Thanks for the Invite, I'm Here to Ruin It

"Give me the ring. I need to get it resized." Roman stood by the front door. He held his hand out toward me. I paused.

I bought those matching bands three years ago with my very first bonus. Two and a half grand. I’d scraped the money together over three long months. "Resized?" "Yeah.

It's a little loose." He didn't even look up, his eyes staying glued to his phone screen. I slid the silver band off my finger and dropped it into his open palm.

His fingers closed over it. He turned and walked out, the front door clicking shut. A quiet, hollow sound, like a dead weight hitting the floor.

I stayed planted in the hallway, staring down at the pale indentation left on my ring finger. Three years. We’ll get married as soon as the startup stabilizes.

He'd fed me that line at least twenty times, and I swallowed it every single time. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

A text from Carmen. [Quinn, we have a situation at the office tomorrow. Get here early.] I typed back a quick Got it and tossed my phone onto the counter.

Outside, the night sky was pitch black. The next morning, I swiped my badge at the office a halfhour early.

Voices drifted out from the breakroom, low, but sharp enough to catch. "Did you see it? That ring on Bianca's finger." "Yeah. Pretty sure Roman bought it for her." "No way.

Doesn't Roman have a fiancée? You know, the girl in Marketing…" Chapter 1 "Quinn? You haven't heard?

Yeah, pretty sure that's over." My knuckles went white around my coffee mug as I stood in the doorway. The breakroom went dead silent the second they spotted me.

One of them offered a tight, plastic smile. "Morning, Quinn." I gave a single, curt nod. "Morning." I turned on my heel and walked right back out.

I dropped into my desk chair and woke up my laptop. My inbox was clogged with unread threads, all followups for the Zenith account.

Eight agonizing months of grinding from the initial cold outreach to closing a deep partnership.

Every single pitch deck, every client dinner, every latenight conference call had been on my shoulders. A twentymilliondollar contract.

A shadow fell over my keyboard. "Quinn." I glanced up. Bianca. She wore a sharply tailored blazer, her makeup airbrushed to perfection, resting her hand on the edge of my desk.

The overhead fluorescent lights caught the silver band on her ring finger.

My ring. "Roman wants you to compile the data for Marcus," she chirped, her tone sickeningly sweet. "He needs it prepped for the afternoon board meeting." "Got it." She didn't move away, tapping her manicured nails against the wood in a casual, but entirely calculated manner. "By the way," she added, flashing her hand. "Isn't this ring just gorgeous?

Roman said he went out of his way to pick it out himself. I honestly had no idea he could be so romantic." I stared dead at the silver band.

Three years ago, I spent two straight hours at a mall jewelry counter picking that exact design out. "It is unique," I replied, my voice a dead flat line. "Right?" Her smile widened. "Anyway, I've got to get back to work." She strutted off.

I tracked her retreating figure, my fingertips hovering frozen over the keyboard.

Carmen materialized at my elbow. "Quinn," she murmured, dropping her voice to a whisper. "You… you know?" "Know what?" She gave me a long, loaded look, pressing her lips together in silence.

I forced a short, dry laugh. "It's nothing. Let's get back to work." Chapter 2 I picked at my takeout container alone at my desk over lunch. My phone buzzed.

Roman. "Client dinner tonight. Don't wait up for me," he said. "Got it." "Is the data for the Zenith account ready?" "It's done." "Good." A beat of silence. "Look… about the ring.

Don't overthink it. It's really just getting resized." My grip tightened around the plastic casing of my phone. I didn't say a word. "Alright. I gotta go." The line went dead.

I set the phone face down and poked at my food, the rice stone cold. Three o'clock. The main conference room. It was the milestone briefing for the Zenith account.

Roman sat dead center at the head of the long mahogany table, while Bianca sat right beside him, tapping away at her laptop taking minutes.

I finished running through the progress metrics.

Roman gave a curt nod. "Solid progress," he said, sweeping his gaze across the other executives. "Zenith is our anchor client for the fiscal year.

Quinn has definitely put in the hours lately." I sat perfectly still, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Right on cue. "However," he pivoted smoothly, "getting to this stage is a team effort.

Marketing, Sales, Tech Support—everyone pulled their weight." Heads nodded in unison around the table. I picked up my water glass and took a slow sip.

Carmen cornered me the second we stepped out into the hallway. "Quinn, I can't stand watching this.

You dragged this project across the finish line singlehandedly, and he just—" "Carmen." I cut her off. "It's fine." "How is it fine?

He completely diluted your credit—" "The credit doesn't matter." I met her eyes. "The deal is closing. The client signed off.

That's all I care about." Carmen let out a harsh breath. "You let people walk all over you." I just smiled and kept walking. The apartment was pitch black when I got home.

