Alan
The morning sun poured through the high windows of the Vance Corporation headquarters, catching the sleek lines of glass and steel in a sharp brilliance. I stepped into the office, briefcase in hand, and felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle across my shoulders.
Today, like every day since Cyril had returned, I could feel her presence in the air before I even saw her.
She was at her desk already, neatly organized, a cup of coffee steaming beside her laptop, her posture perfect, her gaze focused on the spreadsheets in front of her.
The office, for her, was a sanctuary of discipline and intellect, a world she had carved for herself.
I paused at the doorway, taking in the sight, and felt that familiar tug in my chest, the need to reach out, to remind her she was mine,
