After Swift kicks me out, I head to the nearest coffee shop and order the strongest shot of espresso they have, because drinking and driving does not mix well together.

She's definitely hiding aliens. If she wasn't, she'd laugh and tell me they weren't and it would be taken as a joke. But she was so serious and upset by it, she had to have aliens down in her lab. And my fiancé is working directly with them. It's fucked up.

I know Swift had to have sent an essay to Pete by the time I finish wallowing in anger and slight despair for about an hour. I can't help but wonder if Pete is going to give a shit because I truly, genuinely did nothing wrong, however he's also a wild card and I never know what he's going to do next.

Less than ten minutes after I settle into my chair in my office, I'm called in to talk to Pete. He's sitting at his desk, reading over a small packet of papers and marking it up with a red pen. His laptop is open beside him, and the printer is still buzzing angrily like it does after it's been overloaded.

"Sit down, buddy," he says without looking up, "please. We need to talk."

I know exactly what he's going to lecture me on, so I grab a chair and sit across from him. "Swift is hiding something, and I can prove it. If we can get someone down in the lab, we can expose everything she's done — she has aliens, these literal fucking aliens, and—"

"Okay look, I'm going to get straight to the point with you. You're fired."

That puts a solid bump in the plans if he's serious, but he has to be messing with me. "What? Did you say I'm fired?"

"Yes! You're fired, you are so fired! You broke into another company's confidential property, tried to dig up dirt on a rich and famous person we paid for you to interview, you insulted her and her entire company beyond belief, and you accused her of so many things, I lost count during the first thirty seconds of the phone call! You're fired, effective immediately. Pack your stuff and leave by the end of the day. We can't have you on the premises anymore. Photos of you being escorted off her property are already circling."

"I tried to reveal the truth behind her and the Life Foundation and I'm getting fired?! I'm the main source of revenue, people watch the news just for me! You can't fire me, this station is going to burn to the ground without me, and you fucking know it." My stomach is on fire, my hands are shaking. It has to be a prank, he has to be trying to scare me. I have nowhere to go without this job, and I can't ask to rely on Brendon's salary until I find another occupation that pays even half as much. That's too much of a burden for a guy with anxiety trying to do his best, even if he could more than support a family of four or five on the amount he makes. Either way, Pete has to be joking.

He sighs deeply and presses a button on the table. "Karen, call security to escort Weekes out of the building, please."

I sit dumbfounded and in shock for a minute. I might have just ruined my entire fucking life for asking questions I shouldn't know about. Maybe I did get a little angry, but I had every right to. She was keeping dozens of secrets below ground, my own boyfriend was working on them, and on top of that he was hiding everything from me, rightfully so, but he hid them from me and the public.

The doors burst open and the guards from the lobby storm in. I don't fight when they pick my up from the chair and drag me out of the office. I can't even move, I can't even feel my legs. I don't believe it's really happening, I can't be fired. I have a savings account, but that would only last for about a year or two, and I'd have to wait at least the year because nobody is going to want to hire me.

On the way out, Pete yells, "have a nice life, Dallon", and the doors shut.

People film on their cellphones as they drop me off and but there's nobody watching as they shove me through the automated doors, into Brendon's arms. There's a box next to his feet, filled with photograph frames and little toys. "You got my stuff out of my cubicle already? That was fast, thank—"

He pushes me off of him and to my feet. "This is all my stuff."

I finally look him in the eyes, and he's shooting daggers at me. His face is flat and expressionless, but his brown eyes are on fire with rage. "What do you mean? W-What happened? Are you taking my job?"

"I just got fired," he spits, "because of you and your big fucking mouth, I read through the report and she told me everything. Why did you do that to me? I trusted you with everything, and you betray me?"

Oh fuck.

His cheeks turn red and he keeps going. "When the fuck did you break into my private and personal laptop? Why did you ever think you had the right to read through my files and reports for your interview? We had a mutual agreement, I told you I wasn't legally allowed to say anything about the things I work on! I told you everything I could, and in return you violated both my privacy and the company's privacy because you couldn't keep your sticky little goddamn fingers off things that aren't yours, you greedy shit!"

Swift said I wouldn't be the only one who paid the price. I got him fired from the best job he'd ever had, and it was solely my fault. It wasn't his for leaving his laptop where I could reach it, because I broke into it. He never told me anything about his projects, he must have been blamed for releasing the information to me, and as a result I absolutely decimated every last ounce of trust he had ever confided in me. "I-I'm so sorry, babe, I didn't—"

"Don't call me that anymore. I'm breaking up with you," he says and grabs his box, "and I'm not coming back."

"No, no, please don't, I can help you find another job, I know we can get through this. Don't throw this — don't throw us — away so quickly. I can fix this, I-I can make it right—"

"I have a hotel room for tonight," he's crying, he's fucking sobbing, "I have to go. I'm not giving you another chance. You have  completely ruined my life and I don't even have the possibility to get any of it back."

It hits me like a brick all at once, and I can't breathe. Every part of my body is shaking like I'm stuck in the middle of a blizzard without a winter coat. "Please don't leave, baby please, I'm so fucking sorry—"

"Have a nice life, Dallon."

He turns on the heels of his shoes and stalks off down the bustling sidewalk, leaving me alone with no job, no fiancé, nothing.

Have a nice life.