shame as tears continued to spill no matter how hard she tried to clamp down on them. Everything felt unreal, like she was watching herself from somewhere too far away, standing there shaking while her chest heaved and her hands curled into fists she could not unclench.

“How dare you touch me?” she shouted again, the words tearing out of her throat, hardly controlled as she stared at the boy hunched over in front of her. Fury surged up through the humiliation and demanded somewhere to go. “I don’t care if you’re a child; you don’t get to put your hands on me,” Her voice wavered but did not soften, anger pushing her forward even as her vision swam, “You can’t go around shoving others. You little shit! You need to learn a lesson.”

Ms. Fujina’s hand closed around the yelling girl’s arm without warning and yanked her backwards before she could take another step. She gripped Sabrina’s sleeve with a firmness, holding her in place as her feet stumbled and then stopped.

The sudden contact hit far too close to everything else that had already happened. Panic and rage flared together as her shoulder tensed instinctively and she tried to pull away, “Don’t you fucking touch me!” she screamed, even as the calm authority in the teacher’s body language undercut her actions as the immature one,

Kyle, the young bully, was still sobbing. The sound filled the space Sabrina had been pulled away from, loud and broken, while Maya’s voice cut in nearby, high and frantic as she shouted that he had shoved them, that he had started it. Her words tumbled out over each other as she pointed back toward him. Standing there just out of reach, Sabrina felt the moment slipping away from her even as her heart hammered, the sense of control she had seized shattering in her hands.

Ms. Hana stepped fully into Sabrina’s line of sight, body angling just enough to block Kyle from view while the grip on her arm stayed firm and unyielding, her voice calm as it carried over Sabrina’s head toward the crying boy. “Kyle, I saw you push the girls,” she said clearly, leaving no room for denial, “That behavior is not acceptable, that is four demerits, two per unwanted touch.”

Her attention shifted then, the calm voice lowering just enough to land squarely on her. “Rina, look at me,” Ms. Fujina said, waiting until her eyes lifted despite the resistance burning behind them. “I understand that you were upset, and I understand why.” A pause followed, deliberate and heavy. “But you are not allowed to respond with violence.” The grip tightened slightly, not to hurt, just enough to make the boundary clear. “You cannot strike another student. Ever. That will be two demerits for you and for your new friend Maya. We have a zero tolerance policy.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. That little shit attacked me!” Sabrina exclaimed.

Still holding the girl, the teacher sighed. ”Rina, I understand you are angry, but two wrongs do not make a right. You cannot strike others. Please don’t argue; I would hate for you to gain another demerit.” Ms Hana knew the girl’s language alone should be enough for another form to be filled out.

‘What the fuck!? I didn’t start this!’ The words echoed uselessly inside her head as her mouth opened and closed without forming the protest she wanted, anger still burning but now tangled with something colder and heavier. The sick realization settled in that the moment she lost control had become the moment that mattered most. ‘Two more demerits, four stupid pointless documents that say I’m not acting like a good student when I’m not a kid or a FUCKING STUDENT!’

Chapter Eighteen

While Sabrina Halloway sat beneath fluorescent lights in a classroom and later beneath open sky, moving from desk to playground under the supervision of a teacher a few years younger than herself, all while being seen as the child, Elena Thorne stood on the other side of the building before a heavier door marked with the name Edgar Sterling. The outer conference room had been left ready for use, the polished table left undisturbed, leather chairs aligned with near-military precision. The low murmur of male voices carried clearly from beyond the partially closed inner door that led into the school owner’s private office.

Elena crossed the room, her heels clacking against the hardwood floor with each step, until she stopped just short of the inner threshold. Lifting her hand, she gave a light, deliberate knock against the solid wood, the sound announcing her presence. Unlike her boss, she had no impulse to simply enter and claim the space, no assumption that proximity equaled invitation. Instead, she waited until a calm voice from within granted permission for her to come in.

Opening the office door just enough to slip in, Elena could hear the two men inside were already mid conversation. Trying to disrupt things as little as she could, she closed the door quietly behind her. Julian’s smooth tenor tone sounded at ease, like he was talking to an old friend. “At fourteen, I thought I was being sent away,” he was saying, tone measured rather than nostalgic, the kind of reflection offered without indulgence. “It felt punitive for some of my younger wild ways; I was so angry to be sent away to boarding school. The thing was, it took years and the growth of maturity . . . Not the fastest thing to gain, but eventually I realized it wasn’t any such thing. Living away from home taught me more about independence, the school allowed me to learn what proper calibration was really about. Structure . . . It was what I needed. It forces a young person to decide very quickly whether they will rise or be left behind.”

Seated behind his desk, Edgar Sterling had his hands folded with deliberate symmetry, his posture straight, expression unreadable but attentive. The office itself was orderly with mementos spread out seemingly randomly in the room, shelves arranged with academic awards for his institution, framed credentials aligned evenly along two of the walls.

Shifting slightly, head turning, Julian’s attention moved to Elena as she entered. His gaze traveled from her heeled feet upward along the clean lines of her off-the-rack store bought clothing before meeting her eyes. The assessing look was brief, and quietly approving. “Ms. Thorne,” he greeted, the warmth in his tone a bit more than purely professional, “We were discussing the value of formative discipline at a proper school.”

Inclining her head to both men, she tried to look composed and unhurried. In truth, she felt neither after witnessing her boss wearing a schoolgirl’s uniform and a pull-up diaper. “My apologies for the delay,” she replied evenly, “The tour required a few additional stops.”

