Lena's pov
The office is half-asleep when I finally look up from my screen.
The rest of the building has gone quiet hours ago—just the hum of the air system, the faint buzz of a distant printer, the soft tick of the clock that’s been mocking me since eight p.m.
My desk is buried in analytics reports, graphs, and the faint ghost of coffee rings. The glow of the city outside filters through the tall windows, silver against the glass.
I’m rechecking the numbers for the presentation—again—when the door opens behind me. No knock. No warning.
Sebastian.
The air seems to rearrange itself before I even turn. His reflection appears in the window—dark suit, loosened tie, that impossible composure. He walks in like he owns every inch of this floor. Which, technically, he does.
He doesn’t say a
