Millie’s footsteps echoed against the hardwood, too loud, too sharp in the stillness. Every step toward the study felt stretched thin, drawn out like the silence swallowing the corridor.
She barely lifted her hand to knock when a voice cut through the quiet, measured, and low.
“Come in.”
She pushed the door open. The study was steeped in the scent of leather, ink, and old paper. Ethan sat behind a wide desk cluttered with files and correspondence, his head bowed as he studied a page.
“Pour me a glass,” he said without looking up.
Millie moved to the sideboard, and the glass clinked lightly as she poured, hands unsteady. The scent rose, sharp and heady. She crossed the room and placed the drink on the desk without a word.
Only then did Ethan lift his gaze.
“Sit.”
She obeyed, lowerin