Sterling’s eyes rested on her a moment longer before he gave a slight nod. “Quite all right, Ms. Thorne. Please,” the man said, motioning to one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.

Moving farther into the office with invitation, she took the indicated seat. Her posture was straight, one leg crossed over the other. She gave Julian a side eye glance, shifting slightly as she felt his eyes on her; she gently rested against the arm of the chair.

“We were discussing the school’s expansion, though I might have veered a little off topic,” Julian continued, knowing full well he had intended to try to create a greater connection with a personal story with his own experience with such private schools. “The acquisition of another institute like your own in Surrey.” Julian looked to the dark haired beauty to elaborate. “A great area in northeast England just outside of London. The acquisition is truly promising, but the regulatory environment is layered. Different inspection bodies, different compliance expectations. We’ll need airtight coordination between Blackwood’s operational structure and the British framework.”

Sterling inclined his head once, fingers still interlaced on the polished surface of his desk. “I am not interested in missteps,” he said evenly, “If Blackwood extends its name internationally, it does so without compromise. I will not have this institution diluted by unfamiliar bureaucracy.”

“Elena and I have already begun reviewing the statutory requirements,” Julian replied, glancing briefly toward her, an unspoken cue inviting participation, “Safeguarding protocols, staff accreditation transfers, property oversight, curriculum parity.”

Elena only paused for a moment, taking note how he didn’t bring up the architect of much of the prep work from Sabrina. “There are also visa considerations for non-UK boarders,” she added calmly, “If the school intends to preserve its international intake model, sponsorship status will need to be secured early. Often inspections operate on a different cadence than domestic accreditation here, and any lapse during the transitional period could impact enrollment confidence.”

Sterling’s attention shifted fully to her now, the weight of his gaze much heavier than anything Julian gave her even before he had begun to flirt with her. “And you believe the transition can be executed without reputational risk?”

“With proper staging,” she answered evenly, “A phased integration rather than immediate brand overlay would reduce negative press. Maintaining the existing leadership temporarily while aligning policy in the background would reassure parents and regulators alike.”

Julian’s mouth curved slightly, approval subtle but clear. “Exactly my position,” he said, “We stabilize first. Rebrand after trust is secured.”

Sterling leaned back just slightly in his chair, considering what was said. He had already read parts of it in the initial proposal. “Trust,” he repeated, the word measured, “Yes. That is precisely what determines whether an institution endures.”

Elena held his gaze a fraction longer than the politeness required before inclining her head in acknowledgment. The gesture was professional rather than submissive, though she was acutely aware that every path she had offered as resistance had been answered with calm, procedural certainty. “Of course,” she replied, “I will discuss it with her mother this evening.”

Julian shifted slightly where he stood, the faintest easing of his shoulders suggesting satisfaction rather than triumph. “Blackwood is not merely acquiring property in Surrey,” he added, tone smooth and deliberate, “We are extending a philosophy. Consistency across institutions will matter. Families invest in certainty.”

“And certainty,” Sterling said, fingers aligning once more against the polished surface of his desk, “is built upon confidence.” His eyes returned to Elena with quiet precision. “Confidence that those advising me understand what we are building.”

Elena did not look away. “I understand,” she answered, her voice steady, refusing either defensiveness or enthusiasm, “And I would not recommend an alignment I did not believe sustainable.”

The exchange lingered before Sterling gave a small nod that signaled he was ready to transition. “Very well,” he said, tone unchanged, “Have the proposal delivered to my office by the end of next week. International counsel will review the compliance language before we move to signature.”

Julian stepped slightly aside as though he was making room for his rebuttal. “We can incorporate the Surrey regulatory distinctions into the integration draft,” he said, “No reason for delay.”

Sterling’s attention remained fixed on Elena a moment longer before he concluded, “I prefer partnerships grounded in shared conviction. Ms. Thorne, you have seen part of my facility. I’m hoping you and Aegis Strategic Logistics are willing to put your trust in Blackwood Academy.”

“Blackwood’s standards are evident,” she replied, needing to make a decent impression on the man even if the school itself hadn’t been her focus at all. “The structure, the discipline, the oversight, they are consistent with the reputation you have cultivated.”

Inclining his head slightly, Edgar’s expression softened hearing what the young woman had to say about his school. “Reputation is sustained by belief,” he said, fingers pressing down on his desk sliding them forward. “Families entrust their children to this institution because they believe we will shape them properly. When partners stand beside us publicly, that belief strengthens; It becomes mutual.”

Julian nodded, understanding what he was hearing. “Alignment matters,” he added in a smooth tone. “Particularly when we are preparing to extend Blackwood’s name internationally. Optics influence confidence, and confidence influences execution.”

Elena eyes opened wide, only for a moment, dread filling her. ‘Shit!’ Things were getting way too dangerous where Sabrina was concerned. “In the case of my niece,” she began carefully, “there are considerations that may complicate her attending.”

Sterling did not interrupt. He held his hand out, rolling his wrist, wanting more information rather than vagueness.

“We would rather her not reside on campus,” Elena continued, trying to put a stop to the line of thinking, “Her mother prefers Rina home in the evenings. Rina boarding here likely won’t work, I’m afraid."

“That is not an obstacle,” Sterling replied without pause, “Only a portion of our students board. Day enrollment is common, and structure does not require dormitory residence.”

