Office of Alec Blackwood — Midday Meeting
The air inside the grand office was thick with tension and opulence. Walls lined with polished mahogany and steel reflected the glow of the chandelier. Ten elite clients surrounded the long oval table, folders open, projectors humming, but amidst the technical jargon and commercial propositions, one man’s attention wandered—not to the graphs or Alec’s piercing gaze—but to the silent, broken woman on the couch.
Melissa.
Her hands fumbled inside Alec’s leather office bag, searching for the charger, her eyes distant, her face pale and drained of color. She looked like a shadow of the fierce woman who once stood tall. And yet, even in this moment, her pain was raw, palpable.
One of the clients—Mr. Routh, a man known for his unfiltered tongue and in
