Mag-log inTwo weeks was enough time for chaos to become routine. Not peace. Not comfort. Routine. The cast had come off a week ago. The first few days had felt strange—like walking on borrowed ground. Her leg still ached if she pushed too hard, and sometimes she caught herself limping before forcing the weakness away. But today— there was no sign of it. Emma Laurent stepped out of the elevator in sharp black heels, each step precise against the polished marble floor of Blackwood Companies. Her ivory silk blouse was tucked neatly into a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her curves with effortless elegance. A fitted black blazer framed her shoulders, making her look exactly what she wanted the world to see— put together. Unshaken. Untouchable. Her blonde waves fell in soft layers around her shoulders, makeup subtle b
The question lingered longer than Emma expected. “Why is everyone treating me so differently?” It didn’t sound emotional. It didn’t sound defensive. Just… precise. Rowan didn’t answer immediately. He watched her instead—not her face, not her posture. Something quieter. The way she held still after asking. The way she didn’t fill silence. Then— “Because you’re different from everyone else.” Simple. Too simple. Emma held his gaze. “Am I?” A faint shift in his expression. Not quite a smile. Not quite approval. “Of course,” he said. “You’re not new here.” A pause. “You’re just returning in a different position.” That wasn’t an answer. It was a deflection. Emma registered it—but before she could press—
Morning didn’t feel new. It felt… resumed. Emma stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeve of her ivory blouse so it didn’t brush against the edge of her cast. The fabric was soft but structured, tucked neatly into high-waisted charcoal trousers that sharpened her silhouette. A fitted blazer rested over her shoulders—tailored, precise, powerful without trying too hard. Her hair fell in loose waves, controlled but not stiff. Minimal jewelry. Clean lines. Everything about her appearance said the same thing— Untouchable. Functional. In control. Even with the cast wrapped around her left leg, visible beneath the hem— She didn’t look broken. She looked… recalibrated. The doorbell rang. Emma frowned slightly. Too early. Too unexpected. It rang again. She walked over and opened the door.
The building didn’t try to impress. Blackwood Companies stood apart—not louder, not larger, just… quieter. Glass and steel, stripped of excess. No banners. No noise. No need to prove anything. Emma stepped inside. The lobby was nearly empty. No waiting crowd. No movement beyond what was necessary. Efficient. Controlled. The receptionist looked up immediately. “Ms. Laurent.” Not a question. Emma paused for half a second, then nodded. “I have an interview.” “Yes,” the woman replied, already reaching for a folder. “You’re expected.” Expected. Emma didn’t react. But she noticed. She hadn’t applied. ***** Across the city, something didn’t add up. Brian stood in front of the monitor, watching the foot
The news didn’t arrive loudly. It slipped in. A notification lighting up Emma’s phone in the quiet of her living room, cutting through the stillness Dominic had left behind. She didn’t pick it up immediately. But she already knew. Something had shifted. When she finally looked— The headline confirmed it. “Laura Reed Released on Bail—Linked to Emma Laurent Case” Emma read it once. Then again. Not because she needed to. Because her mind refused to accept how quickly everything had changed. She opened the article. A photograph filled the screen. Laura. Walking out of the station like nothing had touched her. Composed. Untouched. Almost… amused. And beside her— Dominic. Not hesitant. Not conflicted. Walking with her. Emma stared at that image a second longer than necessary. Then locked her phone. Her grip tightened. Not anger. Not shock. Something colder. More precise. She picked the phone up again and dialed. ***** Bri
Dominic didn’t wait. “I want to see Laura.” It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The officer at the front desk hesitated, instinctively straightening. “Sir, you can’t just—” “I’m not asking twice.” That tone. Controlled. Certain. Used to compliance. The officer picked up the phone immediately. Minutes later— Brian walked in. Fast. Focused. Already irritated. He stopped a few feet away from Dominic, assessing him in a single glance. “You’ve got a habit of walking into places like you own them,” Brian said. Dominic didn’t react. “I want to see her.” “No,” Brian replied instantly. Flat. Final. A pause. Dominic’s eyes sharpened. “You don’t understand—” “No,” B