Julian gave a small nod of agreement, understanding how hard it could be for a parent to let go of their child at such an early age.

The rebuttal sank in. Elena shook her head, trying to come up with another lie to stop the insanity that was getting way out of control. “There are also no conventional academic records,” Elena went on, adjusting the angle of her crossed legs while keeping her voice even. “My sister has homeschooled her for several years. There are no transcripts to review, no standardized benchmarks to evaluate.” She didn’t actually know how home schooling worked and hoped she was transparent in that fact.

Sterling’s expression remained unchanged. “Which is precisely why we conduct independent assessments,” he said, “We measure aptitude directly. Paperwork is supplementary.”

“Elena,” Julian interjected lightly, though the lightness carried intent, “Your niece is already completing that evaluation as we speak. If she demonstrates capability, that concern resolves itself, right?

A faint tightening passed through Elena’s jaw before smoothing away. “Tuition remains a significant commitment,” she said at last, “While I recognize the value of what you offer, I am not certain my sister is positioned to sustain that level of expense.”

Julian’s gaze shifted fully to her now, less flirtatious than before, understanding not everyone was as financially stale as himself or how he grew up. “You have been instrumental in preparing this merger,” he said, “Your insight on regulatory coordination, staffing continuity, and phased integration has saved this process from unnecessary friction. I do not see why support for your family’s educational investment would be unreasonable.”

Leaning back a fraction in his chair, Edgar smiled while Julian continued, tone measured. “If cost is the primary barrier, that can be addressed. Consider it an investment in one of my most capable employees. Provided, of course, that you intend to remain with Aegis.”

The offer was framed in a way where Juian was trying to give reassurance, rather than pressure, yet it settled heavily all the same.

Sterling rapped his knuckles on his desk. “Partnerships grounded in shared conviction tend to progress more efficiently,” he said, “When trust is demonstrated personally as well as contractually, there is little reason for delay. It sounds like there is nothing stopping your bright little niece from attending.”

Elena understood what was being constructed. Each objection had been answered with a solution, each one removing another avenue of retreat, until refusal itself would appear irrational or disloyal. Outwardly she remained composed, nodding once in acknowledgment. “I will discuss the matter with her mother this evening,” she said evenly, offering the only delay still available to her without appearing oppositional.

Sterling inclined his head in what could have been agreement or quiet expectation. “Very good,” he replied, “For now, let us assume the assessment reflects what we believe it will; we can finalize her enrollment promptly.”

Smirking, Julian’s expression showed his feeling of triumph thanks to Elena finding the route to secure the prickly man’s cooperation. “Confidence rewarded by action,” he said, “That is how strong alliances are built.”

Holding her breath, Elena held their gaze without visible resistance, though internally she felt the careful architecture of her earlier deflections collapsing one by one, replaced by a dead end.

Chapter Nineteen

As the meeting continued, Elena found herself losing focus whenever the two men weren’t directly addressing her. Her plan to take her boss down a few pegs and perhaps gain some leverage to make her act more like . . . well, less like a bitch, had spiraled way out of control. Now it seemed a multi-million dollar deal would require Sabrina to be enrolled in the elementary school for it to move forward.

“Ms. Thorne.”

The use of her name pulled Elena back into the moment, her long dark lashes fluttering a few times as she tried to regain her focus. She had little idea of what she missed. “My apologies; what was it you were saying, sir?” she asked, inclining her head to the school’s owner.

Looking a bit perplexed, Julian finally sat down in the other chair next to his employee, touching her forearm gently. “Mr. Sterling just got an email from the front office. They got your niece’s test scores for the assessment.”

Cringing slightly, the dark haired woman slowly shook her head. She felt even more foolish for spacing out in the middle of a rather important meeting. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about little Rina.”

“That is exactly what I wanted to talk to you more about,” Edgar said, clasping his hands as he glanced back at his laptop screen, appearing proud. “Her assessment test came back. Normally, I’m not involved in this aspect any more; I leave that up to the administrators. But it is nice to see the baseline for a student to see how far we can take them to grow. At dinner, I saw how bright she could be even if a bit distracted,”

Nodding along, Elena maintained a weak smile. It was possible that Rina was going to look like some kind of child genius, since her twenty-something year old boss had taken an assessment test designed for elementary school students. Elena didn’t want to put any kind of spotlight on her, as that risked revealing the truth.

Tapping his keyboard, Edgar Sterling leaned a little closer to the screen. His eyes weren’t what they used to be, but he was too proud to give in and put on his prescribed reading glasses. “Hmm . . . She didn’t do too bad in English. She has a fine grasp of grammar and sentence structure, and seems to know her vocab words well enough. Not that she didn’t make mistakes, like a few spelling mistakes or connecting the wrong definition to a word, but most of her area of challenges here seems to be her handwriting.” He nodded to himself with approval, having seen test results far worse from children coming from the public education system. He then looked over at Julian then back to Elena. “If you’d like, we can schedule a time for us to go over her results in private.”

Slowly, Elena looked at the man to her side, her eyes a bit wide in surprise at what she was hearing. To Julian, that look seemed to be more of concern for her niece's shortcomings being revealed in front of him. He didn’t have the context of what was running through her mind.

“Elena . . . ”Julian started using a gentle tone, “Your niece is a bright girl, but the point of the test from what I understand is so Mr. Sterling and his school can best help her grow. There’s no need to worry. If you two like, I could step outside so you can continue this conversation without delaying things.”