Roman still wasn't back. I yanked the fridge open. Bare shelves stared back at me. Once we're married, we'll upgrade to a real house, and we'll keep the fridge fully stocked.

He used to say that all the time. Three years later, still empty. I slammed the fridge door shut, my fingernails biting into my palms. My phone chimed. A screenshot from Carmen.

It was Bianca's Instagram story. A closeup shot of her hand, showing off the silver band. The caption was a single white heart emoji. [Omg congrats!

Tying the knot?] [Hehe, when you know, you know.] I stared at the glowing screen until my eyes burned, then I tossed the phone onto the kitchen island.

When I bought that band, it came as a set. The matching one was for Roman. He told me we’d put them on together on our wedding day. Eventually, his ring just disappeared.

It had been gone for three years. I should have figured it out right then. Wednesday afternoon, Roman's mother called. "Quinn, sweetheart. Are you free?

I'd love to take you out for tea." I hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Sure." We met at a quiet, highend tea house downtown.

Roman's mother was impeccably groomed, wearing a designer silk blouse and a flawless blowout.

She looked a decade younger than she actually was. "How is work lately, Quinn?" She poured me a cup of Earl Grey. "It's fine.

Just busy." "Busy is good." She offered a practiced smile. "You're young.

You should be hustling." After a few more minutes of hollow small talk, she set her porcelain cup down and locked her eyes on mine.

Chapter 3 "Quinn, I asked you here today because there are some things we need to discuss." I gave a single nod. "Go ahead." "I know everything about you and Roman." She set her teacup down. "You're a good girl.

You've put up with a lot these past few years." I sat in absolute silence. "But," she paused, tracing the rim of her porcelain saucer, "marriage requires a certain alignment.

A match in background and social standing." "What are you trying to say?" "Quinn, I've looked into your family history.

Your parents passed away early, and you've clawed your way up all by yourself, which is commendable." Her tone stayed perfectly level. "But Roman is in a different league now.

The company has scaled, and the circles he moves in are entirely different…" "You think I'm not good enough for him." "I didn't say that." She offered a practiced, pitying smile. "I just think the two of you aren't the right fit anymore.

Forcing it will only exhaust you both." I stared at her. "You've met Bianca, haven't you?" she pressed on. "Her father is Vernon, the city commissioner." "She comes from a flawless background.

She's sweet, she's sensible, she knows how to take care of a man—" "Stop." I cut her off. Her jaw snapped shut.

I picked up my teacup and took a slow, deliberate sip. "I bought that ring." I locked my eyes on hers. "Three years ago, with my very first bonus check.

Did he tell you that?" She froze. "Roman told me we'd put the matching bands on together when we got married." I let the cup clink heavily against the saucer. "He lost his three years ago." The polite smile slid right off her perfectly powdered face. "I hear you loud and clear." I pushed my chair back and stood up. "But when it comes to Roman and me, I'll handle it myself." I tossed a fiftydollar bill onto the table and walked out.

My fingers trembled as I pushed through the heavy glass doors, but I kept my spine steelrod straight. The next day. Executive board meeting.

The agenda was the Q3 and Q4 strategic roadmap.

Roman stood in front of the projector, practically glowing with arrogance. "We locked in several anchor clients in the first half of the year, driving a thirtyfive percent yearoveryear revenue bump." He pinned his laser pointer to the data spike on the screen. "Specifically, the Zenith account.

A twentymilliondollar contract.

The biggest deal in the history of this firm." Applause erupted around the long mahogany table. "From cold outreach to signed letters of intent, this took eight solid months." He shifted his gaze to me. "Quinn put in a lot of hard work." I gave a single, hollow nod. "But," he pivoted seamlessly, "corporate victories are team victories.

Without the backing of Sales, the flawless execution from Tech Support, and the logistics handled by Admin, this deal would never have crossed the finish line." A wave of agreeable nods rippled through the room. "So the credit belongs to all of us." He flashed a winning smile. "This firm has never been a oneman show." I stared unblinking at the data projected on the screen.

Twenty million dollars. Eight months. One hundred and fiftysix emails, fortyseven conference calls, twelve inperson pitches. I handled every single one alone. A team victory.

I picked up my glass and took a sip. Chapter 4 Roman caught me right after the meeting. "Quinn, did my mother talk to you yesterday?" "Yes." "Don't take whatever she said to heart.

You know how she is." He leaned casually against the edge of a desk. "I didn't." He shot me a look. "Good." Silence stretched between us for a few seconds. "Quinn, there's something I need to run by you." "What is it?" "For the Zenith account moving forward… I want Bianca to shadow you.

She needs to learn the ropes." I stared at him. "Bianca is a secretary." "A secretary who wants to build her business acumen." He offered an easy smile. "Just show her how it's done.

