Violet stood in the courtyard a moment longer, watching Ambrose Ward’s retreating back until he disappeared through the glass doors. A quiet warmth spread through her chest—something she hadn’t felt in months. Not gratitude exactly, though there was plenty of that. It was the simple, almost forgotten sensation of being seen. Protected. Not because of who her husband was, or who her father-in-law was, but because someone had decided it was the right thing to do.
She rubbed her bruised wrist absently, the ache already dulling. Then she straightened her shoulders, smoothed her blouse one last time, and walked back into the building with her head high.
Ambrose, meanwhile, returned to his temporary office on the fourth floor. He closed the door, leaned against it for a second, and let out a s
