You stared at the screen.

Then you laughed.

Not loudly.

Not bitterly.

Just once, soft and sleepy, like the universe had finally delivered the punchline.

The first message was from Lucia.

Sofia, there appears to have been a misunderstanding. Please contact HR immediately.

The second was from Alejandro’s assistant.

Ms. Salazar, Mr. Lujan urgently requests that you return his call. It is extremely important.

The third was from your direct team.

Sofia, where is the Morrison campaign approval folder? The sponsor is asking.

Then another.

Sofia, Kira Vale is refusing to go on Good Morning America unless you call her.

Then another.

The Nashville venue says the wire transfer was not released. Did finance get your authorization?

Then another.

The luxury fragrance brand is threatening to pull the tour sponsorship.

Then another.

PLEASE ANSWER. Nobody knows the password for the artist crisis dashboard.

You leaned against your pillows and read them like morning news.

The company had lasted less than twenty-four hours without you.

Impressive, honestly.

You got out of bed, brushed your teeth, made coffee, and opened your laptop.

Not the company laptop.

Your personal one.

You had already left all company devices at reception. You had sent a clean handoff email with every file location, every deadline, every vendor contact, every legal status, and every emergency password you were authorized to share.

You had done the professional thing.

Because unlike HR, you actually had standards.

Your inbox contained several messages from Lujan Entertainment marked URGENT — RESPONSE REQUIRED.

You clicked none of them.

Instead, you opened your banking app.

Rent due in twelve days.

Savings enough for maybe five months if you were careful.

Student loans still waiting like a patient predator.

Your mother’s medical bill from Arizona still partially unpaid.

You should have been afraid.

Maybe later you would be.

But not yet.

Right now, your entire nervous system was celebrating the fact that nobody could call you into a 9 p.m. “quick sync” about an artist who had posted something stupid on Instagram while drunk in Miami.

You made toast.

You ate slowly.

Then your phone rang again.

Unknown number.

You ignored it.

part3