Solace Laurent was having a bad day. The kind of day where the smallest inconvenience would unravel her and you would find her in the corner of the break room, crying between the ridiculously expensive Jura coffee maker and mini fridge with water bottles that swore they were from Fiji or the rivers of Switzerland.

I bet it's just tap water with a fancy label slapped on it.

Today, she slept through her alarm, being forced to run around her apartment as she threw on her wrinkled dress pants and blouse. The bus was caught in the early morning rush in the streets of Boston, the snowstorm from last night bathing the city in white. The moment her stop arrived, Solace had run as fast as her legs and anxiety of slipping over the ice would carry her. Her Boho box braids slapped against her backpack, not having enough time to stop when her loafers stepped on an object that was suspiciously brown and soft. She would just have to burn them once she got back to her apartment.

She almost knocked into a dreadful looking Santa, who looked as if he enjoyed his beer a bit too much. His beard was a stained yellow as if he saved pieces of his past meals in there for a snack when he got hungry. It was only the first day of December, and storefronts already had pesky Saint Nicholas hogging up room on the sidewalk along with holiday sales that were more a scam than a good deal.

Just as she arrived at Samuel Moore's office building, the senator of Massachusetts, Solace quickly stopped by a shop across from it to grab her boss his morning green juice. He was on some juice cleanse his yoga-obsessed wife had put him on, but that didn't stop him from sneaking in a greasy cheeseburger here and then.

She would be a few minutes late to her internship, but even after four months of being there, it was best not to show up empty handed. Payal, the worker that she had come to befriend, already had the gunky green drink ready for her as she stepped inside.

"Bless your lovely soul," Solace smiled thankfully as she passed her six dollars.

"Good luck," Payal called out after her as Solace began running once more.

The lights took too long, and she considered running headfirst into busy traffic, but even dead, Samuel Moore would be more concerned about his spilled juice than his deceased intern. She could see it then. The senator standing over her bloody body, firing her as her ghost contemplated pleading for her internship back or straight up haunting the man.

She glanced at her phone, her wallpaper a picture of her hugging her parents and 15-year-old brother, Louis, from their vacation this past summer in Haiti to visit family. She could still remember her mother yelling at her brother in Creole to stop stuffing his face with dous makos before the picture was taken. The screen said it was 8:03. Three minutes late.

Solace was back on the run the second the crosswalk turned green, and she thanked her three years of cross country in high school for her not-so-shitty lungs and subpar stamina. She wasn't great at it, but hey, it looked great on college and intern applications.

The elevator gave her a few moments to breathe, and she greedily took another inhale before swinging open the door of the office. The secretary appeared startled as she ran by down the hall and was suddenly overwhelmed by the Christmas decorations from lush green wreaths and multi-colour lights hung from the walls. A miniature tree was placed in the corner near the breakroom, and little statues of reindeers lined the several desks. It looked as if Buddy the elf vomited Christmas cheer into the office.

Editors, press officers, communications coordinators, and campaign managers were bustling throughout the large office, a flurry of conversations happening a mile a minute. Her fellow interns, Everly, Wyatt, and Miles, stopped their gossiping as she passed by, the two blonde boys smirking at her as she passed by.

"He's not going to be happy," Miles snickered.

Everly smacked him in the arm. "Apologize, hand him the drink, and leave. Don't give him the opportunity to fire you," she offered with an apologetic smile.

Solace nodded quickly, glaring at the boys as they placed bets on how quickly she would be sacked. If it wasn't for the fact that they were wealthy white boys with family connections to the senator, she would have wondered how they even got the position in the first place. They were constantly joking around and had no problem taking recognition from others. Everly came from the same background, but at least she was kind and helpful.

She was fully aware that she was a diversity hire, being the only Black girl part of Senator Moore's team. She knew she deserved this position. Her high school grades were beyond extraordinary, and her resume filled to the brim with extra-curriculars ranging from the cross country to chess club to president of the art club. But she constantly felt like she had to prove herself. It didn't help that she was the youngest out of all of them at 18 and only in her first semester at Harvard.

