The evening settled slowly over Donovan Industries, spreading its quietness across offices that had been noisy just hours before. Staff drifted out one after another, lights dimmed floor by floor, and the tension of the day dissolved into the corridors like smoke dispersing.But Clarissa didn’t feel any ease.She stood by the window of her office long after the building emptied, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes fixed on the fading city lights below. The memory of Michael’s expression earlier — withdrawn, closed off, unreachable, clung to her like a shadow she couldn’t shake.When she finally left the office, her chest still felt heavy.She drove straight to the Oduah residence.Mrs. Oduah welcomed her inside with a warm smile, but the older woman’s eyes sharpened the moment she saw Clarissa’s face.“My dear, you look troubled,” she said softly, guiding her toward the living room.Clarissa didn’t sit immediately. She paced once, twice, then finally lowered herself o

The briefing was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., but by 8:30, the government complex was already pulsing with controlled activity. Security personnel moved briskly through the hallways, assistants hurried across the marble floors with folders tucked under their arms, and the weight of formality sat heavily in the air. Donovan Industries had never taken a governor-level briefing lightly, and today was no exception.Clarissa arrived exactly on time.Michael came in four minutes later.From the moment he stepped into the room, she noticed it — the heaviness in his shoulders, the dullness beneath his eyes, the way his steps lacked their usual firmness. Exhaustion clung to him in a way that even his crisp suit couldn’t hide.He greeted the officials politely, but there was a softness in his voice, a weariness that didn’t belong in a room like this. Clarissa watched him closely as they took their seats. She wanted to reach out, even discreetly, but she held back. He had drawn a line between t

Sophia’s clearance form arrived on Michael’s desk early in the morning, placed neatly beside his laptop by his assistant. It was supposed to be a simple final signature — routine protocol, nothing more. A quick scribble, a brief acknowledgment, then HR would collect it and move the process along.But Michael didn’t touch it.He arrived, dropped his phone on the table, scanned the documents lined up for the day, and when his eyes landed on the clearance form, he paused.The top sheet had her name in bold letters:'Sophia Donovan — Final Clearance Approval.'His throat tightened.He picked up the form, stared at it for a few seconds, and instead of signing, he set it aside.“I’ll handle it later,” he muttered to his assistant.An hour passed.Then another.Then half the morning.Reports came in and emails piled up.But the document sat untouched.At noon, his assistant returned nervously. “Sir, HR is requesting the signed clearance. Should I tell them you’re still reviewing it?”Micha

Michael didn’t go home.He didn’t even try.The moment Sophia stepped out of the building earlier that afternoon, something inside him detached itself from the rhythm of his day. Meetings blurred. Emails were ignored. Voices faded. His assistant knocked twice before giving up entirely.By the time he finally left the office, dusk was slipping into the city.He got into his car and started driving without direction, just movement, just motion, just the hum of the engine filling the empty spaces inside him. He drove past familiar roads, past streetlights that flickered awake one by one, past buildings that held years of memories he didn’t want to revisit.His thoughts came in waves — heavy, jagged, unpredictable. Every memory of Sophia, every conversation, every moment they shared in their early years at Donovan Industries rose up with painful clarity.Eventually, without realising how he got there, he found himself on the long quiet road that led to the riverside.The same riverside

Michael’s withdrawal began as a quiet shift — the kind people noticed without wanting to admit what they were seeing. At first, it looked like exhaustion.Everyone assumed he just needed a few days to recover from the stress of the past weeks.But by mid-week, the change in him could no longer be dismissed as ordinary fatigue.He started turning down meetings without explanation. Not delegating them, not rescheduling them, simply refusing to attend. Calls from the finance department, government procurement, and even partners abroad went unanswered. His assistant knocked on his office door repeatedly, each time leaving with a more anxious expression than before.“He said he’s not available,” she whispered to one of the senior managers after the third attempt.“But we need his approval—”“I know,” she replied helplessly. “He won’t open the door.”Inside that room, Michael kept the curtains half-drawn and the lights off for most of the day. He sat behind his desk but rarely touched t