Cyril
I retreated to the guest room and dressed. The charcoal skirt and silk blouse felt like a suit of armor that had been compromised. I looked at myself in the mirror, the gothic makeup gone, leaving my face pale and my eyes haunted. I looked like a ghost inhabiting a corporate shell.
I walked back into the living room, grabbing my handbag. My phone was still off. I felt a phantom vibration in my pocket, a desperate pull toward the manor, but I forced my feet to stay planted.
"I'm leaving," I said. "But I'm not going to the office. And I'm not answering him."
Miller leaned against the doorframe, a dark, triumphant spark in his eyes. "Good. Let him rot in that glass tower. If you need anything—anything at all—you know where I am."
I walked past him, the sandalwood scent making me f
