Wendy
By the time we arrived at the Wyatt-Grant Initiative, my chest already felt heavy.
The building itself was beautiful—sleek white stone and glass rising elegantly above the busy Manhattan street. Reed stepped out first before immediately turning to offer me his hand.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
I nodded and let him help me from the car.
The moment we stepped into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted.
“Mr. Wyatt!”
The receptionist nearly jumped out of her chair.
Her smile was bright and professional, but I still noticed the flicker of nervousness in her eyes as her attention darted instinctively toward Reed.
“We weren’t expecting you today, sir,” she said quickly. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything is fine, Claire,” Reed assured her smoothly. “My wife wanted to visit the office
