Saturday morning sunlight slipped through the curtains in thin, sharp lines.  

Evan opened his eyes, his head pounding, stomach churning.  

He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead, trying to piece together the fragments of last night.  

Nothing came back.  

Just one thing—  

the message from Sienna: *You drank too much.*  

Everything else was a blur.  

“How did I get home?”  

He looked around at the mess—his jacket thrown across a chair, his shoes kicked aside.  

He must’ve been completely gone.  

Only a handful of people knew where he lived.  

The manager? Unlikely.  

No one that high up would bother.  

Which left one person—his senior, the man who’d trained him when he first joined the company.  

Zack Porter.  

Evan grabbed his phone and dialed.  

“Hey, Zack… was it you who—”  

A loud laugh cut him off.  

“Ha! You’re finally alive? Man, you were the star last night!”  

Evan froze. His stomach twisted.  

“What… what did I do?”  

Zack’s voice was half amusement, half pride.  

“You, my friend, threw up three times in the lounge bathroom—came out wiping your mouth, then went straight back to drinking! The client loved it. Said you had spirit.”  

Evan’s face burned.  

“I threw up… and went back?”  

“Hell yeah!” Zack kept laughing.  

“And then you danced! You grabbed the mic, started singing and shaking your head like a rockstar. It was priceless. I wish I’d filmed it.”  

Evan’s mind went blank. Shame spread through him like heat.  

He couldn’t even picture it—didn’t want to.  

“I really did that?”  

“Absolutely.”  

Then Zack’s tone softened, oddly approving.  

“But hey, the client loved you. Said our company knows how to have a good time. You made an impression, kid.”  

Evan sat there, phone in hand, silent.  

He didn’t feel proud.  

He felt small.  

An *impression*?  

If making a fool of himself counted as success, then what was he even doing here?  

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t worth it.  

But he didn’t.  

Because in this world, that kind of humiliation was just part of the job.  

“Oh, and listen,” Zack added, voice casual.  

“We might have to go again tonight. The client had a blast—he’s gonna want a round two.”  

Evan blinked, exhausted. “Tonight?”  

“Of course,” Zack said with a grin he didn’t have to see to hear.  

“Eat something during the day. You’ll need the energy. Try not to black out this time, huh?”  

“Right…” Evan murmured.  

Zack chuckled.  

“This is how it works, man. Sooner or later, you’ll get used to it. You did good, trust me.”  

Then the line went dead.  

Silence filled the room.  

Evan lowered the phone, leaning against the wall, his breath shallow.  

His body ached, his head throbbed, but the ache inside was worse—an ache that had nothing to do with hangovers.  

He imagined himself last night, stumbling, laughing, forcing smiles.  

Dancing for approval.  

And everyone cheering, calling it *dedication.*  

His stomach turned again, for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol.  

He clenched his fist until his knuckles went white.  

“This can’t…”  

He didn’t finish the thought.  

Instead, another image surfaced in his mind—  

a small diner, a steaming bowl of soup, the sound of quiet conversation.  

A life simple enough to breathe in.  

A life without pretending.  

The kind of night that didn’t end in applause, but in peace.