"Send a message to Tiffany & Co.," Zane said, eyes on the tablet but not truly reading. "My assistant will collect the package this afternoon. Gift-wrap it in silver—navy ribbon, not white."
"Yes, sir," Lisabeth replied, stylus already gliding across her screen.
"And forward Willow Hale's address to Ardent Blooms. White orchids with crimson throats. Crystal vase. Delivery before six."
Lisabeth looked up. "Would you like to include a note?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "No note. She'll know."
When the door closed behind her, the office went too still. The city shimmered beyond the glass—a grid of light and motion, the empire he'd built on precision and self-control. But today, control felt ornamental, like a suit that no longer fit.
He exhaled slowly. You're losing your edge, Reyes.
A man who could end a boardroom war with one raised eyebrow was now micromanaging ribbons and flowers. Absurd.
And yet—he couldn't stop.
