'I can't turn back now,' Melisa thought grimly as the elevator doors slid shut, sealing her fate in brushed steel. She was standing beside Edmund, who looked calm and collected—probably because he wasn't carrying a lunchbox like it was a live grenade.
He pressed the button for the top floor—the executive level.
A.K.A. the lion's den.
As the elevator ascended with a soft hum, Melisa stared straight ahead. No dramatic elevator music, no warm lighting—just the faint reflection of her own face looking entirely too composed for someone about to walk into her own awkward sequel of a fake marriage drama. Excellent.
When the elevator finally stopped, the doors parted with a quiet hiss. Edmund stepped out first, posture sharp, and she followed, pretending her knees weren't made of soft tofu.
