The conference room emptied like a receding tide, voices echoing off glass walls, leather chairs left swiveling in absence. Max stood motionless at the head of the table, his fingers still pressed against the cool mahogany surface. Behind him, Grace lingered like perfume—light, deliberate, and cloyingly familiar.
"You're quiet," she said, stepping closer. Her heels made no sound on the plush carpet, like she'd floated in, like always.
Max didn't look at her. His jaw was clenched, the twitch in his temple betraying his silence.
Grace gave a soft laugh, half amused, half calculated. “Still doing that thing where you bottle it all up and act like it doesn’t matter. Charming, Max. Really.”
Finally, he turned. “What do you want, Grace?”
Her eyes flickered—emeralds in sunlight, pupils calcu
