The mansion was quiet in the expensive way. Not empty quiet. Focused quiet. The kind that hums. Tina was at her desk in the study, glasses low on her nose, sleeves rolled up, hair loosely tied but already slipping out. The laptop glow painted her face in sharp light, expression serious in that very particular CEO way she wore like armor.
A month had passed since therapy. A month of routines. A month of stability. A month of Tina being 'fine.' Andrew stood in the doorway watching her. She didn't notice. She'd been like this all week—efficient, present, capable—but slightly… elsewhere. Not cold. Just busy. Andrew leaned against the frame. Still nothing. He cleared his throat dramatically. No response. He stepped inside.
"Tina."
"Mhm."
Not even a glance. He crossed the room slowly, deliberately dragging a chair so it made a soft scrape across the floor. Her eyes flicked up for half a second.
"What."
Flat. Suspicious. Beautiful. Andrew smiled.
"I was thinking."
