Rose's Point Of View
By the time the elevator doors slid open on the executive floor the next morning, my nerves had frayed into absolute tatters. I wasn't just quiet; I was a ghost occupying a cheap blazer, haunting the corridors with hollow eyes and trembling hands.
Every tiny sound… the sharp click-clack of designer heels on marble, the sudden, aggressive hiss of the espresso machine in the corner breakroom, even the harmless rustle of paper, sent jolts of adrenaline through my system, making me jump. My body had become a live wire, constantly sparking with fear.
I kept looking over my shoulder. Every. Single. Second.
