Monday morning arrived like a punishment Fiona hadn't earned.
She stepped off the elevator , already exhausted before the day began. The weekend had been a slow bleed of sleepless nights and silent crying jags on the couch. She had stared at her resignation letter draft until the words blurred, deleted it twice, rewrote it three times, and finally saved it and printed a copy. She told herself she would decide today.
Fiona hadn't even reached her desk when the air shifted.
The usual morning buzz—Riley's laugh from the coffee station, Maya's brisk voice on a call, Sara humming off-key—suddenly dropped a pitch. Heads turned. Whispers rippled. A ripple of expensive perfume cut through the normal office scent of coffee and printer ink.
Clara Voss walked through the open-plan floor like she owned it.
