Emma was fastening her earrings when her gaze drifted to her reflection.
For a moment she simply stared.
Yesterday kept replaying in fragments.
A terrace.
A question.
Silence.
Her father’s face.
The look in his eyes after she asked why she had never been enough.
Emma closed her eyes briefly.
No.
She wasn’t doing this again.
Not before work.
Not when she had an entire day waiting for her.
Blackwood Industries did not care about broken hearts.
Clients did not care.
Contracts did not care.
And neither did deadlines.
She had spent years learning how to function while carrying disappointment.
One more day wouldn’t kill her.
The ache remained.
Quiet.
Persistent.
But she pushed it aside.
Work first.
Emotions later.
It wasn’t a healthy strategy.
Unfortunately, it was the
