The last ten minutes were spent resting in the room before Mirena finally rose from the couch and straightened her dress.
Her ankles no longer screamed in protest, but the faint ache was still there—a reminder that she'd chosen the wrong pair of heels for tonight of all times.
Sighing, she rolled her shoulders once, inhaled slowly, and let the air settle in her chest.
Heel pain or not, she needed to focus on tonight's main point.
The painting.
The knock came right on time.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened and Kelvin stepped in, his posture polite but alert, eyes scanned her once before a smile crossed his lips. “Miss Mirena. We’re resuming,” he informed.
Mirena smiled. “Thank you again for the room, Kelvin,” she said. “And your concern so far.”
He bowed s
