Two weeks was enough time for chaos to become routine.
Not peace.
Not comfort.
Routine.
The cast had come off a week ago.
The first few days had felt strange—like walking on borrowed ground. Her leg still ached if she pushed too hard, and sometimes she caught herself limping before forcing the weakness away.
But today—
there was no sign of it.
Emma Laurent stepped out of the elevator in sharp black heels, each step precise against the polished marble floor of Blackwood Companies.
Her ivory silk blouse was tucked neatly into a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her curves with effortless elegance. A fitted black blazer framed her shoulders, making her look exactly what she wanted the world to see—
put together.
Unshaken.
Untouchable.
Her blonde waves fell in soft layer
