Valentina POV
By nine-thirty, my office smelled like coffee, expensive paper, and the breakfast Sofia had decided I would eat whether I agreed or not.
She set the tray on my desk with the quiet authority usually reserved for military operations.
I looked at the croissant, its golden layers flaky and delicate, a perfect specimen from the bakery Sofia favored across town.
Then at her, standing there with her arms folded, expression unwavering, the faintest glint of challenge in her eyes. She only raised a brow, the universal signal that resistance was both expected and futile.
“No.”
“Yes.” Her reply was immediate, her tone so resolute it almost made me smile.
“I’m not hungry.” I protested, though my stomach had other ideas, already responding to the buttery scent curling through the
