The hospital felt almost too quiet the morning he was discharged — the kind of quiet that makes you afraid to speak too loud, like you might wake the memory of everything that had just happened.
I helped him pack the few things he had — a book, his phone, the thin hospital blanket he kept insisting was fine. He was smiling again. Not the polite kind he wore for the world, but something warmer. Easier.
Before I left, he caught my wrist gently.
"Dinner tonight?"
I nodded, trying not to let my grin show too much. "Only if you promise not to talk about work."
He chuckled softly, that low, careful sound I'd started to crave.
"No work. Just us."
Just us.
It felt fragile but real — like something that might actually last if the world would let it.
By the time I reached the office, the sky had cleared, washed pale blue by the rain. The world was back to spinning like nothing had happened.
People were laughing near the elevators, someone was complaining about the coffee machine again — everything was ordinary.
Except me.
I couldn't stop smiling.
I made it to my desk, dropped my bag, and tried to focus on the day's schedule. The world felt lighter somehow.
He was okay. He was going home.
Everything else could wait.
Around noon, my phone buzzed with a message from reception.
Mr. Blake requests your presence in his office. Immediately.
I frowned, rereading it.
Mr. Blake.
Adrian had said he'd rest today — that he wouldn't come back until the doctor cleared him.
Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe he was stubborn enough to show up early. It would be just like him.
Still, something in the wording made me pause. Requests your presence. Not asks to see you.
It sounded formal, detached — wrong.
I took a steadying breath and made my way up to the executive floor.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. The corridor was quiet, lined with glass and polished marble. I'd walked this path a hundred times, but today it felt… off.
The air was too still.
When I reached his office door, it was already open.
He was standing by the window, back to me, suit perfectly pressed, posture sharp — every inch of him radiating control.
For a moment, relief washed through me. He was fine. He was here.
"Adrian?" I said softly, stepping closer.
He turned.
And my breath caught.
This wasn't him.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You came quickly."
My heart stuttered. That voice — it was his, but not. Lower, smoother, practiced.
"Of course," I managed. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."
He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was something he'd seen before and wasn't sure he wanted to again.
"Back?" he echoed.
"Yes," I said, forcing a small laugh. "From the hospital."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then —
"The hospital," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word for the first time. "Right."
The smile returned, sharper now.
Something in my stomach turned cold.
His eyes flicked briefly to the desk, where a folder lay open — not Adrian's usual mess of notes, but neatly arranged pages in a handwriting that wasn't his.
I took a hesitant step back.
He noticed. Of course he did.
He crossed the room in two slow steps, stopping just close enough for me to catch the faint scent of his cologne — familiar but somehow… wrong.
"We meet again, Miss Jazmyne," he said softly