Is that a problem?" I stayed silent for a few beats. "Roman.

Marcus at Zenith values professionalism in his point of contact above all else." "Which is exactly why she needs to learn from you." He straightened up and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Relax.

She won't get in your way." He turned to leave. "Roman." He glanced back. "When are you giving me my ring back?" His footsteps faltered. "Soon.

I'll give it to you when it's resized." He didn't turn around this time. "Get back to work." He walked away. I stood right there, watching his retreating back. Resized.

Three years ago, when I bought those rings, I measured his finger, and I measured mine. We were the exact same size. It never needed to be resized.

Friday afternoon, an email pinged into my inbox. The sender was Roman's secretary. The subject line read: Wedding Invitation.

I clicked it open, and an elegant digital RSVP card filled the screen. [Roman & Bianca cordially invite you to celebrate their wedding.] [Date: The 28th of next month] [Venue: The Grand Ballroom, The RitzCarlton] [Your blessing is the greatest gift of all.] [A special thanks to Ms.

Quinn for all her help over the years.

We hope you can make it to witness our special day.] I stared at those two names sidebyside on the glowing screen until the letters blurred together.

I closed the tab and went back to typing my report. Ten minutes later, my phone lit up.

Roman. "Quinn, did you get the invite?" "I got it." "Look…" He paused. "I should have told you sooner, but I just couldn't find the right time." "You're getting married." "Yeah." His tone was infuriatingly calm. "Bianca and I… it started a while ago.

You know how it is." I said nothing. "Quinn, I know I owe you an apology for how things ended between us." He let out a heavy sigh. "But you have to understand.

You can't force love." "I understand." "Really?" He sounded genuinely thrown off. "Yes." "Good." I heard him exhale a breath of relief. "So… are you coming?" "I'll be there." Dead silence on the other end of the line. "You're actually coming?" "You invited me," I said flatly. "Why wouldn't I?" He seemed entirely out of words. "Anything else, Roman?" "Uh… no.

That's it." "Then I'm hanging up." I ended the call. Chapter 5 The phone screen faded to black. The reflection of my face held nothing. Fivethirty.

I slung my bag over my shoulder to head out.

Carmen blocked the doorway. "Quinn, I heard," she whispered. "The invite…" "I know." "You aren't actually going, are you?" She frowned. "That's just asking for a slap in the face." "Carmen.

Everything needs an ending." She looked at me, swallowing whatever she was about to say. "I'm fine." I patted her arm. "Really." I stepped out of the lobby and stood on the curb for a second.

The sun was dipping low, bleeding a warm orange across the asphalt. My phone buzzed. A text from Carmen. [Quinn, Roman just put the word out.

He wants you to resign before the wedding.] I stared at the glowing screen and read it again. [He wants what?] [Said something about avoiding a conflict of interest.

He wants you to quit on your own, otherwise… his exact words were he'll "make it ugly" for you.] A dry laugh scraped its way up my throat.

Before I could type a reply, a voice called out. "Quinn?" I turned.

A middleaged man in a casual sports coat stood a few feet away, his expression warm. "Marcus?" I recognized him instantly.

Marcus, the CEO of Zenith. "It is you." He chuckled, walking over. "Thought it was you from a distance, but I wasn't entirely sure." "What brings you to this side of town?" "Meeting a friend." He gave me a quick, assessing look. "Just getting off work?

You look a little pale.

Pushing yourself too hard?" "No, just… a lot on my plate lately." He nodded, not pushing the issue. "By the way, next time you swing by Zenith, give me a headsup first." He pulled a thick cardstock business card from his pocket. "This is my personal cell.

You need anything, you call me direct." I took the card. "Thank you, Marcus." "Don't mention it." He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Your dad did me a solid back in the day.

Plus, you're a hard worker. I know it hasn't been easy for you all these years." I froze. He just smiled. "Anyway, I won't keep you. We'll catch up properly another time.

I gotta run." He gave a brief wave and slid into the back of a black Town Car idling on the street.

I stayed rooted to the curb, tracking the car until it vanished around the corner. The embossed card in my hand still felt warm. Marcus knew my dad.

My dad died when I was fifteen, and I had zero clue what his business actually was, or who he had ever helped.

I slipped the card into my bag, turned on my heel, and marched straight back into the office building. It was past hours, and the floor was practically a ghost town.

I dropped into my chair and booted up my laptop. The Zenith account files.

Every single document from the very first cold email to the present, meticulously organized chronologically. Client contacts, call logs, meeting minutes, email threads.

Every single piece of data, crystal clear. I stared at the master folder on my screen, my fingertips hovering over the keyboard for a long, silent beat.