“No . . . no. Julian- Mr. Vance, you can stay. Mr. Sterling, please continue.” She wanted to hear more about how little Miss Perfect messed up on a child's test.

With that matter taken care of, the stern man looked back at the results and feedback he got on Rina Thorne’s test. “She did fine on Science. Better than her English, consistent with some of the more average children in the fourth grade.”

“Average for a fourth grader?” Elena asked. Part of her wondered if the vile woman was bombing the test on purpose to play into the role of a child to not reveal herself, but at the same time she couldn’t imagine that overly proud woman ever lowering herself to fit the perceived expectation.

With a small but pleased smile, Edgar nodded. “I doubt you would, but please don’t be too hard on yourself or the girl. An average child here would more than likely be on the honor roll at most public schools. She didn’t get a perfect score by any means, but that is never expected on a test like this. Think of it like an opening night, a soft opening for a restaurant. You want to see the flaws so they can be fixed moving forward. Now comes the last section, Math. This is an area she seems to need the most assistance in growing.”

“Really?” Most of the math Elena had to do in her daily life was balancing her bank account with her bills or having a general mental calculation going as she shopped for groceries. At work she mostly let her excel formulas take care of it, but Sabrina acted as if any mistake at work was a personal attack against her.

Edgar held up his hand to try and appease the tall woman. “It seems mostly like she has difficulty following directions. The first instruction was to show your work; we feel it is important for our students to follow all directions. With math, it allows the teachers to see how the students came to their answers for the good or bad, but your niece failed to do so. Making it so at most she got half credit on each answer in the math section. Only a rare few did she get fully wrong, but without showing her work it is hard to see how she came to the wrong answers. If it had been a graded test, she would have failed.”

Without thinking about what she was doing, Elena raised her hand up to cover her mouth as her jaw fell slightly open. “Failed . . . Oh, wow.”

“No need to worry,” Edgar said, trying to keep the woman from getting emotional. Margaret Hatcher had told him about how some parents couldn’t stand to hear how their child wasn’t perfect. “From what I’m seeing, Sabrina–sorry, Rina–might thrive if we started her back in the third grade. I know that is hard to hear. The other option is she can still move on to the fourth grade, but it would mean extra workbooks and one-on-one time for some tutoring after school. The choice is yours as her guardian, of course. We understand at this age it isn’t just about academic education but a time for children to grow socially. Being held back can be a social stumbling block. So, what do you think?”

Leaning back in her seat, Elena uncrossed and recrossed her legs, adjusting her position trying to process what she was hearing. Sabrina Halloway, a director and a micromanaging bitch, had done so poorly on a child's assessment test that the school was recommending she start off her education here in the third grade. “My niece tends to thrive when kept busy, so I think extra work and more time with some of your teachers would be the best for her to grow.”

As the assistant manager working under Sabrina discussed a school career for her, Sabrina sat on a wooden bench in the front office next to Maya. The little bully of a boy from earlier yelled out in pain from behind the closed door of Mrs. Hatcher’s office. Craning her neck to the side, Sabrina tried to see what was going on, as if she was able to see through the wood and frosted glass.

“It isn’t that bad,” Maya whispered, scooting a little closer to the girl she had decided was a new friend.

“What?” Sabrina snapped, turning quickly to find the young Asian girl much closer than she had been a few moments before.

“Kyle. He got too many demerits, so he is being spanked.”

As if to punctuate what the girl said, Sabrina heard another cry of pain, only slightly muffled by the closed door. “Did you say spanked?”

“Yeah . . .” the girl said, kicking her feet in the air as if she was back on the swingset. “You're new, so you need to read or have your Mom read the student manual. One demerit means you have to write a few lines or some paragraphs, two means you also have to stay after class for detention. Once, I got two because I kept talking in class then did it again, but I couldn't stay after school cause, so I had to miss recess a few days in a row instead. But if you get three or more demerits, you get spanked.”

“Three . . . or more . . .” Sabrina slowly said, mentally counting what she had built up. Two from class, two from kicking that little shit. That was more than three! Sabrina rose to her feet, feeling the skirt of the uniform riding up slightly. Quickly pulling it back down to not flash to horrible pull-up again, she exclaimed, “NO WAY. Not going to happen. I’m not going to be spanked like a child!”

“Rina, it’s like I was saying. It isn’t so bad. And you’re not allowed to leave ‘til we talk to Mrs. Hatcher.”

Clenching her jaw, Sabrina's body physically shook with anger. “Look, whatever your name is. I can do whatever I want! I’m not a little girl!”

Looking dejected, the young girl slid further away from Sabrina, pouting a bit. “My name is Maya, remember?”

Sabrina was fully focused on the girl with her small sad voice, too distracted to notice one of the office workers approaching. “Ms. Thorne, where do you think you are off to, little madam? I believe you were told to stay put until it is your turn.”

“Excuuuse me!?” Sabrina said, raising her voice as she turned to face the woman.

“Ms. Thorne!” the woman said, sternly speaking to Sabrina. Just as she did, the door to the hallway opened and Elena stepped in as if magically summoned by the use of her name. In reality, she had been power walking down the hall to get up here ever since Mr. Sterling told her about the physical altercation between her niece and a boy who had been picking on her when he got the alert of the incident.

Eyes moved to Elena as she stepped in, the office worker practically sputtering. She was so upset the girl was talking back to her, while Sabrina felt a rush of relief seeing her giraffe of an assistant walk into the room. “There you are! It’s well past time we go!

