Her phone buzzed against the table just as she was mid-stroke, her pencil caught in the curve of a new design. With a reluctant sigh, Clara reached for it.
“Ms. Clara,” came the voice of building security. “You have a visitor.”
Her brow furrowed. “Who?”
There was a pause, then the name dropped like a stone into her chest.
“Mr. Adrian.”
Clara froze. For a beat, she forgot how to breathe. The pencil slid from her fingers, rolling soundlessly across the desk. She hadn’t heard that name in months. No—longer than that. She hadn’t let herself. Memories of Adrian belonged to a different life, a version of her that felt young and unbearably foolish. A life of cheap student nights and whispered promises, of love that had curdled into betrayal. A wound that had once hollowed her so completely s
