The next morning didn't bring clarity.
It only brought a dull, persistent ache that sat right in the center of my chest, heavy as lead.
I woke up before my alarm, staring at the ceiling and listening to the distant hum of Manhattan waking up. My body felt like it was made of glass—one wrong move, one sharp thought, and I would shatter.
I went through the motions of my morning routine with mechanical precision. I chose a suit that was armor-black, sharp-shouldered, and completely devoid of the vulnerability I'd felt in that navy silk gown.
By the time I stopped at the Starbucks Reserve three blocks from the office, I was fully submerged in the 'assistant' persona.
"The usual, Ms. Clarke?" The barista asked, already reaching for the expensive beans William preferred.
"Yes. And a double espresso for me."I said, my voice steady.
I stood by the counter, clutching the cardboard carrier as if it were a life raft.
