Amara’s POV
I tightened my grip on my laptop bag and walked through the revolving doors, heels clicking against polished marble. The lobby buzzed with its usual rhythm, assistants moving briskly, executives murmuring into phones, coffee carts steaming near the elevators.
People were watching me subtly, and whispers stopped whenever I passed.
Some of them had their eyes lingering half a second too long; the sabotage from yesterday’s meeting had spread faster than wildfire. I hated it, but I refused to let them see it affect me.
By the time I entered the elevator, my spine was rigid with control.
You survive, and you adapt, Amara. You never let them see you bleed. The elevator doors slid shut just before another hand caught them.
Ethan stepped inside.
Of course, him. The air changed i
