Kya arrived at the Whitmore mansion a little after two in the afternoon. The house was calm, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and warming the polished floors. The staff moved quietly in the background, and the faint scent of chamomile drifted from the sitting room where Reginald often spent his afternoons.
She settled on the couch with her laptop, trying to focus on the marketing reports she needed to review. But her mind kept drifting back to the elevator, to Natalie’s laughter, to the way Julian’s entire face softened when he held her.
She blinked hard, forcing her attention back to the screen.
Reginald rolled into the room in his wheelchair, a blanket over his lap. He studied her for a moment before speaking.
“You look sad, sweetheart.”
Kya looked up, startled. “I’m fine,
