By the time we reached reception, the whole lobby felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too careful.
The kind of silence people made when something had happened and no one wanted to be the first to say it out loud.
The receptionist stood rigid behind the desk, her face pale and composed in the fragile way of someone trying very hard not to panic at work. Two security officers were already there, along with one of Damian’s senior assistants and a man from building management who looked like he deeply regretted every life choice that had brought him into this moment.
And in the center of it all, resting on the polished marble of the front desk, was a white gift box.
It was beautiful.
That was the first disturbing thing about it.
White satin ribbon. Sharp, expensive folds. No dents. No mess. It look
