6
Eva.
I noticed the change the second I walked into the office that morning. It wasn’t the usual buzz of a Friday; it was sharper, people whispering, moving faster, nervous energy prickling the air. I saw the reason the minute I rounded the corner: Mrs. Hayes, standing in the reception area, talking quietly with Lila.
Julian’s wife didn’t belong in this world of deadlines and corporate politics. She looked like she’d just stepped off a magazine cover—cream silk blouse, pearls, the kind of confidence that didn’t come from practice but from birthright. Her smile was as cold as ever. She didn’t see me at first, but I kept my head down, praying for invisibility.
Julian was in his office with the door closed. I glimpsed them through the glass—her hand on his sleeve, him nodding, stone-face
