Natalie Evans stood in the center of her sleek new office, sunlight flooding through the tall glass windows. The city skyline glittered in the distance, but her mind was miles away. Her fingers traced the edge of the mahogany desk, and despite the strength she had projected for the world, a storm churned in her chest.
The quiet hum of her assistant’s voice over the intercom pulled her back to the present.
"Ms. Evans, Mr. Sinclair is here. Shall I send him in?"
She paused. It had been two days since she had learned the full extent of Adrian’s involvement in the media scandal. Two days since she had decided to give him a chance to explain himself.
"Yes," she said coolly, taking her seat.
The door opened, and Adrian walked in, every bit as composed and refined as she remembered—but there was a tension behind his eyes. He looked tired, worn by guilt, regret, and the weight of what they had become.
"Natalie," he said softly, his voice a low rumble.
"Adrian," she replied with a nod, gesturi