Solace risked one last look at her phone. Seven minutes late. He wouldn't fire me, would he? Sure, she didn't enjoy being an intern and her only reason to apply was so it would make it easier to find a job in politics once she graduated with her degree in Political Sciences. It was also the only internship she could find that actually paid their interns. She needed this, or otherwise, she would be forced to sling burgers in the back of a greasy fast-food restaurant.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to raise her hand and knock. Almost instantly, a gruff voice barked out an order, and she became aware she was still wearing her large puffy winter jacket and scarf. Too late, now, she thought bitterly and swung open the door, a fake overly bright smile pulling at her lips when she stepped in.

"Good morning, Senator Moore," she greeted, wincing at how cheerful she sounded.

The man didn't even spare her a look as he continued to read over the stack of proposals and policies in front of him. His navy-blue suit hugged his thin, tall figure as he scribbled away with his ink pen. She quickly placed the drink on his desk, backing up a few steps until she stood a few feet away from him. Solace fidgeted with the tassels of her burgundy scarf, gawking at the room as if it was her first time.

It was a large office with a mahogany desk, two leather chairs across from it, and a Persian rug that she shouldn't be stepping on with her dirty shoes. There were no windows since he despised natural sunlight due to his pale complexion burning with even the littlest show of sun. There were two bookshelves lined with heavy books that looked as if they were merely decoration with the dust beginning to collect. But what really caught her eye was a painting that wasn't here two weeks ago.

Her eyes widened as she drunk in the painting. The strokes of the dark hues were clean, blending so perfectly, it made her jealous. A fountain of luck created with a marbling technique stood before a bowing woman in a midst of a storm. The brush marks made her blonde hair appear realistic, and gown appear wet and tattered. Thunder clouds, lightning, and roaring waves gave it an eerie look.

"Servus Autem Fortuna," whispered Solace in awe. It was Latin for a Slave of Fortune and worth 100 million dollars. Her mouth almost fell from the mere thought of that much money.

Mr. Moore seemed to hear her and finally acknowledged her presence. The light caught his receding hairline, making it look shiny as well as difficult to tell where his forehead ended. "You know this painting?" he asked.

"Servus Autem Fortuna," she repeated with confidence. She could count on herself for anything art related. "It was painted in 1865 by Alessio Bianchi. He was a well-known gambler and in debt to loads of people, including the Italian mafia. He created this painting to showcase how easily humans succumb to the notions of luck, labeling anything as fortunate, like a penny or fountain, as soon something goes their way. He was murdered shortly after."

"I just thought it looked cool," Senator Moore shrugged. "And Harrison Davis wanted it, therefore, I needed to have it."

Solace knew Mr. Moore came from old money, but for him to be blowing it on a painting he didn't know the meaning or worth around was a bit ridiculous. Okay, insanely ridiculous. What was it was rich people and investing in useless things? Not to mention, spending millions in a petty attempt to get back at Harrison Davis, Mr. Moore's self-proclaimed enemy and fellow competitor whom he beat in the past senator election, was excessive.

"It is very cool," she agreed, taking small steps towards the door. "I should get back to work. Enjoy your day, Senator Moore."

"Do you think I am incompetent, Ms. Laurent?"

Solace froze in her steps. It would do her no good to speak as much as she wanted to yell 'yes.' If only she had the courage to do that. Maybe she would dump his stupid kale juice over his head for dramatic effect. Then make a comical exit after swiping his papers and computer off his desk. Her fictitious-self would do it, but her existent-self opted to keep her mouth shut.

"Do you think I did not realize you were late?" he egged on.

"I apologize, Senator Moore. I didn't hear my alarm, and then there was traffic. I also had to grab your green drink, so that took a few minutes." He raised a bushy condescending eyebrow, and that was when she knew. She messed up.

"Are you implying it is my fault that you are late, Ms. Laurent?"

I should have just let the Dollar Store-version of Santa Clause knock me out.

"No, of course not. That is not –"

"Because it sounds like you are blaming me and not your inability to be a professional and reliable employee of this fine establishment that you are lucky to be a part of." He seemed to enjoy watching her crestfallen face. "Don't let this happen again, or I will be forced to let you go."

