The golden hour had long passed, replaced by the cool, artificial glow of the office's overhead lights. Most of the architecture department had already left, their desks abandoned and their computer screens dark. Only one station remained illuminated: Alicia's.
She was hunched over a large blueprint, her pen moving with a precision that defied her exhaustion. Her eyes were bloodshot, and a cold, half-empty cup of coffee sat beside her. She didn't hear the soft hum of the private elevator or the rhythmic click of expensive leather shoes approaching.
"The blueprints won't change no matter how long you stare at them, Miss Mendes."
Alicia jumped, her pen skidding across the paper. She spun around to find Arthur Carter standing just a few feet away. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that hinted at a strength his tailored clothes usually hid.
"Mr. Carter! I... I didn't see you there," she stammered, quickly trying to smooth her hair.
Arthur didn't look at the blueprints. He looked at her. He saw the tremble in her fingers and the way she leaned against the desk for support. "It's nearly 10 PM. The building is empty. Why are you still here?"
Alicia forced a small, tired smile. "I just wanted to finish the load-bearing calculations for the north wing. It needs to be perfect."
"Perfection is a dangerous obsession," Arthur said, stepping closer. The scent of sandalwood—the same one from the restaurant—wrapped around her, making her heart race. "Go home, Alicia. You look like you're about to collapse."
"I'm fine, really," she insisted, though her voice betrayed her. She turned back to the desk, but a wave of dizziness washed over her. She reached out to steady herself, but her hand missed the edge of the table.
In a flash, Arthur was there. He caught her elbow, his grip firm and grounding. "I told you."
Alicia sighed, her shoulders drooping. "I just... I don't like going home when it's this quiet. There's no one waiting for me there anyway."
The words were out before she could stop them. She looked up, mortified by her own honesty, but Arthur didn't look annoyed. His gray eyes softened with a look of profound understanding—a look of shared loneliness.
"Then stay a little longer," he whispered, his voice losing its corporate edge. "I'm finishing some reports in my office. I'll make sure you get home safely."
Arthur pulled up a chair and sat beside her. He didn't take over her work; he simply stayed. For the next hour, the only sounds were the scratching of pens and the quiet hum of the city outside. For the first time in years, the silence didn't feel like a void to Alicia. It felt like a bridge.