Zoe's POV
I hesitated at the threshold of Zara's office, my fingers grazing the cool glass of the door as if it might steady me.
Ashley stood just behind me, her presence a quiet anchor. When I glanced back, she gave me a small smirk—forced but reassuring—the kind people wear when they want you to believe everything will be fine even when they're not sure themselves.
"After you," Zara said, holding the door open.
Her tone was neutral. Professional. Impossible to read.
I swallowed and stepped inside.
The first thing I noticed wasn't Zara's sleek desk or the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city like a living photograph. It wasn't the faint scent of citrus and expensive perfume lingering in the air. It was the television.
It was mounted on the wall directly across the room.
And on the screen—
Brandon.
My breath caught so sharply it hurt.