Giving the situation a moment, Elena addressed the only real adult in the room beyond herself. “I heard there was an altercation. What is going on?” For the most part, she ignored her boss.

Her green eyes shifted from the office worker to the trembling blonde in the uniform, then the Asian girl sitting on the bench. Keeping her voice level, Elena calmly said, “Start at the beginning. What happened?”

The woman drew in a breath, grateful to be speaking to an adult instead of a disrespectful child. “There was a physical altercation on the playground. Kyle Brennan, a fourth grader, approached your niece while she was seated on the swings. Words were exchanged. He pushed her to the ground; I suspect it was over sharing the playground equipment. She responded by kicking him in the groin.” The explanation was delivered in clipped, procedural tones, her trying to put her current emotions to the side. “Both students have accumulated demerits. Kyle is currently with Mrs. Hatcher. Rina along with Maya Chen here, another fourth grader, was instructed to wait. Now she is being defiant, talking back, so there seems to be no end to her demerits today.”

For a fraction of a second nothing changed in Elena’s expression, though something sharp tightened behind her eyes. “She kicked him?” she asked evenly.

“In the groin,” the woman confirmed, “Hard enough that he sat with an ice pack for a few minutes before he was taken in for discipline for his own actions.”

Silence settled between them.. Her boss, a woman in her twenties, just assaulted a child. Slowly, Elena turned her head toward Sabrina.

Straightening instinctively under that look, Sabrina lifted her chin in reflexive posture. “He attacked me first,” she snapped, “And he kept calling me a baby. I’m not just going to let some brat put his hands on-”

Elena’s hand moved with startling precision, fingers closing around Sabrina’s ear and twisting just enough to command attention from her and compliance. “Outside,” she said quietly.

“What- HEY!” Sabrina gasped, stumbling as she was pulled forward. “Don’t you dare-”

“Now,” Elena said in a harsh tone, not bothering to stop pulling as she started to walk back in the direction she came into the room.

The office worker stepped aside without protest as Elena marched her ‘niece’ through the doorway and out into the hallway, heels striking the floor in sharp rhythm. Sabrina half stumbled to keep pace, one hand flying up in a useless attempt to pry Elena’s grip away. The door shut behind them with a muted click; only then did Elena release her.

Sabrina immediately jerked back, her blue eyes still glassy from the build-up of tears blazing, one hand pressed to her ear. “Have you lost your mind?” she hissed, “You do not get to put your hands on me like that!”

Elena took one step forward instead of back, her voice low but vibrating with restrained fury. “You, a so-called adult, just kicked a child in the groin.”

“You weren’t there. I had every right to defend myself against an attacker,” Sabrina said, her chin once more raised even as she held her ear with one hand. “So-called adult? I am an adult, and your fucking boss, at least until I can solve the problem of you being employed!”

Sucking in air through her clenched teeth, Elena shook her head. “What would you do if the police got involved? You don’t need to answer that. We both know the answer; you would be trading in that cute uniform of yours for prison orange. For someone so god damned smart, it amazes me how much of a little brat you really are.”

“A . . . brat? How dare you!” Any rant that was about to start ended, or at least was interrupted, by the taller woman’s hand coming close to her face before her fingers came together to make a snapping sound.

“No. How dare you, little miss? Did you know you did so poorly on the child's assessment that they wanted you to start here in the third grade?”

‘Third grade?!’ Sabrina thought, her jaw hanging slightly open. The comment about the police and wearing an orange jump suit hadn’t fully sunk in yet, but had still been heard.

“Don’t you worry. I talked Mr. Sterling into settling on the fourth grade being the better fit for you.”

It was like one gut punch after another in this conversation after a day of being beaten down. “No . . . no . . . ” The words sounded like she was pleading, but really Sabrina was now trembling in fear instead of her anger trying to deny what she was being told. “This is supposed to be over. You were going to take me home; this was just for today.”

Turning her body to one side, Elena looked down the empty hall and then did the same to face the other direction to make sure they truly were alone. Something she mentally kicked herself for not doing before she started laying into the smaller woman. “That was a promise I made for a good girl, not one behaving like you are.”

“Thorne! We need to go. The demerits they keep talking about . . . They do corporal punishment here; they want to spank me!”

Stopping for a few heartbeats, Elena tapped her index finger to her chin. “Are you wearing a school uniform?”

The question sounded so odd and out of place after what she had said. It took Sabrina out of her train of thought. Her mind still felt foggy from the last few hours, and she was feeling all kinds of weary now that the adrenaline from earlier had faded. “What?”

“I asked you a question. Are you wearing a school uniform?”

Hesitating, Sabrina nodded. “Yes, why?

Ignoring the question, Elena continued. “And you’re wearing a pull-up?”

That made Sabrina narrow her eyes to glare at the dark haired giraffe. “You know I am, and you know how bullshit it is.”

“No,” Elena shook her head slightly, “I don’t know anything about bullshit, but I do know how you shit yourself like a . . . What did that boy call you? A baby? You want to leave? We will, but I have another question before anything happens. We both did sign the student manual, the guidelines for the school, correct?”

Standing there Sabrina licked her lips, feeling dry after all this. Despite it all ,a part of her still expected to taste her lipstick, but it wasn’t there. “So?”

