Ava walked into the office the next morning with the same folded paragraph still tucked in her bag. The air smelled of burnt coffee and toner, but underneath it was something else—anticipation. She could feel eyes on her before she even reached her desk.
Someone knew. Or at least suspected.
Emails piled in, meetings blurred by, but she caught the subtle shifts: whispers dying when she entered the break room, Clara’s eyes holding hers for a fraction too long, the receptionist giving her a smile that wasn’t quite friendly. It wasn’t overt. It was worse—it was the kind of silence that carried weight.
By noon, she could barely focus. Her hands shook as she typed up a quarterly report, numbers swimming in and out of place. She wasn’t afraid of Dominic seeing her stumble—she was afraid of eve
