KENDRA
The sunlight filtered softly through the tall dining room windows when I walked in, still slightly tired from the restless night before. Pascal was already seated at the table, sleeves rolled up, reading something on his tablet with a cup of black coffee in front of him.
“Good morning,” I muttered, taking my seat.
His eyes flicked up to me, unreadable. “Morning.”
The silence between us lingered, thick but not hostile, just… full. I reached for the coffee pot when he said, without looking away from me this time, “We should take a break.”
My hand froze mid-air. “From what?”
“From everything,” he said simply, setting his tablet down. “The board. The investigation. Ethan. All of it.”
I blinked. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke before breakfast.” The corner of his mouth curved slig
