The morning after the gala was quiet, almost eerily so. The snow from the night before still clung to rooftops and tree branches, the city muffled beneath a soft, white blanket. Emma sat by the window, fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, eyes tracing the delicate patterns frost had left on the glass. Her mind was racing—not from exhaustion but from the weight of decisions that had begun to settle in after last night’s triumph.
The gala had been a success. The council had praised her designs, influential clients had expressed interest, and invitations for collaborative projects were already trickling in. Yet with every professional accolade came the gentle reminder of Liam’s quiet concern during the evening.
Her phone buzzed, and she saw a message from Liam:
Morning. Coffee lat
