MasukI looked at her. She looked at me. "Because it was," I said. She held my gaze. "You don't know that." "Yes I do," I said. "And so do you." She looked away. Her thumb brushing my ribs. Once. The small, unconscious motion she had kept doing, and I had noticed every single time. "Not ready," she
She said nothing for a moment. "You're using the concussion," she said. "I'm resting." "You're manipulating." "I'm horizontal." "Edward." "Define the difference," I said. She made a sound low in her throat. "You're impossible." "You're still here," I said. A long pause. "Yes," she said qui
Her hands. Both of them. One at my arm, one flat against my chest. "I have you." The voice from the road. Low. Certain. "Stay still." "I'm not—" "Couch." She moved me the way she'd moved me in that hospital room. Knowing where the sling was. Knowing the ribs. Not being told once. And I let her,
Edward's POV She was all I thought of. Two weeks and it had come down to that. Just her. Just this corridor. Just her four steps behind me not moving. "You wanted to talk." I held her gaze. "My office." I turned and walked. Four steps before I understood she wasn't behind me. I turned back.
And that was the room's decision. What everyone had agreed to without agreeing to it. That Edward had returned and they would let him return and no one would say the thing that was plainly visible to anyone who had looked at him for more than thirty seconds. Because he was Edward Valentine and this
"Marketing's request is inflated," he said. "The ROI projections rely on best-case assumptions that won't hold this quarter. The operations upgrades are necessary, but the proposed timeline is unrealistic." His voice was controlled. Impeccably controlled. The kind of control that is a performance i







