Isabelle’s Point of View
It was just past 5:55 p.m. and the office was finally quiet.I slipped my laptop into its sleeve, placed it in the side compartment of my handbag, and straightened up with a sigh.
My heels ached, my blazer felt too tight after an entire day of meetings, and all I wanted was to go home, peel off my clothes, and sink into a bath with the kind of silence you can’t buy in the city.
That was the plan.
Until I felt the air shift behind me.
At first, I ignored it—probably someone from the cleaning crew, or an associate too deep in their work to realize the day was done. But then the presence stayed. Heavy. Intentional. My instincts stirred.
I turned slowly, brows already raised, ready to ask what they needed.
And froze.
A tall man stood in the doorway. He wore tai
