Clara
Alexander finally enters the office. His gaze passes over the flowers in my hands before walking to my desk.
"Well," he says with a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I think someone has gone ahead of me."
His tone tries to sound light, almost joking. But there's something underneath those words.
Something tense, something I know.
He approaches and leaves his bouquet of red roses on the desk.
They are right next to the other flowers, for a moment I stare at both bouquets.
They are so different.
Ethan's flowers... soft, elegant. Alexander's red roses... intense, almost dramatic.
"They're his, aren't they?" says Alexander.
I look up at him. I don't need to say the name.
We both know who he's talking about.
"Yes," I answer.
The silence that follows lasts barely a seco
