Raymond's POV
I’ve sat in rooms with billion-dollar contracts on the table a lot of times and never felt as much pressure as I did watching Naomi stir her tea three times and not drink it.
She hadn’t touched her coffee that morning either, or her toast, and the past few nights, she’d tossed and turned so much that I stopped pretending to be asleep and just held her hand under the sheets.
She said it was just stress. That her mind was too full. And I believed that—partly.
But there was something else, something deeper vibrating beneath the surface of her. She was running on fumes, emotionally and physically, and I wasn’t sure she realized it.
Naomi wasn’t someone who asked for help. She offered it like oxygen to others, but when it came to herself, she tightened like a fist.
She tho
