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I woke up with a pounding headache, the kind that makes you question if sleep is even worth it.
Sunlight streamed through the wide glass windows, hitting my face.
I dragged myself out of bed and walked over to close the curtains. The light was too much, and I wasn't in the mood to feel cheerful.
I went straight to my bedside drawer and pulled out a small bottle of painkillers.
Picking up the half-empty bottle of water on my nightstand, I took two pills and swallowed them quickly.
My head still hurt, but I didn't wait for the medicine to kick in.
I walked into the bathroom connected to my room and wiped the fog off the mirror with my hand. I stared at myself.
The scars were gone, but the exhaustion on my face was clear. My eyes looked dull, my skin pale. I looked like someone who hadn't slept well in weeks.
I showered slowly, not caring how long I stayed under the water.
When I was done, I dried off and began my usual routine: skincare, hair, a light spritz of perfume.
I chose a soft pink gown from my wardrobe, pairing it with silver earrings, a matching necklace, and pink heels.
I didn't overthink the outfit. It was neat and appropriate. That was enough.
Once ready, I stepped out of my room and headed downstairs.
I walked slowly, expecting the house to be quiet. Most mornings, everyone was already gone.
But today, my father, Gregory, sat at the head of the long table, flipping through documents while his assistant whispered updates beside him.
My sister, Isabella, leaned toward our mother, both of them whispering and laughing as if I didn't exist.
Disappointment tightened in my chest.
I walked in quietly, keeping my eyes down. "Good morning," I said, reaching for a slice of toast and pouring tea into my cup.
No response. Not even eye contact.
I wasn't surprised.
Then Dad tossed a file toward me without looking up. "Take that to the Earl Empire. Finalize the terms."
I caught the file before it slid off the table. "Okay."
"Bella, my love," he turned to Isabella, suddenly all smiles, "what were you saying?"
"I want to go to Paris with my friends for a few weeks. And I didn't finish the quarterly reports yesterday," Bella said casually.
"You can go. Rose will handle it," he replied.
"But Dad, I already haveā¦"
"You heard me."
Just like that, she snatched the toast from my hand with a smirk, leaning back smugly into her chair like a queen relieved of duty. I blinked back the sting behind my eyes and stood up.
I left without eating.
Scene: Earl Empire
The Earl Empire loomed in front of me, as if it knew I didn't belong.
All glass, power, and sharp edges, just like the people who ran it.
I clutched the file tighter to my chest, my fingers aching from the pressure.
Maybe if I squeezed hard enough, the pain in my chest would stop.
Maybe it would drown out the echo of my father's voice still replaying in my head.
"Rose will handle it."
Of course she would.
She always did.
The car stopped. The driver didn't say a word. He never did, not unless my father was in the car.
I stepped out, my heels hitting the ground like soft gunshots, quiet but sharp enough to be felt.
The glass doors slid open automatically, swallowing me whole.
Everyone in the lobby looked polished, busy, important. No one glanced at me. That was normal. That was expected.
I kept walking, straight to the front desk, chin up, pulse screaming beneath my skin.
The receptionist looked like she'd stepped out of a luxury fashion ad. Perfect makeup, red nails, that slightly bored expression the wealthy wore like perfume.
She didn't look up until I stood right in front of her.
"Hi," I said, my voice calm and rehearsed. "I'm here to see Mr. Oliver Earl. Nine a.m. appointment."
Her fingers paused over the keyboard. Her sharp, assessing eyes swept over me like a scanner.
Not cruel. Just calculating.
"Hiddleson?" she asked.
I nodded. "Rose."
Something shifted behind her eyes, recognition maybe, or curiosity. I couldn't tell. Didn't care.
She picked up the sleek office phone, whispered something quickly, nodded, then set it down.
"He's expecting you. 20th floor. Executive suite."
I gave her a tight smile. "Thank you."
Just as I turned around, I collided with a wall.
No.
Not a wall.
Him.
Charles.
He was suddenly right there, close, too close, as if he'd been waiting for me to turn.
My shoulder hit his chest with enough force to make me stumble, and his hand shot out, steadying me by the arm.
A jolt of electricity shot through me before I moved back.
His eyes scanned my face, lingering on my necklace, my dress, perhaps the slight tremble in my hand as it clutched the file.
"Rose," he said softly, as if my name still meant something.
I swallowed. "Hey."
His gaze held mine a second too long before he spoke again.
"You look better today."
The words hit harder than they should have.
He didn't mean the heels or the earrings.
He meant that night.
The version of me he'd carried off the street like a secret.
A quiet breath escaped my lips. I didn't trust myself to say more.
So I just nodded. "Thank you."
He didn't ask where I'd gone. Or why I'd run.
He didn't need to.
The elevator dinged behind me, perfect timing.
I stepped inside without looking back.
But just before the doors closed, I turned my head, just slightly.
He was still standing there.
Watching.
The meeting with Oliver Earl was efficient, clean, and impersonal, just the way I preferred it. We discussed the terms. I handed over the file. Smiled where necessary. Nodded when expected.
But the entire time, my mind kept drifting back to the elevator.
To him.
Charles.
When I stepped back into the lobby, I didn't expect to see him. Honestly, I prayed I wouldn't.
But there he was.
Leaning casually against a marble pillar, hands in his pockets as if he wasn't waiting for anything or anyone.
Yet the moment our eyes met, I knew.
He was waiting.
For me.
I paused for a split second, unsure if I should walk past him, unsure if I even could.
He pushed off the pillar and met me halfway, stopping just close enough that I could catch his cologne.
"You survived," he said, that signature half-smirk tugging at his lips.
"Barely," I replied, managing a soft laugh.
A beat of silence passed. Thenā¦
"Do you want to grab a coffee?"
I blinked. "Now?"
He shrugged, but his gaze didn't waver. "Unless you're late for something else."
I wasn't.
I should've said no.
I should've walked away like I always did.
But something about the way he stood there, calm, unassuming, as if he were offering rather than asking, made it hard to refuse.
Maybe I owed him that much.
"Okay," I said.
A small, genuine smile flickered across his face. Soft.