Chapter 11: Stirring the Pot

I didn’t say anything to the bartender about the doubts gnawing at the edges of my mind. Instead, over the next couple of days, I buried myself in work, pushing aside the irritation that simmered in my heart. I threw myself into finalizing three manuscripts, meticulously combing through each one, as if perfecting those words could somehow silence the unease inside me. Dominika even commented on my efficiency, a rare compliment from someone who rarely spared words for anything other than critiques. It was almost ironic—here I was, pouring myself into every page, every paragraph, yet my mind wandered back to everything else I was trying to ignore.

Later, while grabbing coffee in the breakroom, Ella leaned against the counter with that knowing look in her eyes. She tilted her head, watching me over the rim of her cup.