The Mexico office tower stood wrapped in polished elegance above the crowded city streets, its dark mirrored windows reflecting pale morning sunlight while distant traffic murmured far below like restless waves beneath stone cliffs, and inside the private executive floor silence ruled with the sharp precision of power carefully maintained for generations.
Valeria Cruz walked slowly through the corridor toward Alexander's office with a leather folder held tightly against her chest, though the calm professionalism visible across her face concealed the quiet storm tightening deeper beneath her ribs with every passing hour.
Because she had watched him changing.
Little by little.
Conversation by conversation.
Glance by glance.
And all of it traced back to one girl.
Elara.