“Okay, Uniform, diaper, and an agreement to follow the school rules. What I’m hearing is you are a child, not an adult. A future fourth grader that will get to go home but not before she does as she is told and goes to sit on that bench and wait like she was told.”

“What? I’m not some little girl!”

Slowly, Elena raised one finger at a time as she counted off her points. “Diaper, we are in a school, and you're wearing a uniform. Does that sound like an adult? No. So, if you're not an adult and only little girls wear a diaper, what does that make you?” Elena asked. The carousel braid in Sabrina’s blonde hair was still perfectly in place; the petite glared in defiance rather than answering. “If you want this to end, you will answer me right this second, little Rina. Or maybe I will leave you here to sleep with your new peers in the dormitory. You can figure out then what is a better path–making a fuss, or telling the truth. Destroying the multi-million dollar deal for our company and getting the police involved, or attending a child's boarding school.”

The threats landed a sort of killing blow. This really did seem like the only option. She could try and run, push her way out the doors, but then what? She had no money, no car, no phone and more than likely would just look like a truant school girl skipping class. “No.”

“No, what? That isn’t an answer to any of my questions. I will ask it in a different way, are you a big girl or little girl?”

Feeling so overwhelmed, much like she had on the playground, Sabrina rapidly shook her head from side to side, physically denying the answer she was about to give. “Little girl.” The reply came out weakly, her voice sounding as small as she was.

Chapter Twenty

It wasn’t long before Sabrina found herself sitting back on the wooden bench. Her assistant, the cruel giraffe, telling her to play along or things would get worse as the woman went into Mrs. Hatcher’s office. Shortly thereafter, one of the office workers escorted the little bully of a boy out of the office, his face red from apparently as he gripped his rear end. ‘What was his name? Kyle?’ she asked herself, shaking her head. The answer didn’t matter. He was nothing to her; just a speed bump, an inconvenient one that she was happy to see or at least hear him getting what he deserved.

Growing up, she had never been spanked. Her mother believed in gentle parenting. The idea of the school disciplining her was worrying to say the least. ‘Elena said she was going to talk to that frumpy bitch, Hatcher . . . Would she betray me? That fucking giraffe, of couse she would, but . . . ’ Her mind drifted off, distracted when the office landline phone rang. Her concentration was such a fragile thing and she really wasn’t sure why. The medication did its job to help keep her anxiety from being all consuming, but the side effects were hitting her hard. Helping in one way, at the cost of making her a bit loopy.

“Ms. Chen, Ms. Maya Chen.” One of the office workers called out, looking directly over at the two children on the wooden bench. “ Mrs. Hatcher will see you now, sweetheart.”

Swinging her legs one last time with an exaggerated motion, Maya hopped off her seat. acting much like she would have if she had been able to propel herself off the swing before her playtime was interrupted. Looking over her shoulder at her new friend, Maya gave her a thumbs up. “It will be okay, I promise,” she said before literally skipping away.

No soothing words from a nine year old were going to have the intended effect. Sabrina just scoffed, more annoyed she was here at all, dealing with all this bullshit. Feeling a bodily urge as she stood up, the kids' shoes flashed as she started to make her way to the door in the office that indicated it was a gender neutral bathroom. She only made it so far before the same office worked from before called out to her.

“Ms. Thorne, it is not your turn just yet. Please sit back down.”

“No, I’m just going to-” she started telling the nosy woman where she was going, a courtesy she would normally not bother with, but the entire ordeal from earlier kept her both off balance and kept her where she was instead of Sabrina being able to make such a decision for herself.

“Little madam, sit your butt back down. Here, it is not acceptable to tell an adult ‘no’ like that.”

The urge to give her the middle finger then to march where she intended to go anyhow was tempting, but she wasn’t fully in control of the situation . . . or in control at all. So instead, she pointed to the restroom. “I’m going there!”

The older woman behind the counter gave the mouthy girl a not so amused, arising look. “The polite thing to do would be to ask, not just do as you please. Now go. Sit. Down.” She put emphasis on each of her clipped words, pointing back to the bench.

“You want me to ask?!” It was a request that wasn’t outrageous. When she had been in charge of phone workers, keeping their butts in seats hadn’t been a problem. They were always using the bathroom as a way to take extra breaks so she had implemented a bathroom request policy. However, thoughts on that level were beyond her at the moment; it was just about yet one more person acting like they were the boss of her.

“No, I want you to sit back down until you are called for your turn. Is this a bathroom emergency?”

Sabrina thought back to what happened in the school’s doctors office. That had been beyond an emergency; needing to pee was nothing. “Not really, but-”

“Rina, no buts except yours back in your seat. If it isn’t an emergency, you can hold it for now.” If the girl hadn’t been so disrespectful she wouldn’t have cared, but it was clear to her the new student needed discipline. It wasn’t her job to provide it, but she was the adult and heaven forbid something happened, she would be to blame as the one in charge out here at the moment.

“FINE!” Sabrina tossed up her hands, feeling over this random woman. It felt easier to just do as she had been told than to continue to hear her nasally voice.

Picking up a pen, the office worker wrote on a sticky note to remind herself to let Margaret know of the constant back-talk from the girl.

In the private office, Margaret Hatcher sat at her desk as the fourth grader sat at a small student desk that she had in the corner. Elena sat in a more comfortable chair, learning more about how the school handled its discipline. Maya, was writing away for the punishment for her two demerits. “So, the demerit system,” Elena said.

