Elena's POV
The tension didn't start with words.
It started in glances.
Too quick. Too polite. Too careful.
When Julian dropped me off at my office that morning, he kissed my cheek and told me he'd see me later. His hand lingered at the small of my back, warm and familiar.
But something in me had gone cold.
He didn't notice.
He waved as he pulled away, windows down, tie loosened. Effortlessly perfect.
I watched his car disappear down the street, then turned toward my building—high heels, straight spine, unreadable face.
Inside, I went through the motions. Meetings. Calls. Emails.
But my mind was somewhere else.
Still with her.
Sophia.
The text.
The breath she held when their fingers touched.
The way Julian said her name too casually.
I couldn't prove anything. Not yet. But I could feel it. The weight of something unspoken. The way secrets moved before they made a sound.
By noon, I couldn't focus.
I grabbed my bag and my keys and left.
Not for lunch.
Not for air.
