The familiar hum of productivity filled the bright, open office space—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, the quiet murmur of focused conversations. The air smelled faintly of fresh coffee and printer ink, the scent of efficiency and momentum. Isabelle stood at her sleek glass desk, the latest product designs spread out before her like puzzle pieces waiting to be arranged. Her eyes scanned each sketch with practiced focus, her red pen tapping rhythmically against her lip as she made notes in the margins.
Here, everything made sense.
Deadlines. Goals. Results.
No messy emotions. No silent battles.
And she intended to keep it that way.
The weight of her personal life—the sleepless nights, the quiet ache she never spoke of—faded into the background when she was here. Work was her refuge,