Mrs. Hatcher glanced over to the girl, then back to Elena Thorne. The guest of her boss, the school’s owner. “Yes. For lesser offences, we give writing assignments with some private time for detention. Maya here should get detention for unwanted touching along with writing, but I also think the circumstance should be considered. Public schools often have zero tolerance policies that just mostly equal a zero thought policy. Maya acted to protect and caused no harm, so I see no reason for taking up more of her time and inconveniencing her parents by making her stay late. Even now, I only have her starting the writing assignment; she can finish it on her own so that she doesn’t miss her lessons for her next class.

“What about my niece?”

Feeling as if she needed to tread carefully, Margaret nodded once, briskly bobbing her head and lowering her chin for a moment. “Rina is more complicated. She was acting in self defense to a degree, but how she did it was an extreme overreaction. She should have gone to get help; instead, she struck out not when she was pushed, but when words were being used against her. Compounding on that, she already had demerits from class and, from what I’m told, has used foul language along with talking back. At three demerits, a student will be paddled with the paddle, a ruler, or an open hand. Five swats plus five per extra demerit, but never going beyond twenty in a day. We always give a day of rest before the discipline is continued, as we are not interested in abuse. Just growth through hard discipline when it is required.”

“And how many demerits does Sabri- does Rina have?”

Flipping through some papers on her desk, Margaret frowned. “She has six, it seems, but your niece is not currently enrolled. Though the two of you have already signed your acknowledgement of student conduct and rules.” She then rolled her wrist, her little speech needing to go on. “Of course, Mr. Sterling already let me know to finish her enrollment. So we can’t simply ignore these infractions, since she will be attending. Since you are listed as her guardian, how do you feel about enacting the lesson?”

Leaning back, Elena blinked rapidly. She knew Sabrina wouldn’t actually be attending. There was no way for that to actually work, even if it was starting to feel somewhat possible. As long as the paperwork could be dealt with in a way that wouldn’t be unraveled later. In the meantime, her tiny tyrant of a boss had assaulted a child; an opportunity like that couldn’t be passed up. “We can do that, but this is going to be all new for her; I will need a few minutes to speak with her first.”

“Hi!”

Sabrina heard the high pitched voice of Maya, the voice full of joy and chipperness as she held her arm bent at the elbow, waving hello frantically. “Hello?” Sabrina replied, not having noticed the girl approach, having zoned out. Not her usual behavior where her attention was concerned.

“I’m all done. I had to write lines promising to get an adult next time. But, don’t worry. I won’t let Ryan or anyone hurt you. No one is allowed to hurt my friend.” The protective decree only made her feel worse. The nine year old was slightly taller than her and was acting as if she was tougher and stronger . . .

“Thanks, but you don’t need to do anything like that.”

Maya shook her head. “Yes, I do. We are friends, just like you would stick up for me. It's what we do, it's what my Mom and Dad say friends should do. Do you want to come over to my house to go swimming sometime? I’m a good swimmer and have a diving board.”

“Look Maya, you are a nice girl, but-” Like many times so far today, Sabrina found herself being talked over.

“Maya, right?” Elena said after walking up, bending down so her hands rested on her knees. The girl turned, nodding. “I’m Rina’s aunt. That is a kind offer, but she isn’t a good swimmer so it might not be best.”

The nine year old scrunched up her face thinking. “It’s okay. I’m sure she is good at other things. I can help with this one thing.”

Touching her forehead, Sabrina felt a bit overwhelmed by the conversation having so many implications. The child's invitation and the giraffe fumbling to give an excuse. It seemed par for course that her attempt to help was deflected so easily this time by a kid.

“I apologize, Maya. You seem nice, but for now my niece needs to head into Mrs. Hatcher’s office.”

“You got this!” The girl said once more, giving a thumbs up to who she saw as a new friend.

Happy to get away from the friendly and overeager girl, Sabrina followed the taller woman around the corner where she saw the school administrator standing outside her office. Moments later, Sabrina found herself in the personal office with Mrs. Hatcher and Elena, the click of the door sounding like a prison door locking her in as it shut.

“Young Ms.Thorne,” Margaret started, before the girl blurted out a correction suddenly.

“Halloway, my name is Sabrina Halloway. Her name is Thorne!” She said pointing to Elena, who seemed surprised by the outburst.

“Halloway?” Margaret asked; it was the first time she had heard the name.

Needing to cover up the moment of truth, Elena quickly spoke up as Sabrina fumed at being continually called by the last name of someone beneath her.

“Sorry about that. Little Rina likes being in control; she wants to grow up so badly that she pretends to be a woman from my office. They share a first name and Rina saw her ordering people around when she came with me to the office. She has been obsessed with the executive business woman ever since, pretending she is an adult.”

“You stupid giraffe! I am an adult and you work for me! I am not going to stand here, letting this woman strike me because of stupid school rules!”

Raising an eyebrow, Mrs. Hatcher appraised the girl’s outlandish claim. “Is that so? Playing pretend is all well and good, but now is not the time and place. I’m going to step outside so your aunt can address your behavior. In the future I will be handling this, but honestly Rina I hope that never happens.” With that, she nodded to Elena and left the room, slightly amused by the girl's imagination. So many little girls wanted to be a princess or ballerina. Rina wanted to be a corporate big shot. It didn’t mean her disrespect was excusable, she was more like a spoiled kid from her time being home schooled, but Mrs. Hatcher was sure Blackwood could help her find the right path. Sabrina had already made two great steps today–wanting to attend the school, and making friends with a classmate.

