Chapter One - Instalment 4 - Her life looked enviable. Lately, it felt more like endurance.

Her name was etched into the glass outside her corner office.
Evangeline Hart, Senior Corporate Strategist.
Once upon a time, seeing those words had thrilled her — proof that she had made it. That the long nights, the college degrees, the pressure had all led somewhere important.

Now, it just felt heavy — not in any obvious way, but in that quiet, airless way certain lives begin to feel once they’ve stopped evolving.
She knew this work backwards. Could navigate it in her sleep.
But with each year, it interested her less and less.
Her father still told her she should push higher — partner, board seat, something impressive.
She knew she was capable, but even the thought of it made her chest tighten, like trying to climb a never ending hill with a boulder chained to her ribs.
She didn’t want to rise anymore — not in this profession at least.

There has to be more to life than this — the thought had once been a whisper.
Now, it was beginning to echo.
Louder. Closer.
And harder to ignore.

She arrived early, as always. It gave her a sense of control — a sliver of stillness before the day began.
The office was modern, high above the city — all brushed steel and glass, with quiet espresso machines and curated silence.
The walls, naturally, were adorned with the sort of “modern art” that was meant to impress clients — large, angular things in anxious colours, accompanied by plaques with names like Fractured Momentum or Form in Flux.
Evangeline had long suspected the real title of one piece was What Happens When You Give a Toddler a Palette Knife.
She knew the firm had paid handsomely for them — likely more than she’d earned in her first year.

Her inbox was full by 7:12am.
APAC wrap-up, risk scenarios, budget amendments, and on and on…

She was exceptional at this. Everyone said so.
Clear thinker. Elegant communicator. The kind of woman they brought into multi-region meetings to “steady the tone.”
She could read a five-year forecast like someone else read a poem.

But lately, her thoughts drifted.
Not wildly. Just enough.

Halfway through the morning meeting, her attention flicked to the whiteboard where someone had scrawled “Client Value Matrix: Revamped Approach.”
Here we go again, she thought.

Gemma — the newly promoted Head of Brand Strategy, all bright lipstick and breathless urgency — was championing her “brand refresh.” Again.
She spoke in jargon-heavy bursts, and had long ago perfected the art of corporate speak designed to sound impressive while saying almost nothing at all.
This week, her idea was to decentralise the messaging framework across verticals.
“Basically, we’d be elevating the client-facing narrative into a more synergistic voice,” she chirped.
Then, with that same manic cheerfulness:
“Evangeline, would you be able to finalise the rollout plan by Friday?”

There was a pause. A long one.

Evangeline inhaled. Smiled.
And said what she always said.
“I’ll take a look and get back to you with a framework that’s functional.”

But inside, something twisted.

It wasn’t the workload — she could do it with her eyes closed.
It was the pointlessness of it. The repetition.
The way so many people here confused noise for value.
The way leadership rotated every few years, and each new manager felt the need to rebuild everything — not to improve it, but to leave their stamp.
And it was always her job to fix the mess that followed.

Later, at her desk, she stared at a spreadsheet that tracked “brand alignment perception” across key segments.
She imagined setting the whole thing on fire.
Instead, she opened a new browser tab and searched for a name she hadn’t thought of in years — a painter whose work she’d once studied.
She didn’t click anything. Just stared at the images.

She used to paint.
Before she “got serious.”
Before salaries and certainty and the long, invisible checklist of what a grown, successful woman should be by now.

At lunch, she skipped the team. She always did.
Sat in the courtyard with her decaf and a notebook she never showed anyone.
She sketched a ribbon today. Just the edge of one.
It curled like something waiting to be unwrapped.

Back at her desk, the vase of hydrangeas caught the afternoon light.
She glanced at her calendar — full, every hour coloured.
Revenue reviews. Ops sync. DEI alignment.
Not one square of time for anything that made her heart stir.

She was grateful, of course.
She’d built a life most people would envy.

But sometimes… it felt like a life she had been handed, not one she had chosen.
Golden handcuffs, they called it.
She thought about that phrase a lot lately — how something could glitter and restrain you all at once.

That evening, as the office began to empty and the sun dipped behind the skyline, Evangeline remained seated.
Her screen glowed. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.
And for a moment, she imagined a different version of herself.
Not better. Not richer. Just true.

She didn’t move.
But something in her had already turned……

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