Waiting in the Lobby

The dial tone hummed against Serena’s ear, a steady, monotonous sound that stretched into the cold city air. She stood outside the police precinct, clutching her phone with a white-knuckled grip.

Nobody answered.

Five minutes passed. The chilling wind whipped at her coat as she hit redial. The line rang twice before a harsh, disconnected tone cut through the speaker. He was hanging up on her.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Serena tried to convince herself he was just busy with an important meeting. She waited another agonizing thirty minutes, staring at the blurred rush of morning traffic. She pressed the green button one more time, her heart pounding against her ribs. The result mirrored the last. Damian rejected her call without a second of hesitation. The cold reality set in. He was ignoring her pleas for help on purpose.

Serena marched to the curb and flagged down a passing taxi. She yanked the back door open and slid onto the worn leather seat. "Sinclair Corporation," she instructed the driver.

She loathed the idea of showing up at his office. Relying on Damian felt like swallowing broken glass, especially after his cruel, degrading words the night prior. But she could not leave Tessa rotting in a jail cell. Tessa was the only person who had shown her genuine kindness since she woke up from that horrific car crash, her mind wiped clean of her own past.

From what Tessa had told her, Serena used to be a notable young lady in high society. The Sterling family held serious weight and reputation in the city three years ago. Yet, somehow, the entire family empire mysteriously collapsed in a single night. Serena had combed through old news articles and her own vague diary entries, trying to piece together the disaster. She found nothing but dead ends. Her phone's contact list held fewer than ten names, and not a single one shared her last name.

With her memory gone and her family destroyed, she had literally no one else to turn to. Damian was her only lifeline.

The taxi pulled up to the towering glass structure of Sinclair Corporation. Serena paid the fare, stepped out, and pushed through the heavy revolving doors into the cavernous, gleaming lobby. The space was imposing, designed to make visitors feel small.

She walked straight toward the private elevator banks, but two heavily made-up front desk receptionists immediately stepped out from behind the marble counter to block her path.

"Hi, Ma'am," one of them said, her tone dripping with fake corporate politeness. "Who are you looking for?"

Serena stopped walking. "I am looking for Damian Sinclair."

The women's fake smiles vanished instantly. They looked her up and down, their gazes filled with skeptical, mocking curiosity. "May I ask what business you have with Mr. Sinclair?"

"It is regarding a very pressing matter," Serena replied, her voice firm.

The second receptionist frowned, her mascaraed eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Do you have an official appointment?"

Serena lacked an appointment. She needed to get upstairs right now. "I am Damian's wife. Do you not recognize me?"

The two women exchanged blatant, mocking looks. The legendary Mrs. Sinclair was a ghost to the public, and news regarding upper-class society rarely trickled down to white-collar workers in the lobby.

"I am sorry, but we really do not know you," the first receptionist said, dropping the polite facade. "Furthermore, we have strict executive orders from Mr. Sinclair himself. No one is allowed to enter unannounced. If you truly are his wife, why don't you just call him? We have to go by the book. You only go up when he says so."

Cornered and desperate, Serena unlocked her phone. She navigated to his name and pressed call, putting it on speakerphone for the arrogant women to hear.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The agonizing rings echoed in the quiet lobby. Just like before, Damian refused to pick up. The call eventually timed out, cutting off into a dead silence.

The receptionists stared at her, their polite corporate masks vanishing, replaced by open, sneering contempt.

One of them scoffed, eyeing Serena's pretty features with obvious jealousy. "What a joke. You expect us to believe Mrs. Sinclair cannot even get Mr. Sinclair to answer his own phone? Who are you trying to fool?"

"Do you really think you can just waltz in and meet our CEO whenever you want?" the second woman sneered, crossing her arms aggressively. "How cheap can a mistress be these days?"

"You think you can seduce him just because you have a pretty face," the first receptionist added, laughing out loud. "I have seen plenty of sluts try to force their way up those elevators, but none of them are shameless enough to falsely claim the title of his legal wife."

Their voices carried, clear and insulting, ensuring Serena heard exactly how much they despised her. Serena gripped her phone tighter. She had been legally married to Damian for three years, and yet his own employees could not recognize her, treating her like trash off the street.

"Is Damian here right now?" Serena asked, ignoring their unprovoked hostility.

