The moment she slipped out of the conference room, the atmosphere shifted.
Not dramatically. Not loudly.
Just—subtly. Like someone had nudged the equilibrium of the entire floor by a few degrees, and now everything sat uneven.
I didn't move at first.
Adrian was still standing near the head of the table, smiling that soft, tired smile of his. The kind he used when he wanted people to believe he was fine.
Everyone clapped politely for my introduction, but their eyes weren't on me.
They kept flicking back and forth between us—between the two men they'd only ever seen separately.
Two identical faces, two different demeanors.
The whispers spread through the room like ink through water.
"So the rumors were true…"
"There really are two of them."
"I thought he was just… different moods?"
"What if there are more?"
I almost smiled at the last one.
Humans could build entire conspiracies from a shadow.
But it wasn't the whispers I was paying attention to.
It was Adrian.
More specifically—his eyes.
They followed her retreating figure with a subtle panic he probably assumed no one else would notice. But I did. I always do. Adrian wears his emotions like a loose thread. Tug anywhere and the entire thing unravels.
When the room finally emptied, he let out a breath so silent most people wouldn't have caught it.
Most people.
"You planned that," he muttered without looking at me.
I lifted a brow. "Planned what?"
"That entrance."
He finally turned his head, eyes dark. "Exactly when she wasn't paying attention."
Interesting.
Not 'Exactly when the meeting started.'
Not 'Exactly when it was convenient.'
Not even 'Exactly when the agenda called for it.'
He framed it around her.
Predictable.
"You're imagining things," I replied, brushing an invisible speck off the table.
Except he wasn't. Not entirely.
Timing matters. So does shock. So does observation.
And I had learned something very important from her expression in those three seconds she looked up:
She recognized my face.
But not me.
A very distinct difference.
Which raised a question:
Why would someone look at my brother that way?
And why would she look at me like a ghost she didn't remember meeting?
I left the conference room first, mostly because Adrian remained behind—probably to collect himself—and partially because I wanted to see how the office reacted.
Reaction reveals truth.
By the time I stepped into the main room, employees were already buzzing. A few tried to appear professional, but the curiosity in their glances broke through their masks.
Some stared too long.
Some whispered to their desks.
Some avoided my eyes completely.
And she—Amara—was seated at her station, posture stiff, pretending to type.
Except her fingers weren't moving.
And the document on the screen wasn't changing.
Avoidance, then.
But not the confident, rebellious kind.
Not the "I have something against you" kind.
No—hers was the quiet kind.
The kind rooted in caution.
And history.
She avoided looking at me the way someone avoids looking at the door of a room they once got trapped in.
The caller's voice echoed faintly in my mind—
"You think you don't know her.
But you will."
Almost prophetic, in hindsight.
I walked past her desk without stopping. Slowed a fraction, perhaps. Enough to observe. Not enough to be noticed.
Up close, she looked… steadier than she did yesterday.
Still tense.
Still hiding something behind a forced calm.
But steadier.
Someone who wanted to move forward but wasn't sure where the ground would hold.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Back inside my office, I closed the door and let the quiet settle.
I reached into my side cabinet bringing out the folder I'd kept since day one—the one with her notes. I flipped through the pages, not to read them (I already had), but to examine the handwriting, the structure, the mistakes.
Her work was good.
Not polished—no one at her level is polished—but sharp.
Fast.
Instinctive.
The kind of mind that runs ahead of the page and tries to pull the words with it.
An ambitious mind.
Dangerous, if underestimated.
But it wasn't her work the caller warned me about.
It was the situation orbiting her.
So I looked again. Not at the writing, but at the margins—Adrian's notes hidden between the lines— not blending in but almost. His handwriting, softer, more curved, written with someone in mind.
Personal.
He was teaching her.
No wonder the panic earlier.
No wonder the way she froze when she saw me.
I leaned back in my chair.
The office was too quiet for a building full of secrets.
If I listened closely enough, I could almost hear the sound of things shifting—like the universe was tilting just slightly toward her, toward whatever truth she carried without realizing.
Because people like Amara don't know when they're carrying something dangerous.
Not until it breaks open.
I rubbed a thumb slowly against my jawline.
"Are you really who I think you are?" I murmured into the empty room.
Not because I expected an answer.
But because I knew it would reveal itself.
Soon.
The door opened without warning.
Adrian stepped in, shutting it behind him. He didn't sit. Didn't speak immediately. He just looked at me with a stare that had a single question carved behind it:
Why now?
I could've answered honestly:
Because someone called me.
Because someone warned me about a problem tied to your company.
Because a girl you clearly care about is part of it.
Because your softness has always been your weakness.
Because I needed to see whether she was the leverage… or you were.
But I said none of that.
"I came to work," I said simply, leaning back in my chair.
He exhaled—sharp, frustrated, exhausted.
"You always pick the worst timing."
"Or," I countered, "the right one."
He didn't respond.
Because he knew I was right.
Timing is never accidental in families like ours.
Especially not now.
Especially not with the shadow of that phone call still following me, still whispering that whatever was coming… started here.
Started with this building.
Started with her.
After Adrian left, I stayed a long time in the quiet.
Not thinking.
Just… observing the pattern forming.
Hers.
Adrian's.
The caller's.
The company's.
The sudden urgency.
The familiarity I couldn't place.
Something threaded all of it together.
Something I hadn't seen yet.
But I would.
People like me always do.
And for the first time since stepping into this company, I allowed myself a small, slow, amused smile.
Not because I understood the mystery.
But because the mystery had finally begun.