~Karla's POV~
The next morning, I wake up before my alarm—heart fluttering like it knows I'm about to do something out of character.
I stare at Liam's message for too long before I finally reply.
KARLA:
I'll meet you there. One coffee. No muffins bribing my trust.
… Okay, maybe one muffin.
Ten minutes later, he texts back:
LIAM:
One muffin. Two smiles. Deal.
It's just past 10 a.m. when I arrive at the café.
It's tucked between a record store and a florist, with ivy crawling up its old brick and warm light glowing through the front windows. The kind of place that smells like cinnamon, second chances, and last-minute essays.
Liam's already inside, leaning over a table with two steaming drinks and a plate of blueberry muffins.
He stands when he sees me simple hoodie, hair messy like he didn't try, but somehow still managed to pull off effortless.
"You came," he says, voice easy.
"I did," I reply. "But I'm still not sure why."
He smiles, motioning to the chair across from him. "Then let's find out."
We talk. Not about work. Not about school. Not even about Dominic.
We talk about growing up, about favorite movies, worst roommates, the weirdest things we've Googled at 2 a.m. He tells me about his sister in Boston and how he wants to write one day, even if no one reads it. I tell him about Aunt Evelyn and the house that always smelled like rosemary and rain.
He listens.
And that does something to me I wasn't prepared for.
Not everything has to be complicated.
Some moments just… are.
It's almost noon when I finally walk through the front door of the apartment.
I barely get two steps in before Tessa jumps off the couch.
Her smile is so wide it could legally qualify as unhinged. "YOU WENT."
I raise an eyebrow. "Were you just sitting here waiting?"
She gasps. "Excuse me, I had very important things to do, like stalking your location on SnapMap."
"You are not okay."
"But are you okay?" she demands, stepping closer. "Tell me everything. What did he wear? Did he pay? Did you touch hands while reaching for the muffin?"
I laugh despite myself and toss my bag down. "Relax. It was just coffee. Calm, harmless, caffeine-fueled conversation."
"But did you like it?"
I pause.
Tessa watches me closely, eyes gleaming like a fortune teller who already knows the truth.
"I don't know," I say honestly. "I think I liked being there. And that's… enough for now."
She hugs me from behind like I just passed a final exam. "You're letting your heart exhale. I'm so proud."
I laugh, leaning into her embrace.
One coffee. One muffin.
No promises. No pressure.
Just a possibility.
********
Monday hits like a slap.
The elevator dings open to the 28nd floor and instantly I can feel the energy shift. Everyone walks a little faster. Talks a little quieter. The air inside Vale & Co. is crisper, colder—like the walls know something I don't.
And then I see him.
Dominic Vale.
Perfect suit. Perfect posture. Perfectly miserable.
He strides past the bullpen with that trademark storm-cloud glare like he's personally offended by the existence of light and joy. A team member tries to greet him. "Morning, Mr. Vale," but he doesn't even blink.
Just keeps moving.
Straight toward the glass conference room.
I lower my eyes and keep walking, but of course.
"Karla," his voice cuts like a wire. Sharp. Measured.
I stop. "Yes, sir?"
"We're meeting now. Winterwell campaign adjustments. Bring the updated deck."
I blink. "But, Claudia said the client approved the current version."
"I don't need Claudia's interpretation of 'approved.' I want to see your adjustments before it goes to final implementation." His jaw flexes. "Five minutes. Conference room."
And then he turns and disappears.
No hello. No good morning. No soul, apparently.
I swear to God, this guy has no happiness in his life. Like, none. Not even an emergency stash of it in his desk drawer.
I gather my things and follow him in, taking a seat opposite his usual throne of glass and steel.
He's already tapping away on his laptop, not even looking up. "You didn't include the optional A/B run with the CTA redesign."
"I didn't think it was necessary," I say carefully. "The click-through data on the original concept was already outperforming."
"It's not about performance. It's about strategy," he snaps, eyes finally cutting to mine. "You're not here to guess what works. You're here to show that you know why it works."
I clench my jaw. "Understood."
His gaze holds mine for one second too long then drops back to the screen like I'm dismissed.
I sit through the rest of the meeting with my spine straight and my tongue chewed halfway raw.
And when I leave, I don't even look back.
Because if I do, I might actually say something I regret.
Back at my desk, Claudia passes by and murmurs under her breath, "Don't take it personally. He's always like this after a board call."
I nod, but that doesn't help.
Because somewhere beneath all that arrogance and control, I know Dominic sees everything and chooses to be like this anyway.
And I don't know what bothers me more:
That he's so cold.
Or that part of me wants to understand why.
I push the apartment door open with my shoulder, drop my bag like it's made of bricks, and groan loud enough for the neighbors to file a noise complaint.
Tessa peeks up from the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a Korean drama paused on the screen.
"Oh no," she says, narrowing her eyes. "You've got your 'Dominic ruined my will to live' face on."
I toss my coat over the arm of the couch and collapse beside her. "He makes being alive exhausting."
She grins and grabs the remote. "Hold on, let me mute the fake heartbreak so we can focus on yours."
I bury my face in a throw pillow and mumble, "This man is allergic to human emotion, I swear. Like, today? He called a team meeting just to nitpick something he approved last week. Then gave me this death glare for not being psychic."
Tessa winces. "Classic corporate gaslighting."
"I presented the updated campaign deck. His only feedback was, and I quote, 'There's too much personality.'"
"Oh my god," she gasps. "He said that?"
I sit up, hands flying. "Like, sorry for breathing air and having a voice. I forgot we're in the House of Cold Dead Feelings."
Tessa howls and nearly spills her popcorn. "Why does he sound like the final boss in an office-themed video game?"
"Because he is! I swear he doesn't sleep. He just recharges by absorbing people's joy."
She grins. "I bet he eats his steak without seasoning."
"And uses printer paper for napkins."
"And doesn't believe in weekends."
We both laugh, but under it, I'm still simmering. Not because he was rude—rude is his baseline but because, somehow, he gets under my skin.
And worse?
He knows it.
"He looks at me like he's trying to solve a problem that shouldn't exist," I say softly, almost to myself.
Tessa pauses. "And how do you look at him?"
I glance at her. "Like I'm trying not to stab him with a pen."
She raises an eyebrow. "But also... maybe a little intrigued?"
I shoot her a look. "No. Absolutely not. I'd rather develop a crush on my blender. At least it makes sense and doesn't judge my font choices."
"Sure," she says, leaning back. "But if you do fall for him, I'll need front-row tickets to the emotional chaos."
"Not happening," I mutter.
But even as I say it, a small, unwelcome part of me replays the way he looked at me before leaving my apartment yesterday.
And how, for half a second, he almost smiled.