Gio left Arianne's office and didn't return to his desk for a long time.
He walked the corridors of Rochefort Group instead, his tablet tucked under his arm, his face arranged into the neutral expression he'd perfected over years of practice. No one stopped him. No one asked if he was all right, and that was how he preferred it.
How long do you plan to torture yourself?
Her voice followed him down the hallway. Through the elevator. Into the lobby where the receptionist nodded at him and he nodded back. He understood what she'd meant. He wasn't oblivious. He knew exactly what he'd been doing for eight years. He knew exactly why.
He just hadn't expected her to say it aloud.
Evening found him in the south wing of the estate.
