The florist, her smile returning, disappeared behind a wall of flowers, emerging moments later with a beautiful bouquet of white roses, their petals soft and delicate, their fragrance delicate and sweet. Elise, trying to ignore the way her nose twitched, the way her eyes started to itch, forced herself to take the bouquet, her fingers brushing against the velvety petals, the prickle of thorns a reminder of her discomfort.
 "Thank you," she said, her voice tight with barely contained frustration.
 She paid for the roses, her heart pounding with the weight of her resentment. She hurried back to the gala, the white roses in her hand, a symbol of her forced servitude, a reminder of her anger, a catalyst for her own rebellion...
 ================================
 Elise stepped back into the glittering ballroom, the white roses clutched in her hand like a symbol of her forced servitude. The air, thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the faint murmur of conversation, felt like a suffocating cloud around her.
 Her nose itched, her eyes stung, and her throat felt scratchy. The familiar symptoms of her allergy to roses, a fact that seemed to have escaped her boss's notice, were making their presence known.
 "Damn flowers," she muttered under her breath, her anger rising with each tickling sensation in her nose.
 She quickly found the blonde woman at the bar, her laughter echoing through the room. Caelan was right beside her, his arm resting casually on the back of the barstool, his gaze fixed on the woman with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
 Elise, her nose twitching, her throat tightening, handed the roses to the blonde. "For you, with love from Caelan Cambridge," she said, her voice a cold, controlled whisper.
 The blonde woman, her smile widening, took the flowers, her eyes meeting Elise's with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Thank you," she said, her voice a melodic lilt. "He's a charmer."
 Elise, unable to bear the sight of Caelan and his latest conquest, retreated to the nearest table, her anger simmering. The champagne, a temporary escape, beckoned.
 "Another glass, please," she said to the passing waiter, her voice a low, strained murmur.
 She poured the bubbly liquid down her throat, which somehow helped her relax a little bit. She didn't know how many glasses she had already consumed, but each one brought a momentary sense of relief, a temporary escape from the suffocating reality of her situation.
 As she watched Caelan and his blonde companion, her anger escalated. It wasn't just the roses, it wasn't just the errand, it was the five years she had spent serving him, the countless hours she had dedicated to his every whim, and yet he knew nothing about her, nothing about her allergies, nothing about her preferences, nothing about her hopes and dreams. She was a ghost, a shadow in the corner of his world, a faceless presence who served his every need.
 "He doesn't even know much about me," she muttered, her voice a bitter whisper, the taste of champagne bitter on her tongue. "Just 'Elise,' the secretary, the assistant, the one who takes his calls, arranges his meetings, manages his schedule, and keeps his life running smoothly."
 She was more than that, she was a woman with a life, a personality, a story. And she deserved to be seen, to be recognized, to be respected.
 The champagne flowed, a temporary solution to her frustration, a liquid escape from the reality of her situation. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, how much she had drunk, but the bubbly liquid was no longer a solace, it was a fuel for her anger, a catalyst for her rebellion.
 She was done being invisible, done being ignored, done being a servant to a man who treated her as a mere extension of his own ambitions. She needed to find her own voice, her own power, her own way to break free from the constraints of his world, to create her own destiny, a destiny that would be hers, and hers alone.
 She was Elise, and she was no longer content to be a shadow. She was ready to step into the light, to claim her place, to make her own mark on the world. And the first step was to break free from the clutches of her boss, the man who had so effortlessly erased her from his life.
 Elise's mind, clouded by a potent mix of champagne and resentment, finally reached a clear decision. Enough was enough. She was done. Done being Caelan Cambridge's secretary, done being a cog in his machine, done being a silent presence in a world that refused to see her.
 She was a woman with dreams, with ambitions, with a life of her own. And she was going to reclaim it.
 She rose from the table, her legs unsteady, her head throbbing, but her resolve unwavering. She would hand in her resignation, she would walk away, she would not look back. She wouldn't waste another day of her life serving a self-absorbed, narcissistic, overbearing man who saw her as nothing more than an extension of his own ambitions.
 She started walking towards the exit, her high heels clicking against the polished floor, the sound of her steps a rhythmic beat of defiance. The crowd, a blur of faces and voices, faded into the background, as her mind focused on the single, unshakeable purpose that propelled her forward.
 As she reached the grand staircase, her hand reaching for the ornate railing, a voice stopped her in her tracks.
 "Elise," he called, his voice a low, commanding murmur. "Wait."
 She froze, her hand tightening around the railing. She could feel her anger rising, a fierce, primal emotion that threatened to consume her. She didn't want to turn around, she didn't want to see him, to hear his voice, to engage in any more of his games.
 But she knew she couldn't escape him just yet. She had to face him, to deliver her message, to finally break free from his web of control.