The next morning, Vivian sat in her office, staring blankly at her computer screen. The city outside was already alive, sunlight spilling through the blinds, but her mind was stuck in the quiet storm of the previous day. She couldn’t stop replaying it, the hospital, the look on Clara’s face, the sharpness in her own voice. She had been unfair. Cruel, even. All because of a stupid picture and the way it made her feel. Her chest tightened with guilt. That wasn’t leadership. That was insecurity, she admitted silently. With a quiet sigh, Vivian opened her laptop and began typing. > Subject: My Apologies Dear Clara, I want to sincerely apologize for the scene that took place yesterday. I reacted harshly and without understanding the full situation. I let stress and assumptions get the better of me, and for that, I’m truly sorry. Please extend my apologies to your mother as well. I hope she’s feeling better. Regards, Vivian Whitmore She read the message twice before hit

Vivian waited until the door closed behind them before sinking back into her chair again, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. The faint click of Damon’s shoes faded as he walked down the hall, leaving her alone once more with her thoughts, and an uneasy feeling that wouldn’t quite go away. She rubbed her temple, trying to push away the tension building there, when another soft knock sounded. “Come in,” she said, her tone weary. The door opened to reveal Celeste, her closest friend outside office hours , dressed in a blush-colored blouse that somehow brightened the room the moment she stepped in. “Busy?” Celeste asked gently, closing the door behind her. Vivian gave a half-smile. “Always.” “Well,” Celeste said, walking over with an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes, “you might want to take a break this weekend. There’s a charity ball at the Langston Hotel, the one hosted by the Chamber. I came to make sure you’re attending.” Vivian arched a brow. “Since when do I go to events just be

Damon’s gaze didn’t waver, but something in the air shifted, a thin crack in his composure, so quick someone less observant than Celeste would have missed it. Her smile widened, slowly abd deliberately “Relax. I’m not asking for your childhood trauma,” she teased lightly, though her eyes were far from joking. “Just… the thing you don’t let anyone see.” Damon leaned forward slightly, placing both palms on the edge of his desk, not aggressive, but controlled. Always controlled. “Celeste,” he said quietly, “I didn’t get to where I am by handing out pieces of myself like business cards.” “True,” she mused, tilting her head. “You got here by locking everything behind bulletproof glass. Very impressive. Very lonely.” His jaw flexed with acknowledgment of Celeste’s words, “You assume loneliness bothers me,” he replied. Celeste chuckled, soft and warm. “It does. You just don’t admit it because admitting is messy.” She took one more step toward him, now close enough that her perfume brus

That night, Damon lay awake longer than he wanted. He turned on his side, then onto his back, staring at the ceiling where faint lines split across the plaster. The jade necklace rested on the table beside him. Each time he closed his eyes, the memory of Vivan holding her own jade piece came back. The two stones had almost burned when they touched, the light from them filling the room. He could still see the way her eyes widened, how both of them froze like they were tied to something older than themselves. He sighed, pressing his palm to his face. Sleep barely touched him before the alarm rang. When the morning came, he dragged himself up, showered quickly, and dressed. His shirt collar felt stiff, his tie sat uneven, but he didn’t bother fixing it twice. He slipped the jade into his pocket, grabbed his case, and left unhurriedly for work. At work, Damon threw himself into catching up. He didn’t want anyone saying he had slacked off, not after all that had happened these past few

The morning felt heavier than usual when Damon pulled his car into the lot. His body ached from the bruises left by the men who had jumped him the previous day, but his mind was sharper than ever. He stepped out of the car, straightened his shirt, and adjusted the collar as if that alone could hide the exhaustion in his bones. He knew the office might already be buzzing with talk, and the last thing he wanted was to give anyone more reasons to look at him differently. He locked the car door and walked toward the building but before he could get to the entrance. Damon was halfway across the lobby when he heard a voice behind him. “Mr. Damon!” He stopped, recognizing the tone before he even turned. It was Clara—the staff whose mother he had helped. She hurried toward him, clutching a small velvet pouch in her hand. Her hair was pulled back neatly, though the worry on her face made her look restless. “I’m glad I caught you,” Clara said, slightly out of breath. “I… I couldn’t wa