Chapter 6: Flashbacks And Fears

The quiet hum of the office felt distant, like a song Lexi couldn't quite remember the words to.

She sat at her desk, eyes on the screen, but her mind far from the proposal edits blinking back at her. She had done it. Her pitch was delivered. Ethan Blackwood hadn't shredded it. In fact, he called it ambitious.

But instead of celebrating, a strange ache had settled in her chest.

She blinked. The screen blurred.

The memory came uninvited.

A tiny apartment in the Bronx. The smell of rice and beans simmering on the stove. The soft hum of her mother's voice singing along to a radio that barely worked. Lexi, no older than ten, sitting cross-legged on the floor with scraps of colored paper and glue sticks, building wedding centerpieces for no one in particular.

"Why flowers, baby?" her mother had asked, folding laundry in the corner.

"Because they make people feel fancy," Lexi had replied, frowning at a crooked paper rose.

Her mother had smiled. "You'll do something beautiful one day."

Lexi hadn't known then that beautiful came with a cost.

Another memory followed.

She was seventeen. Her mother had just come back from the hospital after a long round of treatment. Lexi had sat on the floor of the cramped living room, holding her mother's frail hand.

"I hate seeing you like this," she'd whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Her mother had looked at her with tired but resolute eyes. "And I hate that you think I'm broken. But I'm not. I'm tired, sure. But not broken. You keep your dreams alive, Alexis. You hear me? Even when life tries to drown them."

That was the night Lexi secretly applied to every affordable event planning program in the city.

A ping pulled her back.

An email from Ava. Short and sharp.

Finalize logistics slides. CEO review moved up to Wednesday.

Lexi exhaled slowly. Pressure. Deadlines. Perfection.

She minimized the window and stared down at her hands.

There had been a night — two years ago — when she thought she wouldn't survive New York. Her freelance career was failing. Rent was overdue. Her mom had called, voice weak, to say she might not make it to her next treatment if the insurance didn't clear.

Lexi had walked the streets of Harlem crying silently, mascara streaking down her cheeks. She'd ended up on a random bench near Riverside, staring at the city lights.

She made a promise that night.

To fight.

To climb.

To never settle.

"Earth to Lexi."

Maya's voice cut through the haze.

Lexi looked up.

"You good?" Maya asked, brows raised. "You looked like you were about to cry or plot a murder. Both valid."

Lexi managed a laugh. "Neither. Just tired."

Maya softened. "Big pitch. CEO eyes. Office tension. You're allowed to feel things, you know."

Lexi nodded but didn't answer. Some parts of her past felt too raw to share. Even with someone as warm as Maya.

Camille walked by then, her heels clicking in sync with her smug smile.

"Careful, Maya," she said. "Wouldn't want Thompson here to burn out before she proves she belongs."

Lexi didn't flinch.

She turned, slow and poised.

"I've spent my whole life proving I belong, Camille. This is just another room."

Camille's smirk faltered for a second.

Maya let out a low whistle as Camille walked away.

"Damn. That was... spine-of-steel level."

Lexi smiled faintly.

She didn't always feel strong. But today — with the ghosts of late nights, overdue bills, and her mother's fading smile echoing in her chest — she felt like a woman who refused to shrink.

The rest of the day dragged by. Ava passed Lexi's desk three times, each glance sharp and unblinking. Camille kept up her passive-aggressive commentary, loudly complimenting another intern's outfit with, "See? Now that's professional." Maya kept shooting her encouraging notes via chat — little gifs and "You've got this" emojis that helped more than Lexi would ever admit aloud.

By five, the office was thinning. People packed up. Lights dimmed.

But Lexi stayed.

She clicked open the logistics slides, reorganized vendor names, double-checked venue specs, and rewrote three headers just in case Ethan Blackwood decided to glance at them. Her back ached, but her pride demanded more.

Later that evening, she didn't go home right away.

Instead, she walked. Past the tall buildings and polished windows. Past the noise.

Lexi let her heels carry her toward Midtown. The sidewalks buzzed with polished couples heading to dinners, corporate sharks in tailored suits, tourists snapping selfies. She was invisible to them all — a young woman with a full heart and an overstuffed bag.

She ended up outside a flower shop tucked between a wine bar and a dry cleaner. The window display sparkled with fairy lights and fresh peonies.

She stepped inside.

The woman behind the counter looked up. "Looking for anything in particular?"

Lexi paused.

Then smiled.

"Yes," she said. "Something beautiful."

She left with a small bouquet — lilacs, baby's breath, and one pale rose.

Back in her apartment, she placed the bouquet in a glass she found in the cabinet.

The space was small. Cramped. The paint chipped near the corners. But it was hers.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from her mom:

"One step at a time, baby girl. You're already making it."

Lexi curled up on the couch, flowers on the table beside her, and whispered:

"I haven't made it yet. But I will."

The city pulsed outside her window.

She walked over, parted the curtain slightly, and looked out.

Her apartment faced a side view of Blackwood Tower in the far distance — its logo gleaming faintly under the city lights.

Lexi stared at it, heart steady.

Somewhere in that tower, Ethan Blackwood had probably already forgotten her name. Or maybe he remembered it just long enough to criticize her layout choices.

Either way, she'd remember.

She'd remember who she was. Who she came from.

What she was chasing.

Because she wasn't just here to make it.

She was here to matter.

And the next time he looked at her — really looked — she'd make damn sure he saw a woman he couldn't ignored.