The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime onto the executive floor. Clara stepped out, clutching her coffee like armor against the day ahead. She’d made a habit of arriving ten minutes early—less time to be cornered, less chance to run into Nicholas in the hallways.
But today, the air was different. The usual steady hum of printers and clicking keyboards was pierced by a restless energy. Phones rang sharply, feet hurried between desks, and even Marianne—always poised, always composed—stormed past with a flush in her cheeks, clutching three folders as if her life depended on them.
Clara’s eyes darted toward her desk. A stack of unopened envelopes waited like silent threats. She barely had time to sit when Veronica’s voice floated from the glass meeting room corner.
“…I want the gues