“YOU!” Sabrina glared at the raven haired woman. “What do you think you are going to do?! You're trying to get me to enroll to be a fourth grader and now, what, you plan to spank me for some stupid school policy now?”

Sitting down in one of the seats, Elena pursed her lips; there was so much going through her head. Anger at the grown woman, if diminutive, for attacking a little boy in such a vulnerable way. For admitting that she was putting them both, but more of herself in jeopardy all because like usual she had little filter for her anger. She really was lost on how to handle things without so much blowing up in her face, but right now she had leverage; it would be the last time she had the upper hand for a while. Or so she thought. “We need to talk. I was telling you about how poorly you did on the test, not because you are going to attend the third or fourth grade.”

“NO SHIT! You just like threatening me with being locked away here like a prisoner so you can have my job!”

Elena held up her hands at waist level in a mock surrender. “I do not want your job. It pays a lot more, but the level of stress you are often under? No, thank you.”

‘Stress from dealing with people like you!’ she thought, while sitting down. She still had to pee, and was so weary and tired from everything recently.

“Sabrina, Mr. Sterling wants my niece,” she said, motioning to the shorter woman. “to enroll. to show we trust him and believe in his mission. That can’t happen, of course, but we need to play along until we leave so the contract gets signed. Really, because of you, like so many times before, we are getting a deal signed. That said, that means we need to follow the rules here for now. Then I’m going to take you home. But we really need to address what happened.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sabrina said, waving her hand.

“You don’t get to just be dismissive. I was serious before with pointing out how easily your actions could get you in a prison uniform and, honestly, I’m done with you acting like a tyrant. You are not going to fire me. You can't have your time as Rina getting out, but first you need a real lesson.”

“A lesson?” she asked, with annoyance in her voice.

Standing up, Elena grabbed Sabrina by the wrist, yanking her up and slapping her rear end. Not that hard, but harder than some light tap.

“What are you-” Sabrina said, before she felt another spank to her ass. “Let go of me!”

Bringing her hand down again, Elena could feel the padded rear end beneath the school skirt. “You already admitted to being a little girl. You are wearing a diaper, and just misbehaved during recess at school.” She spanked her again before continuing. “You now just said you're an adult, but you hardly act like one. Do you go by Rina or Sabrina?” she asked, slapping her rear a few more times as she held the smaller woman in place with her other hand.

The first spanking had been more startling than painful. As the attack continued to come, she blushed darker and darker. There was so much shame that came with the presence of the pull-up. While it gave her some protection from Elena’s hand, it also reminded her of how she had soiled herself, and had been called a baby on the playground. It was so much. Once more, she found herself crying from the overwhelming memories and emotions. “Sabrina. My name is-” she stopped talking as yet another blow came. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head.

“That is the wrong answer, young lady. Try again!”

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK came the punishment. Sabrina was not strong enough to pull away. “Rina. It's RINA, okay?!”

“That’s right. Now is your last name Halloway, or Thorne?”

Feeling yet another spanking, Sabrina shook her head. She could also feel her hair in the tight braid as it shifted slightly, but mostly stayed in place. Not wanting to betray who she was any more, yet very much wanting the spanking to end, she relented, “Thorne. IT’S THORNE!!”

“Good.” Elena let go, turning Sabrina to face her. “Now tell me your full name, little one.”

Sniffling, Sabrina shook. She was so mad, but didn’t fight. “Rina, short for Sabrina Thorne. Your niece.”

“I recall you being ten years old. Is that correct, Rina?

“Yes,” she answered, looking at the ground.

“Tell me you are a little girl and will listen to your elders including me. Tell me you know I’m in charge.”

It was too much. eEach time she admitted to the lies, more of her felt like she was betraying herself. Doing it again felt wrong. “No, I’m not saying that.”

Her refusal brought the spanking back; the less than a minute reprieve did little to help her recover from the open hand attacks.

“NO, NO, NO!! STOP. JUST- PLEASE, STOP!! Elena, Elena- Fine, Aunt Elena. Please, stop. Just- please, stop. I- I- I will say it! God, I will say it.” She found herself starting to sob. The individual hits built up to be real pain, but that wasn’t the source of the tears. She was always the one in control, even before she was a director, but now she had none and felt so small and fragile. Not herself. That was when she felt something warm and wet as her bladder gave way. ‘Oh, god. I’m peeing myself! I’m peeing in a diaper.. MY diaper.’

“Aunt Elena. Aunt Elena, you're in charge. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I will be a good girl, I’m just a little girl, not an adult. Please, just stop, please.”

Letting go once more, Elena shook out her hand. She had lost herself a little, just thinking about her real niece being hit by an adult with so little remorse. This ‘niece’ however, had figuratively shoved her down, called her names, and had made her life hell at work for years. Taking a few deep breaths, she looked into the tear-streaked face of Sabrin . . . of Rina. “Rina, we are going to step out of this room and you will apologize to Mrs. Hatcher for misbehaving. After that, we can head to the penthouse. How does that sound, little duckling?”

“ . . . ” Sabrina shuffled her feet, feeling the wet pull-up. It would be mortifying to admit it, but Elena had already seen worse. “Yes . . . but, I need to change. I, umm- I used the diaper.” With an end in sight, Sabrina wanted–no, needed–to go home so badly. But she couldn’t do it in a wet pull-up.

‘It is almost over,’ she thought.