Then, I grabbed my phone and punched in the private number from the card. "Marcus. Sorry to bother you. Do you have a minute?" Chapter 6 The call connected almost instantly. "Quinn?

You're still up?" "Marcus, I need to confirm something with you." "Go ahead." "For the Zenith account, if the firm swapped out your point of contact…" A beat of silence hung on the line.

When Marcus spoke again, his casual warmth was gone. "Quinn, are you in some kind of trouble over there?" I didn't answer right away. "Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping to a deadserious register. "I only brought the Zenith account to the table because of you.

I don't care who they try to sub in—that twentymilliondollar contract is tied to Quinn, and nobody else." I gripped the phone, letting the words sink in. "Whatever is going on, you keep that in mind," he added. "You need anything, you come straight to me." "I will.

Thank you, Marcus." I ended the call and stared out at the sprawling city lights.

Roman thought I was nothing without his firm, but he had no idea some things never belonged to his startup. They belonged to me. One week before the wedding.

I stepped off the elevator and found half the floor huddled together, whispering over their phones. "Look, he just posted them." "Wow, these wedding shots are gorgeous." "Roman looks amazing.

Bianca hit the absolute jackpot…" I walked down the aisle toward my desk, and the huddle parted like the Red Sea, letting me through.

I dropped my bag on my chair and unlocked my phone. In the main company group chat, a message from Roman was pinned to the top.

It was a gallery of heavily retouched engagement photos. Bianca in a flowing white gown, laughing against Roman's chest.

The silver band on her finger caught the studio lighting, shining perfectly. [Thank you all for witnessing our love story.

Bianca and I can't wait to celebrate with you next Saturday at The RitzCarlton.] [Congratulations, boss!] [You guys are literally the perfect couple!] [Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!] I scrolled further down to see Roman had posted a followup reply. [I also want to thank Quinn for all her help over the years.

I hope you find your own happiness soon.] [Yeah! You deserve the best, Quinn.

You'll find someone great!] [We're rooting for you, Quinn!] I stared at the glowing screen for a long, quiet minute. Three years. I waited for him for three entire years.

From scraping by in a cramped studio apartment to scaling his startup into a massive success, and from a bottomtier employee to the absolute backbone of the marketing department.

Every single client secured. Every contract signed. Every pitch deck built on zero sleep and black coffee. Traded in for a generic thanks for your help.

And a public, humiliating label as the discarded ex. I set the phone face down on the desk while all around the openplan office, eyes were darting my way.

I pushed my chair back and headed to the breakroom to fill my water glass.

Bianca strutted past the doorway, her heels clicking lightly against the tile. "Morning, Quinn." She flashed a bright, blinding smile. "Did you see the photos?

The photographer did an okay job, right?" I looked dead at the silver ring on her finger. "They're fine." "Thanks." Her smile stretched wider. "By the way, make sure you show up to the wedding.

Roman specifically asked me to remind you." "I'll be there." "Perfect." She gave a little wave of her manicured hand. "I better get back to work." She walked off.

I stood alone in the breakroom, gripping the cold glass of water.

Chapter 7 Carmen walked over to my desk. "Quinn, are you okay?" She kept her voice low. "Those messages in the group chat…" "Carmen, do me a favor." "What is it?" "Can you pull the master project data for the entire firm over the last three years?" She paused. "What are you trying to do?" "Verify a few things." She looked at me, deciding not to press further. "Done.

I'll get it to you before clockout." At five o'clock sharp, Carmen slipped a flash drive into my hand. "The last three years of project metrics are all in there." She held my gaze. "Quinn, seriously, what are you planning?" I tucked the drive securely into my pocket. "Carmen, do you trust me?" "Of course." "Then just watch." I offered a small, calm smile.

That night, I sat in front of my laptop and cracked open the files on the flash drive. Three years. Total revenue generated by the marketing department: sixtyseven million dollars.

Revenue from the projects I personally secured: fortytwo million dollars. Sixtytwo point seven percent. I stared at those digits burning on the screen for a long time.

A team victory, Roman had said. Right. A team. I clicked into another folder for the master directory for the Zenith account.

From the very first cold outreach email to the final meeting minutes. Eight solid months.

One hundred and fiftysix emails, fortyseven conference calls, and twelve facetoface pitches. Every single logged entry had one name clearly attached to it. Quinn.

I picked up my phone and dialed Marcus's private number. "Marcus, I need a favor." "Name it." "Can you make it to the wedding?" A beat of silence hung on the line. "Quinn, what exactly are you up to?" "Just giving them my sincerest blessing." I kept my eyes locked on the glowing laptop screen. "And while I'm at it… delivering a little piece of news." Marcus let out a low chuckle. "Alright.

I'll be waiting