Solace nodded rapidly and took that as her cue to get the hell out of his office. It wasn't until she was back to her small desk that she shared with Everley did she breathe. She had never been spoken to like that before. In high school, the teachers would always sing her praises, and her record was squeaky clean. But this was the real world, and in the real world, people were assholes. If only these assholes weren't in powerful positions.

She ripped off her coat and slung it around the back of her chair, and pulled out a small compact mirror to assess the level of messy and embarrassed she looked. The undone curly ends of her braids were tangled, and her two-toned lips were chapped from the stinging cold wind. Her eyes, a brown so rich, it resembled the earth, and one could even grow roots, appeared tired. Her dark brown skin that matched her eyes in a complimentary way was dry after she was forced to skip her morning routine.

She let out a loud sigh, offering an apologetic smile when a few people who probably didn't know her name glanced over. Solace pulled out her planner from her backpack, along with colourful pens and highlighters. She flipped over to today's date, skipping over her mindless doodles. Clicking on a pen, she began to write her schedule for the day. First of all, she had to complete some administrative work, like filing and taking phone calls, and then attend a briefing where all she would do was listen and write notes in the corner as the other discussed and acted as if she wasn't there.

It was going to be a long day.

Solace turned on the desktop computer, completing a drawing she had started two weeks ago on an empty paper of her planner as she waited for it to turn on. The interns got the short end of the stick, and were stuck with lousy computers that took too long to load and froze as quickly as it took Solace to get frustrated with one art idea and moving on to the next. So, very quickly. Their desks were placed in the corner, far away from any of the important staff members, but close enough to the copy room, so that when anyone needed their printed sheets, the interns were ready.

"Hey, how did it go?" Everly asked, gaining her attention as she moved around Solace to take her place on her side of the desk.

"I'm not fired, so I'm going to count that as a win," Solace joked, but internally, she was fuming.

"Thank the cannoli gods," she said, putting her hands together as if praying to the saints of deliciously baked goods and making Solace laugh. This was one of the reasons they got along well. While her parents wanted her to go into politics, she wanted nothing more than to be a pastry chef. It also didn't hurt that Everly would constantly bring her strudels and cookies. "You're the only person who makes this internship bearable. Thing 1 and Thing 2 over there make me want to rip my hair out."

"Even though their dads are friends with Senator Moore, I still don't understand why he wants them running around when they share one brain cell between the two of them," remarked Solace.

Everly chuckled, eyeing Solace's planner. "Your drawing is beautiful," she admired.

If Solace could blush, she would. She was a good artist. She knew that. But she also couldn't help getting a little insecure when people complimented her work. It reminded her of what could have been. "Thanks," she smiled shyly.

"Who are you drawing? Is he a real person because he's hot?" Everly wondered with a grin.

Solace scrutinized her drawing. She wanted to say no one, but she knew it wasn't true. The boy's hair parted in the middle, his shaded hair flowing softly on either side of his head. His eyes were big, and his lashes long to the point she envied them. His lips were pulled up into that annoying smirk he always had when he scored higher on a test or when he just simply wanted to trouble her.

She hadn't seen his face in exactly six months, but she still remembered every inch of his face as if he was permanently carved into her brain. There was no amount of time that would make her forget.

Unfortunately.

She even got that little scar on the right side of his jaw that he received when she threw a pair of scissors at his face when he knocked over a pint of paint over her work. Okay, to be fair, she thought they were dull, and she wasn't aiming at his face. More so his heart.

"He's no one," she finally said.

But Solace knew that was a lie. He was someone. Someone who she was used to seeing every day for four years until one day he was gone.

Someone who was likely dead.

***

Author's Note:

Hello everyone!

This is the first chapter of SIAAF, and I really hope you enjoyed it! Would you say it caught your attention? Did the chapter bring about any questions/theories about the characters and plot? If so, let me know because I would love to hear them!

I am so excited to start this new book and I can't wait for you all to see what I have planned. I feel like my writing has improved so much over the last three books and with the next two months off, all I will be doing is writing!

I also created a whole ass painting with a background story and everything LOL. It was both fun and stressful since I'm not a big art person. Maybe basing a story off art wasn't the best idea hahahaha.

I hope to update twice a week once OMG is completed :)

Until next time – m.k.t