The Way We Break (WinRina)

ep 1

There’s a chill in the elevator that has nothing to do with the air conditioning.

Seraphine Myles stands unnaturally still, folder pressed tight against her chest as the numbers on the elevator screen blink upward — 21… 22… 23… She forces herself to breathe in steady counts. The silver doors reflect a version of herself she barely recognizes: polished, sharp, untouchable.

She’s anything but.

NovaMuse.

The name echoes like a dare.

A place people dream of working in.

A place she never imagined walking into again, not like this.

Not when she knew who was waiting on the other side.

The elevator dings softly. The doors open with a smooth hush. The top floor gleams with curated sterility — matte black accents, soft gold lighting, glass walls that look too clean to exist in reality. It smells like money. Like lavender. Like restraint.

She walks out, greeted by a receptionist who doesn’t look up. “Miss Myles. Conference Room 4A.”

Sera swallows and nods.

Her heels click softly down the hallway, echoing louder in her chest. The folder in her hands suddenly feels too light. Her throat, too tight.

Her fingers hover just briefly over the doorknob. And then she opens it.

And there she is.

Celeste Quinn.

Standing at the head of the room in a slate-grey suit, arms folded, lips pursed in quiet observation. Her hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. Her eyes — still that cold, unreadable steel blue — flick up, and for a moment, they lock onto Sera’s.

The world stops.

No one in the room notices the pause, but Sera feels it in every bone.

“Miss Myles,” Celeste says. Her voice is velvet-smooth, dipped in ice. “Welcome.”

There is no emotion. Not even a hint of it.

Sera walks to the farthest available seat. She doesn’t trust herself to speak. Not here. Not now. Not when her lungs are struggling to remember how to work.

The presentation begins — timelines, campaign ideas, launch targets. Words swirl around her like static. She doesn’t process any of it. All she can hear is the soft scrape of Celeste’s pen. All she can smell is the same perfume Celeste wore the last night they ever touched.

She shouldn’t have come.

But she had to.

Her director had made it clear — “This collaboration succeeds, and you’ll get your own department. Maybe even the creative independence you’ve been begging for.”

And Sera had been too tired, too stubborn, too hopeful to ask who she'd be collaborating with.

Of course it was her.

By the end of the meeting, her hands are trembling under the table.

As the team begins to file out, Celeste closes her folder. She walks past Sera like she’s just another name in the room.

Sera almost lets her go.

Almost.

But her voice, traitorous and quiet, escapes.

“Was this your idea?”

Celeste stops.

The air between them stills.

She turns slowly, eyes meeting hers. No flicker of surprise. No anger. Just… that same quiet, distant cold.

“No,” she says. A pause. “But I didn’t say no either.”