(Mira's POV)
I didn't answer my phone. Not that I didn't see it. Not that I didn't feel it buzzing like a tiny, guilty pulse against my thigh. I saw it. I felt it. I simply… didn't care.
The house felt too loud when it was quiet. My heels clicked against the hardwood floor once, twice, and I realized I was the only sound that mattered in the emptiness. I had left Wolfe Holdings behind today—and for once, I let the city outside feel bigger than me, not smaller.
Emails dinged. Texts pinged. Calls rang. Each one was a small, desperate plea I refused to acknowledge. The world was demanding my attention, and I told it: not today. Not you.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, black, with no sugar and no hesitation. Even this small ritual, usually comforting, felt different. It was deliberate and precise. I sat by the window, tracing the rim of the mug with a finger, letting my thoughts wander—not to work, not to strategy—but to him.
Ethan.
