Serenya
I paced from the window to the bed again, my bare feet brushing against the cold marble floor. My phone sat in my hand like a ticking bomb, the bright screen casting harsh shadows on my face. Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. All from my actual workplace.
Not Celis’s adoring fans or brand deals or influencer “collabs”—no. These were real, terrifying, grown-up problems. Anchor desk problems.
I swiped on the latest voicemail with a trembling thumb.
“Serenya. You’ve missed two weekend shifts and a live taping. I understand things might be… complicated, but if we don’t hear from you by tomorrow, we’ll have to move forward with another presenter. I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands now.”
I pressed pause.
My lungs forgot how to work. A sour taste climbed up my throat. I sat down on
