Amelia's POV
Sleep doesn't come.
I lay in my small apartment staring at the ceiling, replaying the elevator. His voice saying my name. The way he looked at me like I was something he'd lost and couldn't figure out how to find again.
Professional colleagues in the same space.
The words felt strong when I said them. Now they just feel hollow.
At 3 AM, I give up and make coffee. Open my laptop. Throw myself into the market analysis I've been developing for the past week—tracking consumer behavior patterns in luxury retail sectors, identifying opportunities Sterling Holdings might exploit if they weren't so busy imploding.
If he weren't so busy imploding.
I shake my head. Not my problem anymore.
By dawn, the report is polished. Twenty-three pages of data visualization, trend analysis,
