The pediatric wing at eight o’clock on a Thursday evening was a completely different world than during the day. The bright, bustling noise of daytime consultations had settled into a quiet, rhythmic hum. Down the long corridor, the famous painted sky ceiling glowed with soft, ambient night-lights, casting a dim indigo wash over the polished floors.
Sophia walked down the hallway, her heels making a soft, muted click against the tiles. She was wearing her work attire—a crisp ivory silk blouse tucked into a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and stopped just at her knees. She’d come back to grab the final set of structural blueprints for the wing’s upcoming expansion, having left them on the side table in Mark’s corner office before heading out to dinner with a contractor.