"I am sorry. The company prohibits us from disclosing our CEO's whereabouts to outsiders," the front desk girl snapped.

"You claim you are Mrs. Sinclair," the other mocked, rolling her eyes. "How can you not even know if your own husband is in the office?"

Realizing she would get nowhere by arguing with them, Serena turned on her heel and walked over to the stiff leather sofa in the corner of the lobby. She sat down, crossing her legs. She was not leaving.

Seeing her refuse to back down, the receptionists' hostility spiked.

"Hey! I suggest you leave the premises immediately," one demanded, marching out to glare at her. "Mr. Sinclair will never meet you."

"You are an eyesore here."

"I will call security to drag you out if you don't leave right now!"

"Get out of here, now!"

Serena looked up at them. She sneered at their blatant, aggressive behavior. Initially, she had planned to ignore them. They were just doing their jobs, following company protocols, and she had no desire to cause a scene. But their behavior violated professional ethics. They were not following rules; they were venting their own bitter frustrations on her. It seemed Damian's charm caused more delusions than she thought.

Unfazed by their humiliating threats, Serena smoothly pulled out her phone. She opened the camera application, hit the record button, and pointed the lens directly at their angry faces.

"Oh? So this is the professional ethics of the front desk women working in Sinclair Corporation," Serena said, her voice like ice.

The women froze, noticing the recording light.

"I wonder if this video will make viral headlines if I upload it on the internet or sell it to a media company," Serena continued, her voice steady and sharp. "I can see the caption now: 'The women at Sinclair Corporation's front desk acted like wild shrews.' Do you think the media will blame the low quality of the staff, or the toxic culture of the corporation itself?"

She smiled, tilting her phone slightly to keep them perfectly in frame. "Do you think the company's shares will plummet if this scandalous footage gets out?"

The arrogant receptionists paled. The color drained from their powdered faces, leaving them looking terrified. Being a mistress was one thing, but acting like thugs on camera while representing a multibillion-dollar corporation was a massive PR disaster.

Sinclair Corporation paid exceptionally well and offered lucrative benefits. They did not hire just anyone. Losing these corporate jobs over a viral video would ruin them. Panic set in. They began to tremble, realizing they had provoked someone willing to play dirty.

"Please," the first woman pleaded, her voice dropping to a frantic whisper as she held her hands up defensively. "I apologize for my atrocious attitude. Ma'am, please do not upload that video."

The second woman nodded, terrified of losing her livelihood. "We are deeply sorry. We were wrong. According to the rules, you are not allowed to go up, but you can rest right here in the lobby. Just please, delete the recording."

Serena studied their pale, panicking faces. She had no interest in causing trouble for the sake of it; she only needed them out of her way. Satisfied they had submitted, she stopped the recording, put her phone away securely, and said nothing else.

Time slowly dragged on.

Serena sat anchored in the corner, her gaze fixed on the private elevator banks. Her stomach cramped sharply with hunger, but she deliberately skipped eating for the entire day. She was terrified that Damian might slip past her if she stepped out for even a single moment to get food. Tessa's freedom depended on her catching him, and she refused to let her only friend down.

Outside the towering floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the sky slowly shifted from afternoon gray to pitch dark. Official work hours ended. A steady stream of employees filed out of the building, casting curious glances at the lone woman sitting in the expansive lobby.

Long after the crowds thinned, the two frightened receptionists packed up their things. They shot Serena a nervous, silent look before hurrying out the revolving doors, eager to escape the building.

The lobby grew eerily quiet. The bustling energy of Sinclair Corporation faded into a hollow, echoing stillness.

Serena leaned her head heavily against the stiff sofa cushions. The grueling, day-long wait without food, combined with the crushing emotional stress, left her feeling drained. Her eyelids drooped. The exhaustion seeped deep into her bones. Despite her fierce determination to stay alert, the quiet atmosphere lured her into a light, uneasy sleep.

Hours later, a distinct sound sliced through the cavernous space.

The steady, rhythmic echo of expensive leather footsteps sounded sharply across the polished marble floor.

Serena woke up with a sharp jolt. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned her head to look.

There, stepping out of the shadows of the private hallway, was the tall, imposing figure of the man she had waited all day to see. Damian was making his way out elegantly, his powerful presence dominating the quiet lobby.